A cruel lesson, Caesar thought, but a vital one.
Descending deeper into the trench, beneath a concealing cover of earth, Caesar found himself facing another unpleasant reality—and a dilemma.
A handful of human prisoners awaited his judgment. The captive humans were down on their knees, their hands bound behind their backs. Lowered helmets concealed their faces as they stared bleakly at the packed-earth floor of the trench. A party of guards, led by a stalwart chimpanzee named Spear, stood watch over the prisoners. Caesar understood that it was Spear who had sounded the alarm about the attack, alerting the cavalry in time to halt the humans’ advance and prevent them from inflicting even greater harm on his people. As grievous as the day’s losses had been, Caesar was all too aware that matters could have gone much worse.
If the humans had managed to locate the fortress…
Spear came forward and offered up his open palm in supplication. Caesar brushed his own fingers lightly across the other chimpanzee’s palm, acknowledging the tribute, before turning his attention to the prisoners. Spear and the other guards stepped aside to let him draw nearer to the bedraggled humans, who looked up fearfully at his approach. A young Latino soldier gulped.
Do they know who I am, Caesar wondered, or are all apes the same to them?
His unforgiving gaze swept over the prisoners. He noted that one soldier, crouching behind the others, still had his head down, hiding his face beneath his helmet. The soldier’s body was largely concealed behind the other prisoners, but Caesar could tell that he was large for a human. A sudden suspicion deepened the scowl on Caesar’s face. Sniffing the air, he caught a distinct whiff of treachery.
Not human.
He nodded at Spear, who roughly yanked the helmet off the prisoner, revealing the distinctly simian features of a gorilla.
And a traitor.
The gorilla defiantly refused to look at Caesar, who was sickened but not surprised by the turncoat’s presence among the soldiers. He had heard reports of renegade apes siding against their own kind. He squinted at the traitor’s face.
I know you, Caesar thought.
More than two years had passed since the vengeful chimpanzee named Koba had attempted to overthrow Caesar and launch an all-out war against the humans, but the memory of that bitter betrayal still pained Caesar. Koba had been his friend and ally once, but his hatred of humanity had won out over his loyalty to Caesar, whose quixotic pursuit of peace had damned him in the eyes of Koba and his followers. Koba was dead now, by Caesar’s hand, but the damage he had done to ape unity lived on in disgruntled outcasts like the one at his mercy now.
Red. Caesar knew this ape well. He had once followed Koba.
Spear tossed the ape’s helmet to Caesar for his inspection. It appeared to be a standard-issue army helmet, designed to protect the fragile skulls of humans, yet Caesar was puzzled to see an unfamiliar insignia crudely scrawled on the helmet:
AΩ
Looking more closely at the prisoners, he observed that they all sported the same insignia somewhere on their clothes or bodies. He saw it tattooed on arms and necks and drawn with markers on their torn and bloody uniforms. He recognized the letters as belonging to an ancient human alphabet, but their meaning eluded him. Although he’d spent years contending with various remnants of the United States military, the letters belonged to no branch of the armed forces known to him.
A new enemy?
He cast a quizzical look at the young Latino soldier, whose helmet bore the same insignia. A tag on his uniform identified him as “Preacher,” although Caesar was unclear as to whether that was his name or his vocation. The trembling human was smart enough to grasp what Caesar wished to know.
“It’s… it’s Alpha Omega.”
That meant nothing to Caesar, who kept his gaze fixed on Preacher, demanding more of an explanation. Knowing your enemy was vital to anticipating their actions.
“Means we’re the beginning and the end,” a dark-haired female soldier volunteered. She had AΩ inked on her neck. Her voice held an unmistakable note of defiance, despite her precarious situation. “Humanity’s survival depends on us.”
Caesar wanted to know what exactly she meant by that. Before he could learn more, however, he saw the guards and prisoners turning their attention to something behind him. Slow, waddling footsteps announced the arrival of a newcomer to the scene. Recognizing the familiar gait of an old friend, Caesar went to greet him.
Maurice was a mature orangutan and one of Caesar’s senior advisors. A former circus ape, he had befriended Caesar back when they were both confined to a prison-like “primate shelter” in San Francisco, before Caesar had masterminded their escape from captivity. As wise as he was compassionate, Maurice was more of a teacher than a warrior, but he had stood with Caesar through numerous trials, including their battles against both the humans and Koba’s rebels. Caesar trusted him with his life and often relied on the orangutan’s thoughtful nature and sage advice. A shaggy orange coat covered his bulky frame. Long arms and short legs spoke to his species’ arboreal roots, while bulging cheek flaps attested to his seniority.
Like most apes, Maurice preferred sign language to human speech, for which simian vocal cords were ill-suited. His eloquent hands and fingers brought grave tidings.
Twenty-two dead, the orangutan signed. Many more injured.
The news fanned the anger burning in Caesar’s heart. Turning back toward the prisoners, he glowered at the humans who had wrought such death and havoc on his people. His lips peeled back, exposing his teeth and gums.
Preacher’s eyes widened.
“You’re him,” he blurted. “You’re Caesar.”
Caesar was startled to hear his name on the human’s lips. It seemed his reputation did indeed precede him. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Being feared as the leader of apes also made him a target.
“We’ve been looking for you for so long,” Preacher confessed. Now that he had found the nerve to speak, he seemed unable to contain himself. “We heard you had a hidden command base, but we could never find it. Some of us were starting to think you might be dead, but the Colonel said no, you were out here somewhere—”
The Colonel. Caesar didn’t have a face to go with that label, but he knew well that this “Colonel” was the human truly responsible for today’s carnage. He glared at the prisoners. Their lives were in his hands now.
“Just kill us already,” said another soldier, who was tagged as “Travis.” His face was pale and sweaty beneath the camo paint smeared across his face. Fraying nerves strained his voice.
“Shut up, man!” the woman snapped at him. “Lang” appeared to be her name. “You trying to get us all killed?”
“What?” Travis objected. “They’re animals. He’s going to slaughter us—”
Caesar had heard enough. He stepped slowly toward Travis, whose angry words evaporated as the ape’s shadow fell over him. He swallowed hard and shrank from Caesar, who loomed above him on two legs. The other soldiers looked afraid as well, although Lang was doing her best to hide it behind a defiant façade. Caesar could practically smell the fear wafting from them. He gave them a moment to fully appreciate just how close to death they were.
Then he spoke:
“I… did not start this war.”
His deep, gravelly voice was hoarse and halting, issuing from a throat that nature had never intended for human speech, and held an edge sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone. The humans gaped at him.
Good. They need to listen closely to what I have to say.
“The ape who did… is dead. His name was Koba. I killed him.”
He let that sink in before continuing. His voice took on an even harder edge, the better to impress his words upon the prisoners.
“I only fight now… to protect apes.”
“Yeah?” Travis glanced over at Red. “What about him? And we got ten more just like him.”
Caesar was saddened to hear that Kob
a’s departed followers had turned against their own kind. He looked sternly at Red, who finally met his eyes, staring back at Caesar with undisguised hate.
“I know these apes. They followed Koba. They tried to kill me. They fear what I will do to them. They believe that I cannot forgive.”
In truth, those fears were not entirely unfounded. Caesar had once believed that apes were inherently better than humans, more honorable and trustworthy.
He knew better now, thanks to Koba.
“So now they serve you… just to survive.”
“I no fear you!” Red snarled. His gruff voice and crude command of English sounded even less natural than Caesar’s, but his fierce words were clear enough. “You must fear! How long you think woods can protect you?” The gorilla scoffed out loud at the notion. “Humans destroy you. Their Kerna,” he said, mangling the pronunciation of colonel, “has no mercy. Humans follow all he say. To them, he more than just human. He everything.”
Spittle flew from the turncoat’s muzzle. Vengeful eyes blazed beneath heavy brows as he glared at each of his captors one after another. Even Caesar felt a chill run down his spine, while Winter was visibly unnerved by the other ape’s threats. The young gorilla took an involuntary step backward, provoking a frown from Luca, even as Red kept railing at them:
“He says: first Caesar die… then you all die.”
Spear erupted in fury, seizing the renegade ape by the shoulders and hurling him violently to the ground. He looked prepared to do more, but Caesar held up his hand and shook his head. Still seething, Spear brought himself under control and reluctantly backed away from Red, while shooting figurative spears at the traitor with his eyes.
Caesar knew exactly how Spear felt.
Get him out of here, he signed to Luca.
The mighty silverback passed the command on to Winter, giving the younger gorilla an opportunity to conquer his fear. Despite his obvious qualms, Winter pulled himself together and stepped forward to take custody of the turncoat, who resisted violently even with his arms bound behind his back. He roared and snapped at Winter, but was in no position to resist the other gorilla, who dragged him away by his ankle.
Caesar was glad to be rid of him.
That left only the human prisoners to be dealt with. Shocked into silence by the vicious confrontation between the apes, they waited anxiously, perhaps expecting to be dragged away to their doom at any minute. Sweat drenched their faces, smearing their war paint. A whiff of urine indicated that at least one of the humans had pissed themselves in fright. Caesar guessed it was Travis.
Luca sighed heavily, his hairless black chest rising and falling. He signed to Caesar:
What should we do with them?
* * *
Ape hands cinched a knot tight, binding the prisoners’ hands to the reins of one of two horses that had been drafted to carry them back to wherever they’d come from. The humans sat astride the horses, sharing the two mounts. Ape guards surrounded them, ensuring the humans’ cooperation, as Caesar and his advisors observed the preparations. Preacher stared at Caesar in confusion, as though he couldn’t really believe what was happening.
“You’re letting us live?”
Caesar couldn’t blame the soldier for being baffled by their restraint considering all the innocent apes he and his comrades had killed or maimed in their unprovoked attack. Few would argue that death would not be a fitting punishment for their crimes, but Caesar wanted more than just an eye for an eye. He had a larger purpose. Justice was a luxury his people could ill afford.
“Tell your Colonel… you have seen me now. And I have a message for him: this fighting can stop. Leave us the woods… and no more humans will die.”
His declaration drew mixed expressions from the humans. Some looked skeptical, some hostile, and others simply looked relieved to be alive. Only the one called Preacher appeared at all grateful for the mercy being shown them, or so Caesar judged. He nodded at Luca, who gave the horses’ hindquarters a resounding swat, sending them on their way. Nimble guards darted out of the way as the horses bolted away from the trench, taking the humans with them. The freed soldiers peered back over their shoulders at the apes until they finally vanished from view. Their stunned faces suggested the suspicion among some of the humans that the apes’ show of mercy had just been a trick all along, that they had never truly believed that Caesar would set them free…
How little they understand us, he thought. They cannot see past their fear to realize that apes only want peace.
Most apes at least.
Caesar wondered if he had erred in letting the soldiers live. This was hardly the first time that he had spared human lives as a show of good faith, but such gestures had yielded little in return. Was he foolish to keep striving for peace? The humans had shown no mercy to the apes they had slaughtered. Perhaps he should have executed the prisoners. That’s what Koba would have done.
Which was perhaps reason enough not to do so…
He listened as the fading hoof beats of the horses were swallowed up by the forest. Maurice came up behind him, joining Caesar and Luca. He signed to Caesar:
Do you really think they’ll give him the message?
“They are the message,” Caesar replied. “I showed them mercy. He will see we are not savages.” He spoke to convince himself as much as the others. “Let us hope this works. They are getting closer…”
Today’s raid was the closest the humans had yet come to reaching the apes’ hidden sanctuary. Caesar shuddered to think how far they might have gotten had Spear not managed to alert the cavalry in time. Only the guards at the wall had faced the invaders today, not their families and children. But how far would the humans get next time?
If there was a next time.
A sudden commotion, coming from the trenches, disturbed his reverie. Upset apes, shrieking and barking in alarm, swarmed toward him, but Caesar could not immediately determine what the trouble was—until Winter staggered out of the crowd, clutching his head. Blood streamed from a vicious gash on his brow, staining his snow-white pelt. Caesar noted with alarm that Winter’s prisoner, the turncoat ape Red, was nowhere to be seen.
It was not hard to guess who had spilled Winter’s blood.
Luca grunted in concern and loped to meet the other gorilla. A shaken Winter looked up at Luca, visibly distraught and humiliated.
Red attacked me, Winter signed. He got away!
Ashamed, the young gorilla looked toward Caesar. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet his leader’s gaze.
I’m sorry, Winter signed. Forgive me.
Caesar said nothing, disturbed by the news. Red’s escape spared him the necessity of deciding the fate of the turncoat ape, but it was troubling to know that Red and his fellow outcasts were still out there, collaborating with the humans hunting their own people. The very idea of apes siding with humans against apes was an affront to everything Caesar had fought and worked for all these many years.
At least, he thought, they do not know where to find us.
Yet.
4
Caesar led a somber procession through the forest, as the sun began to dip toward the west. He sat astride a horse, while behind him able-bodied apes assisted their injured brothers and sisters. The bodies of those lost in battle were draped over the backs of horses. The bodies of the humans had been left behind as a warning.
The ape leader was glad to leave the blood-soaked hillside behind, although the loss of life—and the constant threat posed by the relentless humans—weighed heavily on him. Red’s vile threats echoed at the back of his mind, promising more trials to come. He was eager for this long day to be over.
His spirits lifted somewhat as he heard a low roar up ahead, coming from beyond the nearest trees. The roar grew steadily louder as an imposing waterfall came into view. White water cascaded down a sheer rock face nestled deep in the primeval wilderness, falling hundreds of feet to a wide mountain river below. Mist rose above the churning froth at the base of t
he cliff, and sunlight reflected off the rippling surface of the river.
A faint smile lifted the corners of Caesar’s lips.
They were almost home.
The procession paused at the shore of the river to take advantage of the cool, clear water. The apes slaked their thirst and watered their horses. Wounds were washed to stave off infection. Weary legs took a break from marching.
Dismounting from his horse, Caesar found a private spot to rest and watch over the proceedings. He sat apart from the others, save for Maurice, who joined him by the river. Caesar welcomed his friend’s company. Glancing over at Maurice, he saw a troubled look come over the orangutan’s face as he gazed upon a cluster of apes a few yards away, who were taking stock of the guns and ammunition they had pillaged from the humans. Firearms were inspected and bartered. A gorilla tested the gunsight of an automatic rifle, taking aim at imaginary targets.
Maurice shook his head mournfully. Look what we’ve become, he signed.
Caesar envied his friend’s gentle nature. He, too, would have preferred a world where apes had not been forced to adopt the weapons and warlike ways of humans, although chimpanzees had always been less averse to conflict than orangutans even before their respective intelligences had been heightened. He offered Maurice a reassuring smile.
We’ll get through this, my friend, he signed.
Maurice appeared to take comfort from his leader’s assurances. He nodded and started to reply, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched trumpeting sounding out over the placid scene. Caesar sprang to his feet and looked to the densely wooded slopes overlooking the river, where a multitude of apes broke from cover—after keeping watch over the returning warriors all this time.