Death of the Planet of the Apes

by Andrew E. C. Gaska

  The confused police holstered their guns.

  “What seems to be the problem, officer?” Camilla asked.

  * * *

  Hidden in the bush, the silent fugitives remained in their wagon under a camouflage net made of leaves, moss, and lichen. Seraph had gone off the road at a prearranged spot, and Camilla’s hay wagon had been waiting to take its space. None the wiser, the gorillas had chased the decoy. Once the escapees were certain their pursuers had passed, Cornelius fumbled with Xirinius’s keys, looking for the one that would set his wife free.

  “Not a bad bit of rescuing, was it?” he chuckled. “Sorry I had to keep you in the dark—”

  “Bah! I knew it was you, Cornelius.” Zira frowned. “I was just wondering how long it would take you to make a move. We might as well have been dating again!”

  “But how—”

  “You think I don’t know my own husband’s body language?”

  He leaned in close to his wife.

  “You know, my dear, I’ve been thinking about what led us to this,” he murmured. “In hindsight, perhaps telling our fellow apes that we should befriend humans, while revealing to them that man used to enslave us, wasn’t the best approach.”

  Zira blinked. Despite her best efforts, a smile crept across her muzzle.

  “Oh, Cornelius.” They kissed.

  “Here they come,” Seraph hissed.

  Climbing from the obscured wagon, Seraph and the other chimps—including the ones who had dropped from the trees with the camouflage—unhooked the horses and saddled them. They needed to move fast, before the gorillas could figure out they had been duped.

  “Ah!” With a twist and a click, Cornelius finally opened Zira’s shackles.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 26

  A PROPENSITY FOR TABOO

  Most of the protestors had been freed before the Security Police figured out what was happening. Of the rescuers, only Quirinus had been arrested—something they would rectify as soon as possible. Now, the activists regrouped at a temporary camp in the high hills. In the command tent, Cornelius, Zira, Liet, and Tian gathered to plan their next move.

  “We’ll need a name for the movement,” Liet said. “Something with ‘liberation’ or ‘front’ in it, I think.” She turned to Zira. “You’ll have to give speeches—in private, of course—to rally others to our cause. And we’ll protect you. You must go into hiding. Command us from underground.” The more she spoke, the more excited she became. “We will move you around from safe house to safe house. You—”

  “Wait a moment,” Zira said, cutting her off. “I’m committed to your cause, Liet, but I’m not your rebel leader.” She took Liet’s hand and placed it on her belly. “I have other concerns.”

  Liet blinked as she understood what Zira was saying.

  “But what you said, about peace being worth fighting for,” Tian said. “Apes heard that. They’ve seen your strength.”

  “Make me your symbol, then,” Zira suggested. “Use what happened here today as a way to recruit allies, and gain momentum, but Cornelius and I must leave with Seraph.”

  “Then how are we to—” Liet began.

  “Get organized,” Zira said firmly. “Liet, you started the protest in the first place. You created a movement, launched a cause.”

  “And you orchestrated Zira’s escape,” Cornelius suggested.

  “Yet you and Seraph lit the fire under me,” Liet countered.

  “Yes, but you fanned the flames,” he said. “In the end it was your plan—and it was a good plan, I might add. Thanks to you, it was a success.”

  “You can lead the chimpanzees, prove to them that freedom is worth fighting for,” Zira pressed. “Fight fire with fire. Make a show of force,” she continued, gaining steam. “Get weapons, and use them!”

  “Zira!” Cornelius started to object, but he stopped himself—for his wife was right. The only way they were going to stand up to Sabian and his gorillas was to fight. And we won’t be around for it. He closed his eyes. So my wife and child will be safe.

  Yet Zira had heard him.

  “Just don’t use them unless you have to,” she added, glancing his way. “It’s always better to be a pacifist, but that isn’t always enough to make peace. If we’re not ready to fight for what we believe, even die for it, then we will lose.”

  Seraph stepped into the tent. “The wagon is ready.”

  Liet’s eyes were saucers, and they were running over.

  “You can do this, Liet.” Zira hugged her tightly. “I believe in you.”

  * * *

  As the apostates retreated into the Forbidden Zone, Liet sighed. Cornelius and Zira had different parts to play in this, and at least they would be safe with her cousin. It would be better that they were out of harm’s way.

  Still, someone has to make a difference in Ape City.

  “What do we do now?” Jaila asked. Tian and Consus looked to her with fearful eyes. As Liet had needed a push, so would they. With little choice, Liet again turned to charts for inspiration.

  “Alright,” she said, scanning the plans for the constabulary and the administrative offices. “First, we break out Quirinus. Then, let’s take a look at that armory.”

  * * *

  Weary of dodging the gorilla patrols, Brent and Nova slept in the remnants of Queensboro Plaza station. Brent woke first, and was again startled to find he wasn’t in his hibernation pod on Liberty 2.

  Is this real? he wondered. What is real?

  Once he was fully awake, he again began to question sanity—this time not his own, but of the idiots who long ago blew up this world. His world. While Nova rested, he watched her, breathing steadily and sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

  “Are you what we were,” he wondered softly, “before we learned to speak, and made a mess of everything?” He shook his head and frowned. “What good did talking do, anyway. Did anything come from all that talk around all those tables?”

  Facing endless frustration, and eager to be moving, he climbed the station steps to see if the coast was clear. As he started to lift his head out into the daylight, he quickly pulled it back down.

  A gorilla squad sat nearly at their doorstep, and it was clear they weren’t going anywhere soon. As silently as he could, he moved back down into the station, and woke his beautiful companion. He pulled the groggy girl to her feet.

  “We’ve got to get going,” he whispered. “Come on!”

  Lowering himself down to the subway track, he thought with dark humor that he needn’t avoid the third rail. Then Brent hoisted Nova down beside him. Instinctively, he started for the tunnel that would take them deeper into Queens, toward his grandmother’s house in Forest Hills. Almost immediately he heard it.

  “That hum…” Soon Nova was holding her ears. “You hear it, too?” As she fearfully sought the source of the sound, he knew she did. It was coming from the opposite end of the station—the tunnel that led toward Manhattan. While some light shone through crevices, the tunnel was ultimately swallowed in darkness.

  What can it be? he wondered, his thoughts racing. Is it electrical? Could there be survivors? Survivors with technology? He allowed himself a moment’s hope. Human ones?

  He weighed their options. The hum pulsed, its pull irresistible.

  “Alright,” he said, and he headed down the track toward Manhattan, Nova in tow. “Come on, we’re going to follow it.”

  Bare feet crunching on centuries of ash and gravel, with cool air cutting across their skin, the two tattered fugitives ventured into the abyss.

  * * *

  Albina smiled. I have them.

  An upright human and a savage woman followed her beacon through the tunnel system. Calling himself an astronaut like Mr. Taylor, this Mr. Brent seemed to be yet another pawn of the apes. The savage named Nova appeared to be the one so prominent in Mr. Taylor’s thoughts.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Taylor has proved useless in telling us what we n
eed to know, Albina mused to the others. Perhaps they will not. She, Ongaro, Caspay, and Adiposo were gathered again above tracks 19–11. His Holiness was once again in reverie with His ancestors.

  Focusing their minds as one, the assembled masters projected an image on the far wall of the station, revealing the two humans and their progress through the tunnels. As they watched, they knew when Brent spoke again, and manifested it along with the projection.

  “Well, there’s an intelligence working in this place,” he said. “That sound, good or bad, it’s either a warning or a directional device. It doesn’t much matter,” he decided. “They know we’re here.”

  Astute for a human, Caspay noted.

  This Mr. Brent not only talks, Adiposo added, but talks insistently to himself. They watched as the two newcomers entered the undercity. As the humans wandered the decimated streets, Albina subtly suggested them toward the fountain outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral. There they drank, and Albina nodded to Ongaro. With eyes shut, the mutant painmaster seized the astronaut’s mind.

  Put your hands around her throat, Ongaro ordered. Hold her there until she dies. Instantly, Mr. Brent plunged Nova’s head into the fountain. As the beautiful barbarian struggled, he held fast.

  Mentally, Brent pushed back.

  He likes her, Ongaro determined. Finds her attractive. He is fighting me. His brow furled. The connection weakening, he concentrated anew.

  Kill her, he commanded.

  “Get out!” Brent screamed. “Get out of my head!” Fighting Ongaro’s urges, he stumbled back into the cathedral of their god. As the church door shut, Ongaro’s eyes flew open. Connection severed.

  No matter, Albina assured him. The Verger will detain him.

  Collect Mr. Brent, she sent to the fat man. Keep him and the woman separated.

  Adiposo nodded.

  She looked to Caspay. Summon His Holiness. The elder statesman hesitated at the order, but then nodded compliance. As the two of them left, Ongaro stepped closer.

  “Well done,” he whispered to Albina. It was not a thought projection. This was an intimacy that was unusual for their kind. The spoken word was saved for prayer and meetings of great importance. One might speak in confidence with God or with His Holiness, but for an unmated man and woman alone, it was taboo.

  Stop, she insisted. Albina had felt Ongaro’s longing before, thoughts she had reciprocated. But these were thoughts upon which they could never act. They were masters, and they were from different guilds. Their lineages had to remain pure, no matter what their base desires might be. Genetic lines had to be maintained. It was a guildmaster’s duty to propagate with as many of their house’s opposite sex as possible, in order to ensure stronger offspring. It was done through artificial insemination—sexual intercourse was unnecessary in their society.

  For most, its appeal had been lost millennia ago along with their skin. For some, however, it still held an allure. Theirs was a passion most forbidden.

  “Use your words, if you mean it,” he breathed in her ear.

  Albina scanned the room for other minds. For the moment, they were alone. Her eyes shed lasers at him.

  “His Holiness would not approve,” she murmured.

  Ongaro’s eyes bore back into hers.

  “Yes,” he calculated. “Neither would Caspay.”

  If Caspay suspected that there was anything between her and Ongaro—anything—all it would take was an accusation, and the group mind would be thrown into disarray. She and Ongaro might be exiled to the radioactive wilds, or even the surface desert. There, they would face the White Ones, deadly exposure, and worse.

  “I don’t approve,” she said, but she wavered. Ongaro seized her arm and whirled her around to face him.

  “Yes, you do,” he insisted. Removing his glove, Ongaro touched her lip with his exposed flesh. His hand hovered above it, her breath cool on his fingertips. Then she grabbed his wrist, halting him. Yet Albina took his finger and ran it across her lips. Her lower one caught it, and she pulled it into her mouth.

  Albina quivered with delight. As Ongaro lost all composure, however, she remembered herself, and pushed his hand away.

  This cannot be, she asserted. You know I am right.

  Ongaro nodded and once again sheathed his hand.

  It will be our secret.

  Soon, the others would return, and Mr. Brent would stand before them for questioning. She readied herself for the interrogation. The secrets they desired would soon be theirs.

  * * *

  Mungwortt spilled into wet darkness. Disoriented, he swam for what he thought was safety, until he smacked his skull on something. Clutching his head, he drifted until he bobbed to the surface. The current here was swift but manageable, and it wasn’t long until he had washed ashore in some open-faced cavern. The tiled wall had words on it.

  86TH STREET

  The cave opened into the blackened forest, its soft blue glowing lichen illuminating the scene. Mungwortt raised himself on his elbows and hung his head low, panting.

  For a second time he mourned the loss of Zao. The orangutan’s skull had shattered upon the rocks, and was no more. Mungwortt knew, however, from his schoolboy religion classes, that a part of Zao would always be with him.

  A moment later a furry white foot stepped into view. He dripped water on it. Mungwortt looked up to see an albino mountain of muscle and matted fur.

  White One!

  Not just any White One, but the dirty-furred yellow-White One. The big one that had eaten Zao’s brains. The one they had nicknamed Dinge. And he wasn’t alone. He had friends. Mungwortt stood up slowly. As the creatures growled, his own anger boiled over.

  Humans, mutants, brains, and White Ones, he raged. When will this end?

  Claws bared, the White Ones stalked toward him. Rather than showing fear, Mungwortt pulled back his fist and slammed it into Dinge’s flat nose. The dirty furred beast blinked.

  The rest of them stepped back.

  Stunned.

  The other White Ones slowly encircled Dinge and Mungwortt, keeping a safe distance away. It reminded Mungwortt of being in the boxing ring, but with fuzzy white beasts as the spectators.

  Dinge stared at him, and did nothing.

  “What do we do now, White One?” he asked.

  He’s their leader, idiot. Don’t you understand animal behavior? They are a pack. You just challenged him for control of the pride.

  Oh. Mungwortt knew this already from watching the wild swine when he grew up on the far side of Simia. And though he did, it wasn’t his thoughts that had come to the conclusion. Instead, it was a familiar nagging voice ringing in his head.

  “Zao!” he shouted. “You are with me—”

  Shut up and fight! But it was too late.

  Sensing the half-breed’s distraction, the albino beast pounced. He was a powerhouse, a good half-foot taller, and nearly twice the girth of the others, all rippling muscles. Dinge backhanded Mungwortt, sending him splashing face-first into the water, the wind knocked out of him.

  Don’t drown, Zao told him.

  With a little luck, he thought, the current would sweep him away. But it was Mungwortt’s unlucky day, and he was dragged backward out of the stream, the White One lifting him bodily by his right leg. This gave him an opportunity, however, and he double-punched the creature in its genitals.

  Dinge doubled over, dropping him.

  He tried to scramble out from under the beast, but it recovered too fast. Dinge threw himself on his opponent, baring his fangs and going for the throat. Mungwortt braced his arm and pushed against the beast’s face, desperate to keep it away.

  The White One was relentless.

  ACT IV

  ANNIHILATION AND HOPE

  CHAPTER 27

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  Zira couldn’t sleep. While there were both blankets and her husband to snuggle up with, the bumps and rocking of the wagon were too much for her. The terrain was rough—they were in the Forbidden Zo
ne.

  This was their second night in the desert, and Seraph drove the horses. During the day Cornelius took the reins and she had kept them on course. She knew where they were going—where Dr. Milo would be.

  When Cornelius began to snore, Zira gave up. Grasping the rail behind the driver’s box, she climbed up and over and settled in next to Seraph. The air was crisp, the desert a mix of indigo and sapphire.

  “Thank you again for helping us,” Zira offered.

  “Thank Dr. Milo when you see him.” Seraph shrugged. “He sent me to get you.”

  At a loss for a response, Zira looked into the back of the wagon. Cornelius still snored blissfully. After a long silence, she spoke again.

  “What is Dr. Milo doing out in the desert?” she asked. “Did he find the flying machine?”

  “He has instructed me not to tell you.”

  “Oh rubbish,” she responded. “That was for Cornelius. Dr. Milo knows he doesn’t believe in flight.”

  “You’ll know soon enough.” Seraph smiled, visible even in the gloom. “We’re nearly there.” Giving up on that line of discussion, Zira decided to address something that had been bothering her.

  “Why did Dr. Milo ask for me?” she asked. Cornelius made sense—he and Milo had worked on many a dig together.

  “I was also tasked to return with the human called Landon,” Seraph explained. “There was the question of the human’s sanity, so—”

  “—Dr. Milo wanted an animal psychologist on hand,” Zira finished, “and a veterinarian.” As always, the scientist’s logic is faultless. Then it dawned on her. “He wouldn’t have asked for Landon unless he had already found what he was looking for,” she noted with triumph.

  Seraph said nothing.

  But your eyes tell me I’m right. Zira was intrigued. Taylor had told them his ship was dead. “Did he get it working?” she pressed.

  If we can find Taylor and Brent, maybe we can get them home!