War for the Planet of the Apes: Official Movie Novelization

by Greg Cox

  And perhaps get off of me, he thought.

  Nova tugged at his fur to get his attention. Turning his head, he saw her pointing down the tunnel at a small stream of water flowing toward them. Maurice reeled back from the sight, hooting in alarm, as the muddy brown water started to pool around his feet. Anxious to find out where the water was coming from before it flooded the entire tunnel, he rushed forward to investigate, momentarily forgetting the chimpanzee on his shoulders. Bad Ape tumbled down into the mud.

  Sorry, Maurice thought. My mistake.

  He turned around to make sure Bad Ape was unharmed, but the chimp seemed more confused by the water spreading everywhere than shaken by his fall. He stared at the muddy stream, looking utterly baffled by the pooling water. Maurice sympathized as he bent to help Bad Ape to his feet, but the chimp was too busy staring up at the shaft to notice Maurice’s outstretched hand. The orangutan looked up as well and saw Rocket peering over the rim of the hole, no doubt worried by Bad Ape’s sudden tumble. Making eye contact with Maurice, the perceptive chimp quickly picked up that something was amiss.

  What’s wrong? he signed.

  30

  Trapped in his cage, cut off from his people, Caesar could only look on in frustration as the apes in the pen huddled around the hole Maurice and Bad Ape had dug. He waited impatiently for news until Rocket finally broke away from the crowd to report to Caesar. He signed to Caesar from across the yard.

  There’s a problem, he said.

  Caesar frowned. This was not what he wanted to hear.

  Tell me, he signed back.

  * * *

  Muddy water gushed from a widening fissure in the tunnel wall where Maurice had been digging before. The flood had grown from a trickle faster than the orangutan wanted to think about; he could only assume that he had accidentally hit some underground pool or stream, which was now pouring into their diggings.

  Working together, Maurice and Bad Ape struggled to plug the leak with whatever dirt and rocks were on hand, as the icy water stung their hands and feet, turning them numb. Nova clung to the orangutan’s back, trying to keep above the freezing muck. It was hard to tell if they were making any progress in damming the flow, but even if they could stop the water from flooding in, Maurice wondered, what then?

  They were supposed to be digging up to the children’s pen by now, not fighting a flood. The entire plan was in jeopardy, thanks to this unplanned disaster.

  What were they supposed to do?

  * * *

  Caesar pressed against the bars of his cage, the better to take part in an urgent discussion with the apes in the pen. Grunting softly, Rocket and the others stared back at him through the bars of their own prison. The need for stealth made Caesar grateful that apes preferred sign language to speech; if they were discreet, the guards might not notice that the apes were communicating at all.

  We can’t dig any further, Rocket insisted. It will flood the whole tunnel!

  But Lake and many others refused to accept that.

  If we don’t dig further, she signed, we’ll never get to the children! How are we going to get them out?

  Anxious parents grunted in agreement, sharing her concern. The plan had been to dig a separate shaft up to the children’s pen, allowing them to escape via the underground tunnels as well, but the unexpected flooding had made that impossible. The agitated grunting grew louder as distraught apes demanded that their offspring be rescued no matter what, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacle posed by the leak. Caesar grew concerned that the increasingly noisy debate would attract the attention of the guards.

  He held up his hand to quiet the other apes, while glancing around at the various guards posted within earshot. His people’s survival depended on silence and secrecy; the last thing they wanted to do was alert their foes on the very brink of their escape. But was it already too late? Rocket and the others looked up at the guard tower directly above Caesar’s cage as a soldier stomped over to the edge of the catwalk to investigate the noise. Caesar heard the human named Boyle mutter irritably under his breath; he could well imagine the human’s suspicious expression as he spied on the apes below, who suddenly did their best to appear docile and defeated. They milled about aimlessly, not speaking or signing, until Boyle backed away from the ledge and sought shelter inside the guard tower to escape the biting winter wind.

  Careful, Caesar warned his people. Wait.

  Minutes passed before Lake dared to resume the discussion. She kept her hands low as she subtly signed to the others:

  We have to keep looking down there, see if there’s another way to reach our children…

  Caesar appreciated her concern for Cornelius and the other children, but decided that the discussion had gone on long enough. Morning would come too soon and, with it, death at the hands of the Colonel and his killers.

  We have no time, he signed, shaking his head. We must leave tonight. This is our last chance. We’ll have to get the children out above ground.

  The other apes watched his hands intently, hanging on his every word. Rocket eyed him curiously. He signed back to Caesar:

  How?

  * * *

  Lights went out in the soldiers’ barracks, one by one. Scowling, Boyle envied the men and women who were getting a good night’s sleep while he was stuck in a goddamn guard tower keeping watch over the monkey cage.

  Just my luck, he groused silently. Wanna bet plenty of the other guys are getting lucky tonight, what with the big battle practically knocking on our front door? Might as well get some before the shooting starts.

  At least the kongs had quieted down after making a racket earlier; he wondered if they’d guessed that they were all going to be slaughtered tomorrow and that was what had gotten them worked up. He could see how knowing that this was their last night on earth might be a tad upsetting.

  Tough, he thought.

  After tomorrow, what the apes knew or didn’t know wouldn’t matter anymore because they’d just be dead meat. He was looking forward to seeing every filthy kong put down—with extreme prejudice.

  But in the meantime, he still had to keep an eye on them for one more night. He didn’t figure that the stupid kongs would be any more trouble than they’d been before, but the Colonel expected every soldier to do his duty and Boyle wasn’t about to disappoint him. The Colonel was a great man, as far as Boyle was concerned, and the only hope humanity had of stopping the damn apes from taking over the planet.

  Too bad those spineless losers up north don’t realize that.

  He glanced at an old-fashioned windup clock somebody had installed in the tower and saw that he was probably overdue to eyeball the apes again. Groaning, he stirred himself from his seat, where he had been leafing through a stack of old skin magazines salvaged from the ruins of an abandoned convenience store, and steeled himself to face the wintry air outside the enclosed shelter atop the tower.

  Time to check the monkey house, he thought sourly. Taking a thermos of hot coffee with him, he exited the shelter and stepped out onto the catwalk outside where he discovered, much to his annoyance, that it had started to snow again. His breath frosted before his lips as the cold instantly leached away whatever body warmth he’d managed to hang onto in this frozen hellhole. He sipped from the steaming thermos as he stared out over the apes penned up below him. Searchlights swept past the pen periodically, revealing nothing amiss.

  Looks quiet enough to me, he decided. Before heading back inside, he took a moment to admire the massive wall defending the camp from the hostile forces coming for the Colonel. The fortifications looked impressive, and had enough artillery mounted on them to repel a small army, but would it be enough to turn back whatever the Colonel’s enemies might throw at them?

  Guess we’ll damn well find out soon.

  He was turning away from the railing to head back indoors when, without warning, something cold and wet smacked into the back of his head, hitting hard enough to hurt. He lost his grip on the thermos, s
pilling coffee onto the catwalk.

  What the—?

  He reached back to see what had hit him and came away with a handful of thick, gooey mud. Disgusted, he wiped the muck off on his trousers and spun back toward the railing. Surprise ignited into fury as he stormed over to the rail and glared down at the ape pen below. His face flushed with anger. An engorged vein throbbed furiously at his temple as he shouted in rage:

  “Hey! You animals!”

  Thirsting for payback, he charged down the ladder and across the yard to the pen, where he unlocked the gate and slid it to one side. Storming into the pen, he maintained the presence of mind to shut the gate behind him before raising his rifle and waving it at the kongs, who shuffled away from him fearfully, as they damn well should.

  “WHO DID THAT?” he bellowed.

  The apes cowered, shaking their heads to proclaim their innocence and jabbering like monkeys. Frustration ate at Boyle as he tried to figure out how to force the truth out of them. He was tempted to shoot just any ape at random, but he really, really wanted to get the stinking kong who had nailed him with the mud.

  Wait a minute… mud?

  It briefly occurred to him to wonder where the hell the kong had gotten the soggy mud anyway, especially on a freezing night like this. But before he could put his brain to work figuring out that mystery, another wad of muck smacked into the side of his head, knocking out of it the train of thought. The mud splattered against his profile and got in his ear, oozing down onto his neck and under his collar.

  “SUNUVA—!”

  He swung his rifle wildly at the chained apes, who scampered out of the way, exposing the culprit who had been hiding among them: the bald chimpanzee who had been caught sneaking into the camp the night before, the same one Red and the other donkeys had delivered a major ass-whupping to. The ugly chimp, still sporting bruises and scabs from his well-deserved beatdown, sneered at Boyle as he clutched another goopy fistful of muck. He bared his teeth and gums defiantly.

  “You…” Boyle snarled.

  Livid, he took aim at the rebellious ape, who obviously hadn’t learned his lesson yet. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Say goodbye, asshole.

  But before he could fire, a large shaggy hand reached up from beneath the ground and seized Boyle’s ankle, yanking the startled soldier out of sight. The other apes, no longer cringing in fear, gathered around the hole expectantly. A heavy thump, coming from below, suggested that Boyle would not be threatening any more apes, tonight or ever. A moment later, a set of keys were tossed back up through the hole.

  Rocket dropped the mud, half-disappointed that he hadn’t had the opportunity to use it, and snatched up the keys. Knuckle-walking over to the hole, he peered down at Maurice, who handed him the soldier’s rifle.

  Boyle wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

  31

  While Rocket distracted the guard, Caesar retrieved the stolen key from the metal strip above the cage door, where he had hidden it. Bending over, he hastily began unshackling his feet. He had just managed to free his right leg when the sound of approaching footsteps sent his heart racing. He quickly turned toward the noise and was dismayed to see the Colonel heading toward him, despite the late hour.

  What does he want? Caesar wondered. And why now?

  He straightened, palming the key, and shot a warning look at Rocket, who immediately hid the captured rifle behind his back. Caesar hoped the Colonel had not already spotted the weapon. If so, the apes’ escape attempt would be over almost before it had begun. Armed with the rifle, Rocket might be able to hold off the soldiers long enough for some of the apes to escape via the tunnel, but the humans’ superior firepower would gun Rocket down almost as soon as the alarm was sounded—and there would be no chance of rescuing the children.

  But the Colonel didn’t even glance at the ape enclosure. Instead he simply gazed pensively at the completed wall looming at the far end of the canyon, taking the sight in. Caesar assumed that he was too worried about the upcoming battle to give much thought to the apes in their pens.

  Good, Caesar thought. Maybe he will move on soon.

  The Colonel’s late-night stroll was unexpected, but perhaps it would only cause a temporary delay in the apes’ plans—unless he noticed that Boyle was not at his post in the guard tower.

  Caesar watched tensely, silently urging the Colonel to return to his lair atop the watchtower, but the murderous human commander seemed to be in no hurry to escape the cold night air. He simply stood there, as still and silent as a statue, as though rooted to the spot. Caesar began to fear that the Colonel was never going to move.

  He can’t stand there all night. Can he?

  At last the Colonel turned away from the wall, but instead of heading back to his tower, he detoured toward Caesar’s cage. As the Colonel drew nearer, Caesar could see that the man was still lost in thought, appearing barely aware of his surroundings, let alone the frigid temperature. His lips moved silently as though he was conversing with himself. One hand grasped his stainless-steel hip flask.

  Is he drinking? The night before a battle?

  The Colonel walked up to the bars of the cage and began speaking in an oddly vacant tone, without any preamble. There was a far-off look in his bloodshot eyes, which gazed past the ape on the other side of the prison bars. His uniform was rumpled and disheveled, in marked contrast to his crisp appearance when addressing his troops several hours ago. Caesar smelled whiskey on his breath.

  “Least you can take comfort,” he mused. “Your struggle ends. Ours goes on. Nature still has the power to wipe us off this planet at any moment. Killed the dinosaurs off with a single meteor…”

  His unfocused eyes swept over Caesar’s wiry frame.

  “You apes are so strong. I wonder… what kind of world you would have built… on our graves…”

  His voice trailed off for a moment, leaving Caesar to ponder the man’s odd demeanor. Was he drunk or feeling guilty or just contemplating his mortality in anticipation of the battle? He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Caesar, who remained still in order to avoid revealing that his right leg was free.

  “You know,” the Colonel said, gazing off into space, “when I first got to the city, a man said he had to see me. He said he knew you. That you had worked together.”

  Caesar’s eyes widened. There was only one person the Colonel could be referring to.

  “Malcolm…?”

  Caesar had last seen his human friend in the grim aftermath of Koba’s attack on the human colony in San Francisco. Caesar had urged Malcolm to take his family and flee the war that both he and Malcolm had tragically failed to avert, the war that had inevitably led to this very moment.

  The ape’s voice jarred the Colonel from his reverie. He looked directly at Caesar for the first time. His brow furrowed as he searched his memory.

  “I think that was his name, yes.”

  It would be just like Malcolm, Caesar reflected, to reach out to the Colonel in hopes of preventing further bloodshed, no matter the risk to his own safety. Malcolm had done the same when he’d bravely ventured into the forest to try to negotiate with Caesar and search for a way humans and apes could coexist peacefully. And when he’d risked his life to help Caesar defeat Koba.

  “He… was a friend,” Caesar said.

  “He said you were remarkable,” the Colonel replied. “More than just an animal… that you were a great leader.” He shook his head at the memory. “I thought he was crazy… but I almost see what he meant…”

  His eyes began to lose focus again, his gaze turning inward as it looked back through the years.

  “He pleaded with me to find you. To make peace with you.”

  Caesar was stunned by this revelation. This was the first he’d heard of Malcolm attempting to make peace between the apes and humans after the war began, but, in retrospect, it made perfect sense. The Malcolm he’d known would have never stopped trying to keep humans or apes from being harmed. He’d
cared too deeply about taking care of people, human or simian. Caesar was almost afraid to ask where Malcolm was now.

  “What… happened to this man?”

  The Colonel didn’t answer at first; he just stared mutely at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts and memories. Caesar wasn’t sure the Colonel had even heard his query until the man finally answered casually, shrugging as though he barely recalled the incident.

  “I shot him.”

  Sorrow, laced with anger, descended on Caesar. He had often wondered what had become of Malcolm and his family, but had always preferred to think that they were alive together somewhere, safely distant from the war. Caesar had never expected to see Malcolm again, but finding out for certain that his friend was dead—killed by his own kind—still came as a painful blow. Caesar could only pray that Malcolm’s lover, Ellie, and his son, Alexander, had not accompanied Malcolm when he went to see the Colonel. He wanted to think that they were still alive at least.

  But the Colonel had killed Malcolm, too? As well as Cornelia and Blue Eyes and Percy and so many others? The enormity of this knowledge sank in, refueling Caesar’s determination to destroy the Colonel before he could kill anyone else Caesar cared about. Intent on saving his people, Caesar had almost forgotten his quest for revenge, but knowing that the Colonel had also murdered Malcolm, on top of so many others, was a bitter reminder of just how much this man deserved to perish at Caesar’s hands.

  Not that the Colonel seemed to care, let alone show any trace of remorse. He fell silent for a moment, then abruptly snapped out of his daze. His head jerked up and he glanced around wildly, as though trying to orient himself. A suspicious, almost paranoid gleam entered his eyes.

  “Wha—what’s going on here?”

  Caesar held his tongue, unsure how to respond to the Colonel’s erratic behavior. Was the alcohol to blame or was this evidence of some deeper fracture in his damaged psyche? The man almost seemed to be melting down like one of the many untended nuclear reactors that had reportedly burned out of control after the plague, contaminating other parts of the country. Caesar knew he needed to tread warily here; there was no telling what might provoke the seemingly unhinged Colonel to violence.