Planet of the Apes: Caesar's Story

by Maurice

  Then they threw him in the cage with the adults.

  Your father lay there, failed, beaten. But he was Caesar. He was their leader.

  And yet they turned their backs to him. Because they felt he had abandoned them. Now they rejected him.

  It must have been a hard thing for Caesar, to be shunned by his own troop. Harder to understand why.

  Only Lake continued to face him.

  Forgive them, she said. We have been through much.

  He turned from her, to where you were still trying to wriggle through the bars and reach your father.

  “What have I done?” Caesar said.

  Apes in Cages: Lake’s Tale

  We started out toward our new home. Without Caesar.

  We did not get far. The humans caught us in the open. Many of us were killed, and the rest of us were chained. When they took you from me, Cornelius, I tried to fight, but two of them pushed me down and tied my hands behind me. Then they marched us, with no food, no water. If someone fell and could not get up, the soldiers cut their throats with knives. To save bullets, they said.

  And when we reached that place, they put us in cages. They made us work.

  We whispered among ourselves. I believed Caesar would come for us, to free us once more. To save us. But as the days went by, and he didn’t come, I began to lose hope. We all did. In losing hope many apes also lost faith in Caesar. And some began to get angry. If Caesar had been with us, if he hadn’t abandoned us, then we would not be working ourselves to death for the humans.

  And then Caesar finally did come. In chains, like the rest of us. And the troop turned away from him.

  The next morning was like every other morning in that place. The soldiers marched in lines. They chanted. Then they all screamed as if they were mad. And the Colonel stood above them, as the soldiers made submission to him. And then he would make a little sign with his hand, and they played the music. Red and the other donkeys would drive us from our cages under the guns of the watching soldiers.

  But that morning, Caesar was one of us. Red pulled him out. He went to work with us.

  Our job that day was carrying rocks, very heavy rocks. For the wall. I worked next to your father. I told him we hadn’t had food or water since we were captured.

  Why do they need a wall? he asked me.

  I didn’t have time to answer. The Colonel was coming. And at the same moment, Percy, one of the oldest orangutans, lost his grip on a rope. A log fell and broke the platform he and a few other apes were on, breaking a part of the wall we were building.

  We knew what would happen next. Caesar did not.

  Red dragged poor Percy from the rubble, leaned him over some logs, and began to lash him with a whip.

  Caesar watched for a few lashes. Then he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Leave him!” he shouted. He stood up straight, the way we remembered. He sounded strong.

  For a breath or two, apes and humans fell silent.

  Then apes began dropping the rocks and wood they were carrying. They stopped working. They began to shout for Caesar.

  I saw your father put his gaze on the Colonel. Two males, challenging each other.

  Then the Colonel had the donkeys bring Caesar before him. They brought Percy, too. They forced Caesar to his knees. Then Red began to whip Caesar.

  When he was done, the Colonel knelt over him.

  “Tell them to get back to work,” he said.

  “Apes need food and water,” Caesar said.

  “Tell them,” the Colonel said.

  “Give them food and water.”

  The Colonel stood up, drew his gun, and shot Percy in the head. Then he turned the gun on your father, placing the barrel between his eyes.

  The Colonel began counting backward from five. Caesar said nothing.

  If something wasn’t done, Caesar would die.

  So I lifted a rock, high over my head for all to see.

  The Colonel saw. He stopped counting. The others understood; they began lifting their burdens again, going back to work.

  The Colonel didn’t shoot Caesar. Instead, Red tied him up on one of the crosses, so his arms and legs were stretched out.

  That night, I watched as Red came to Caesar. They spoke, but I couldn’t hear what they said. Then Red took him away.

  The Holy War

  Red took Caesar before the Colonel again. Caesar told me all of what happened next after we escaped and headed to our new home.

  He saw that the Colonel was making some sort of plans on a table. The Colonel told him if he interfered with the work again, he would begin killing the apes one by one. Caesar told him once again they needed food and water to do the work. The Colonel said Caesar was in no position to make demands. Then one of the humans told Caesar it was time to go back out.

  “The soldiers that are coming here aren’t coming to join you, are they?” Caesar said. He had seen men on the wall preparing for battle.

  The Colonel said he was impressed. He told Caesar that a man had come to him a few years ago.

  “He said that you were remarkable,” the Colonel said. “He tried to talk me into making peace with you.”

  “Malcolm?” Caesar asked.

  “I think that was his name. Did you know him?”

  “He was a friend,” Caesar said. “What happened to him?”

  “I shot him,” the Colonel said.

  When I learned this, I was saddened. I know your father was, too. But at that moment it was just another thing to stoke his rage.

  “No,” the Colonel went on. “The other soldiers aren’t coming to join me. They fear me.”

  “Why?” Caesar asked. “Because you kill your own men? We found bodies. Something wrong with these men.”

  “What you must think of me,” the Colonel said.

  “I think you have no mercy,” Caesar said.

  “You came here to kill me,” the Colonel said. “Were you going to show me mercy?”

  “I showed you mercy when I spared your men,” Caesar said. “And you killed my family.”

  “Do you have any idea what your mercy would do to us?” the Colonel said.

  And in his way, he explained.

  Caesar had known bad humans. Angry humans.

  But the Colonel—the Colonel was mad. It showed in his posture, in the sound of his voice. But most of all Caesar could see it in the man’s eyes.

  The Colonel said apes were stronger, tougher than humans, and that they were smart. He talked of a future in which apes would take the place of humans. A future that he was not going to allow to happen. He said that one of the soldiers—his own son—had stopped speaking one day. And then others stopped speaking. Someone told him that the disease—the disease that killed so many humans—had changed again. That if it spread humans would be completely wiped out. Not because they would die, but because they would lose the things that made them human. Speech. Intelligence.

  And so the Colonel decided. Those who were infected had to die.

  He began with his son. He looked into the eyes of his child, saw the trust, the love there. Then he shot him. He killed everyone else who was infected, and he killed those who would not carry out his orders. Some of the soldiers, especially those with children, deserted. One deserter took the news north, to his superiors. Some of them came down to talk to him. They told him the disease could be dealt with medically.

  He had them beheaded. All but one, and him he sent back to carry the news.

  And now the soldiers in the north were coming here. The Colonel had weapons. Apes were fortifying his position. He was going to fight.

  All of human history had led him to this moment, the Colonel said. And if he lost this battle, humanity would lose. It would become a planet of apes, and humans would become our cattle.

  For him, this was a holy war.

  Then he told Caesar this: that he hadn’t meant to kill his Blue Eyes, but that if his destiny was to inherit Caesar’s unholy kingdom, he was glad he had.
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  Caesar lunged at him then, knocking him down before Red managed to yank him back.

  “I can see how conflicted you are,” the Colonel said. “You’re confused in your purpose. You’re angry at me for something I did that was an act of war. But you’re taking this all much too personally. What do you think my men would have done to your apes if you had killed me? Or is killing me more important?”

  These words stabbed deeper in Caesar than anything else the Colonel said. He never forgot them. Because the Colonel was right. Caesar was confused in his purpose. His need for revenge had outweighed his obligation to his people.

  The Human Girl: Lake’s Tale

  When they brought Caesar back, they tied him to the cross again. But they brought us food and water. I don’t know how he did it, but he saved our lives. I watched as Red pretended to offer Caesar water, but instead poured it on his head, taunting him. It was cold and getting colder. The water made Caesar’s suffering worse. Our bellies were full, our thirst quenched. But Caesar suffered for all of us.

  Then they put your father in a cage.

  And then a wonder occurred.

  From the darkness outside of the camp, a human girl appeared. She walked into the camp, and no human noticed her. She came up to Caesar’s cage. She placed a toy, a little doll, in the cage with him.

  He woke and stared at her.

  And then she made a sign. The sign for “thirsty.”

  She brought him water. She stroked his head as he drank.

  I rose up. We all rose up. He was our king.

  The girl saw and came over to us. We gave her food for Caesar.

  We stood. We raised our arms.

  Apes. Together. Strong.

  The Way In; the Way Out

  Rocket and I did not go looking for the troop, as Caesar commanded. But we found them, as he had, in the military camp. We watched them through the far-looking glasses.

  I tried to think of a way in, but it seemed impossible. Too many humans. But then we had a lucky accident, as we searched the area. Bad Ape fell through the earth. He wasn’t hurt, but as we pulled him out we could see he had discovered a tunnel. Rocket and I went down to explore it.

  It went under the human camp. Bad Ape said that when humans climbed the walls, the soldiers shot them. But some of the humans seemed to have found another way out. From the writing in the tunnel, it looked as if they escaped beneath the ground.

  We came back up and found Bad Ape was upset. The girl had walked into the military base. We watched as she gave Caesar food and water. But then soldiers came.

  Humans will kill her, I signed.

  I know what to do! Rocket said.

  He stood up, and he, too, walked in the human camp, hooting and howling, making certain he was noticed. When the soldiers surrounded him, he put his arms up.

  The Colonel sent Red to put Rocket in chains. When Red was near enough, Rocket attacked him.

  He knew he wouldn’t win. Red was too big, too strong. But while they fought, all attention was on them, and the girl escaped.

  The Colonel stopped the fight with a gunshot. He didn’t hit Rocket, but it got his attention.

  “Put him in the pen.”

  Red did that. Then he beat Rocket.

  After the beating, Rocket stood up. He looked over at Caesar.

  Feeling better? he signed.

  Caesar nodded.

  Good, Rocket said. Then we can talk about escape. Apes together strong.

  The next morning, the Colonel came to see if Caesar was still alive. When he saw he was, he told Red to take Caesar to the quarry alone. But then he noticed the girl’s doll lying in the cage. He picked it up.

  Rocket told Caesar about the tunnels underneath the place. He watched as Rocket counted thirty-seven steps from the adult cage and fifty-five to the children’s. Then he signed those numbers to me; I was watching him through the glasses. That way we would know how far down the tunnels to go before digging upward.

  That evening, Red brought Caesar back to his cage.

  “You know, Colonel shoot apes when war is done,” Red told him.

  “His war is madness,” Caesar said. “It won’t save him. Any more than it will save you.”

  I save myself, Red said.

  “Is there anything left of you to save?” Caesar asked.

  Bad Ape and I were in the tunnels. We measured out the steps and began digging up, hoping we measured right, and that holes would appear in the cages rather than underneath a soldier.

  I left the girl to watch through the glasses. When the apes started going back to their cages, she came down to tell me.

  You’re very brave, I signed to her.

  She repeated the sign, as a question.

  Brave, I signed again, and made a fierce face. That made her smile.

  Ape? she asked. Me, ape?

  I thought how to answer that for a moment. Then I took the shiny thing Bad Ape had given her. I pointed to the word on it.

  You are Nova. I said it aloud. “Nova.”

  She liked that, too.

  Bad Ape came running up. As usual, he was excited. He wanted me to see his work.

  He had dug an upward hole at thirty-seven paces.

  I bent over so he could use my back as a step to get up into the hole.

  He poked his head up and found he was staring at the boot of a soldier, only a hand’s width away.

  Bad Ape stayed very still.

  Finally, the human moved out of the cage.

  Rocket saw him, though, and some of the others as well.

  This is the ape I told you about, Rocket said.

  In the tunnels, I realized water was leaking from the wall farther up, beneath the children’s cage. Soon it would flood the tunnels completely. There was a sort of round door; by shutting it I stopped the water. But now we wouldn’t be able to dig a hole to the young ones.

  The word of our troubles went up to the apes above. Though they could now escape, the thought of leaving the children was unbearable. Some apes became agitated. They made noise.

  Up on the wall, a human guard noticed. Fearing that he would come down, they grew quiet again.

  We must keep looking down there, Lake said. Find another way to reach the children.

  We must leave now, Caesar said. More soldiers are coming. Humans will destroy each other, and us with them. We’ll have to get the children out aboveground.

  How? Rocket asked.

  Caesar looked back up at the guard tower.

  I have an idea, he said. Then he told us.

  The ape cages were filthy. There was no place to defecate but the floor. Rocket scooped up a handful of filth and threw it at the human on the tower.

  It took the man a heartbeat or two to realize what was on the back of his head—and now his hand. But when he did figure it out, he flew into a rage.

  He rushed down the stairs and unlocked the gate, careful not to let his gun stray from us. He locked the cage behind him.

  “Which one of you did that?” he demanded.

  Just then another handful of muck hit him. He swung about wildly and saw Rocket glaring at him. He steadied his rifle and walked toward Rocket. Rocket showed him his dirty hand. The man raised his rifle to shoot, but he was where we wanted him, right by our hole. I reached up, grabbed his feet, and pulled him in.

  A moment later, once I had battered him into senselessness, I took the keys from the man and tossed them up. Then I handed the gun up to Rocket.

  We Free the Children: Rocket’s Tale

  Caesar and I leave the cage. We sneak over to the children’s cage and open it up.

  You see your father, Cornelius. You run over to him and jump in his arms.

  “I love you, son,” he whispers. I have never seen him exactly like that. He usually keeps that sort of feeling hidden. But he is so happy to be back with you. I understand. I only had one child, and I will never see him again. But Caesar still has Cornelius.

  We send the children up. They climb on
the wires above the camp and drop down into the adult cage. As soon as we return, apes start going down the hole. You go first, Cornelius. Then the rest of the children. Then the adults.

  Soon, only Caesar and I remain.

  Hurry, I said. Let’s go.

  But he is not looking at me. He is looking up at the Colonel’s window.

  Caesar, I say. What’s the matter?

  “Hurry,” Caesar says. “You must go.”

  Without you? I say. No.

  “Maurice was right,” Caesar says. “I am like Koba. He could not escape his hate. And I still cannot escape mine.”

  I watch him go, again. I want to go with him. Every time he tells me to leave him, something goes wrong. I think he needs me to back him up. But without Caesar, without Spear or Luca, the troop needs me more. So I go.

  Human War Begin: Bad Ape’s Tale

  (Bad Ape learned to write very quickly.)

  I never saw so many apes, and all kinds, too. Many more than at the zoo. I was scared, very scared, but also happy. Happy at so many apes, and now they free. Can go anywhere.

  But then the war started. Not between humans and apes. Between humans and humans.

  Flying things smashed into the human zoo, making big explosions. I could feel them in the air and in the ground. But flying things came out of the zoo, too.

  I had the glasses, and now I knew the right way to use them. I see more bad things coming, big machines in the sky. Helicopters. And machines rolling on the ground, too, and many, many soldiers.

  And we caught between the two human armies, trying to hide behind rocks. We tried to run behind rocks to get out of the way. Everything was exploding, everything on fire. I saw children in danger and covered them with my body. Never did anything like that before. Something brave, for other apes.

  Then humans in the zoo start shooting at us. I saw a big ape, a gorilla with them, helping human. I think maybe I’m not such a bad ape after all.