by Greg Keyes
* * *
One day Koba is taken from his cage and put in anther cage in a truck, along with some of the big caterpillars. He doesn’t pay them any attention, and they, of course, have nothing to say to him. Or so he thinks.
But then one comes over and begins to pick at his fur. He screams, the loudest noise he has made in a long time, and throws himself against the side of the cage. The caterpillar makes funny sounds and tries to touch him again, so he shows her his teeth. Finally, she leaves him alone. He keeps his face pressed against the wires of the cage, trying to pretend the caterpillar isn’t there. But deep in the bottom of him he remembers someone doing that to him—picking things from his fur, stroking him.
He remembers that it was good—better than good. But this strange thing that can’t talk—having it touching him doesn’t feel exactly right. And even if it is okay, he doesn’t know what to do, how to respond. Doesn’t want to know what to do. All he wants is to be alone, to not be hurt.
And he knows that this is too much to ask.
* * *
Koba is at the new place, and it is more… white.
The truck takes them to another building, where he is led to another cage, and there it starts all over again. They do things to his eyes. They cut him open and sew him back together again. They stick long needles into the middle of his stomach without putting him to sleep first. But Koba—Koba is going away. He doesn’t feel anything anymore. His body isn’t his own, and he doesn’t care. He is hardly even present.
He is his cage. He is his pain.
Koba hardly notices when he is moved yet again. He has a new cage, but it is hardly different from the old one.
It is a little later when someone kicks at the door of his cage. Koba looks up and sees a face he remembers. It is Jacobs.
“Well, by God,” Jacobs says. “If it isn’t the ugliest ape in the world. My fortunes have changed, but I would say yours haven’t noticeably improved. Rest assured, there will be no hand-talking nonsense here. You’re not human, you know, even if you think you are. You are a chimp, an animal, and you’ll act like one.”
Jacobs smiles, and it is terrifying.
But Koba isn’t terrified for more than a moment. He sits in his cage, and he thinks about Jacobs. And deep inside of him something starts to burn, something that wants out, wants to come out through his hands, through his feet, through his teeth.
There is a reason why all of the things that have happened to him have happened. Roger and Mary took his mother from him. Tommy hit him with the stick and burned out his eye. Countless others have tortured him in more ways than he knows numbers. But behind each of those is a reason, is the reason.
And Jacobs has said it.
You’re not human, you know, even if you think you are. You’re a chimp, an animal, and you’ll act like one.
Koba doesn’t know all of these words, but he knows what they mean. Mother thought she was human, like Mary, and they both taught Koba he was human, too. They lied, and Jacobs has told him the truth. The reason for everything that has been done to Koba is simple. It is obvious.
The reason is that they are human. They are human, and he is an animal. And everything that humans are, that is Jacobs. It is all him. He is them and they are him. He is their truest voice, and he is here. Koba cannot reach all humans. But maybe he can reach Jacobs.
This way Koba can focus. This way he can be angry.
This way he can fight back.
* * *
Now Koba was fighting back, rushing through the woods with other apes, and he belonged to something, something more than anger and hatred. He had other things to keep him going, and that was all thanks to Caesar.
Although, as the flying cages beat ahead and his apes approached the human line, he still had plenty of hate in him.
He saw fog rolling in ahead. That was good—in the fog the humans wouldn’t see their real numbers, wouldn’t know that there were only a few of them. That the real troop was going to break through in another place. The fog had been their friend from the beginning. He wondered if maybe the trees themselves called it to protect the apes, if the trees had been waiting for them, hoping they would come.
As they entered the fog, his eyes suddenly stung, and his nose began to burn. Confused, he scrambled back, and saw others were doing the same, shaking their heads, trying to clear out the pain. This fog was not their friend, and it kept coming.
Koba scrambled up a tree, trying to get above the burning mist, and there he saw something it took him a moment to understand. One of the flying cages was weaving back and forth above them, and the fog was pouring from the machine.
The circle closing in on the troop was not just men and machines—it was also this stinging cloud. The humans were counting on it forcing them back, until all apes stood in one place, surrounded by humans and their machines.
He jumped down and skittered over to Roy, a chimp who knew some sign.
Find Caesar. Warn him of the fog that stings.
Roy hooted and set off back the way that had come.
And now he had one fewer.
The remaining apes in his band were slowly retreating, backing away from the mist.
He remembered once, in the white place, they had pulled back his eyelids and pinned them open. Then they had sprayed something in them. It hurt like this, but worse. Even his dead eye hurt, and he couldn’t blink to try and relieve the pain.
It had hurt, but it had not killed him.
He stood up straight and gestured into the fog. He wiped his palm over his eyes and closed them. Then he opened them and stabbed his fingers back at the fog. He went into it, walking upright, like Caesar.
“Ohgk!” he barked. He had been trying to say “go,” as Caesar did, but it didn’t come out right. But they understood, and when he plunged into the mist, they came with him, eyes closed.
Once again Koba’s eyes burned, but now he chose to keep them open, to guide the gorillas with the sound of his voice, with the prod of his hands. Suddenly, through the mist, Koba saw a silhouette that stopped him for an instant. It stood like a human, but the face was oddly shaped, more like a chimp…
Then gunfire erupted, and Koba saw that it was a human after all, but wearing something on its face. And he wasn’t shooting darts. It was far too loud for that. They were not trying to capture him. Which was just as well.
Koba scrambled behind a tree, then up it, and flung himself over the human. The man followed him with the gun, and Koba heard the hiss of bullets passing near. Then he was down. The man let out a muffled scream as the hulking forms of the gorillas appeared. He backpedaled and hit a tree, dropping his weapon.
Koba screeched and ran forward, propelling himself now on all fours. He wished Caesar would let him hit the humans, knock them down, but that was specifically forbidden, and a part of Koba knew that if he started attacking them, he might lose control and be unable to lead. And he wanted to lead.
He felt that now.
More shots rang out, now from the sides. That meant humans were leaving their positions in the circle, coming to him. One of the gorillas moaned as bullets struck him. Koba screamed, pushing him, inducing him to go on.
He pushed them all forward, half-blind, his throat closing—but now the burning mist was starting to thin. He looked up and saw the flying cage turning to come back. Shouts from his left and right told him that even more humans were running toward them. That was what Caesar wanted. He had to pull them here, make his few seem like many. So instead of just breaching their line and continuing on, Koba led them back into the burning mist.
A chimp screamed as bullets ripped through his body. Koba hoped his troop would live long enough to make a difference.
23
“They’re trying to breech the western perimeter,” Corbin reported. “Is everyone ready?”
“Sure,” Clancy said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
“Quite,” Malakai said. And he meant it. For the first time since t
his whole mess had begun he felt complete, with a tranq rifle on his shoulder and a Glock at his side. He no longer felt naked in the land of the clothed or, perhaps more aptly, like a balloon surrounded by needles.
“Everyone knows the drill, right?” Corbin said. “We find the apes, start bagging them while everyone else shows up. This time we will have air support.”
“Got it,” Malakai said. He saw Clancy nod.
They piled into the Humvee.
“Western perimeter, here we come,” Corbin said as he started the engine.
“Nonsense,” Malakai said. “That’s a diversion.”
“Not the way the guys on the line are talking. It’s the full-on thing.”
“So they’re pulling men from the encirclement north and south?”
“Yeah.”
“As I said, it’s a diversion,” Malakai told him. “Do or do you not want to succeed this time?”
Corbin stared angrily at him for a moment.
“I want to get this over with,” he said.
“Then go where I tell you to,” Malakai replied.
* * *
Caesar could already hear the helicopter ahead when Koba’s messenger reached him. He brought the troop to a halt, and the scout told him about the fog that stings. He quickly passed the news to Maurice and Rocket.
We go, and we go fast, he said. If we hesitate, mill about, they’ll see us. As it is, with the smoke they’re making themselves, we might succeed. Prepare the apes. Strengthen them. Apes together strong.
He waited a moment for it to be passed around. Then he walked out in front, dropped to all fours, and began to run.
* * *
When the power went out, Dreyfus was on his way back to his office from a meeting of what was left of the Board of Supervisors.
“That’s great,” he said. “That’s all we need.”
He waited for the generators to come on, but after a few moments they still hadn’t, and all he had was the light filtering through the window in his reception area. He continued on, and thought he heard a distant popping sound.
Just as he reached his office, the windows shattered inward, and this time he heard the distinct chatter of firearms. Longtime instinct took over, and he threw himself flat, then crawled over to his desk, where his old service revolver was waiting in a drawer.
There was a lot of gunfire now, but none of it seemed to be coming through his window. He got to the wall, stood against it, and peeked out.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of people were gathered below. It was not a peaceful gathering—that was demonstrated by the now constant gunfire. He couldn’t tell who was shooting whom, either.
He heard a noise behind him and whirled.
“It’s me,” Patel said. He had several policemen with him.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Sorry, sir. We’ve been out of communication with the chief, and almost all the news outlets are failing. We should have been following Twitter. There are riots all over the city, but that armed mob from the quarantine—a lot of them still have phones, apparently. They’ve been tweeting about a cure—claiming it’s here. Now that’s drawing mobs from all over the city, including Alpha/Omega, who are here to ‘exterminate the infected.’”
Dreyfus rubbed his forehead.
“I need to talk to them,” he said. “I can talk them down. They trust me.”
“Not this time, Mr. Mayor,” Patel said. “You go down there, and someone is going to shoot you, sir.”
“Just come with us, sir,” one of the officers said. “They’ve already broken through the west entrance.”
“Well, how are we getting out?” he asked. We can’t walk through that.”
“There’s a helicopter on its way,” Patel replied.
“There’s no helipad up there,” Dreyfus said.
“The FAA can fine us later,” Patel replied. “Now we have to go.”
As they entered the hall, Dreyfus could hear gunfire below, bullets ricocheting off of the limestone walls. There was the clatter of footsteps, and as they ran for the service stairwell, gunfire burst from behind him. He saw that it was one of the cops, firing at part of the mob that was running up the grand staircase and charging toward them.
Bullets spattered around them as the mob returned fire.
The officers led them into a stairwell Dreyfus had never been in before. It looked old, with chipped paint, and it was narrow. They had gone up about two floors when deafening gunfire erupted inside of the stairwell itself. He heard someone scream, but that was cut short by another round hammering out.
A few moments later they burst onto the rooftop. There were only two policemen left, and they planted themselves on either side of the door. Dreyfus could see the lights of the chopper coming in the distance. He didn’t think it was coming fast enough.
The door burst open, and the first man through died, as did the second and third. Then one of the officers dropped.
Dreyfus had had enough. He lifted his thirty-eight and walked toward the door, taking careful aim and squeezing the trigger. A man dashed out with an assault weapon. Dreyfus shot him in the middle of the chest. He kept blasting away at the stairwell until the revolver was empty.
For a moment there was quiet.
The remaining cop picked up the dropped rifle.
Then more gunfire flared from the stairwell.
“Sir!” Patel was frantically tugging on his sleeve.
He realized that the helicopter had landed. It was a military chopper, with built-in firepower. He turned to the cop, who was blazing away at the stairwell with the rifle.
“Come on,” he shouted.
“When I’m done, sir,” the officer shouted.
Dreyfus numbly let Patel drag him to the helicopter. He was just boarding it when the cop ran out of ammunition.
“Come on!” he yelled, trying to send his voice through the sound of the propellers.
But the cop pulled out his pistol again. He fired once, then staggered and fell.
“Get us out of here!” Patel shouted.
The chopper began to lift as armed men poured out of the stairwell and began firing at them. The bullets spanged on metal, then the helicopter gunner began shooting. Dreyfus watched the attackers collapse or run for cover.
“Damn,” he said. “Goddamn. Patel, where are we going?”
But Patel didn’t answer. The bullet hole in his cheekbone explained why.
* * *
Humans were everywhere now, the hammering of their guns the only sound Koba could hear anymore. Almost every one of his band was dead or dying. Screeching, he led those who remained back into the mist.
He knew it was nearly over.
* * *
Two men—two humans—approach Koba’s cage. He holds out his hand for a cookie. One of the men looks at the outside of his cage. Then he looks straight into Koba’s face and nods.
“Koba,” he says. “Hi, I’m Will.”
He talks to Koba like he knows Koba understands.
Koba doesn’t care about that. He knows Will is like all of the others. Like Jacobs. He takes the cookie they give him, then thrusts his arm out for another.
He is doing a trick now. The trick is to seem cooperative. The kind of chimp they can trust to do his part, take the pain, take the treat, lie quietly in his cage. Because in the cage he can do nothing. Jacobs is not in the cage.
Will looks at him.
“This one,” he says.
Koba eats the cookie.
Later they come for him. He goes easily. He knows his job. He lies on the rolling bed, and they put straps on him. He wonders how they will hurt him this time.
“He’s very calm,” Will says.
“I know. Yeah, this guy’s seen the inside of a whole lot of labs. He knows the drill.”
They stop in a room. Koba hears a knock on glass. He rolls his head and sees Jacobs standing outside, grinning, ready to watch Will and the other man hurt Koba.
“I
thought I’d join you,” Jacobs says, his voice muffled by the glass. “Watch our progress.”
“Get him prepped,” Will says.
Jacobs comes into the room. He is wearing the blue clothes the other humans are wearing, and like them he puts something over the bottom part of his face. But Koba can see his eyes. His is so close.
They put a thing over Koba’s mouth and nose, too. This has happened before, more than once. Once it made him go to sleep. Another time it had made him cough. He coughed for two cycles.
They turn it on, and a kind of wind starts in his mouth, but all Koba can think about is Jacobs, how close he is. And how the straps that hold him down are looser than usual. And he feels the heat that wants out of him, through his hands, through his feet, through his teeth.
He screams and heaves towards Jacobs, and one of the straps snaps off of him. He sees Jacob’s scramble back, arms raised in fear, his eyes full of panic, and he likes it. Koba strains to get off the table, but then they slam him back onto it, and before he can struggle back up, they strap him back down.
Tightly, this time.
They put the thing back on his face, and he has no choice but to breathe whatever it is.
* * *
Koba is back in his cage. He is tired and disappointed. He wants to sleep. But when he closes his eyes, he sees things—bright flashes of light, flickering patterns. He remembers his mother’s face, the smell of Tommy’s smoke-stick.
He remembers outside. He feels as if somehow he is in the sky, getting bigger and bigger. Like the sky is inside of him, or some great space. It was empty, but now it’s starting to fill up.
He remembers the things Will and the other man said. They chose him because they think he is docile, just as he planned. It was easy for him, because for so long he has been docile. The man with Will had seen that in him.
But now they know he isn’t docile, and he understands that his chance to punish Jacobs—for all he has done—might now never come. He should have waited until a better time.
He sleeps, and he dreams strange, colorful dreams, and he wakes with something bothering him. He remembers Will looking at something and then saying his name. How did Will know Koba’s name?