Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

by Greg Keyes

  “Hey, Charlie,” Dreyfus said.

  “Chief,” Paterno said, holding out a hand, and then he looked sheepish. “Sorry,” he said, “force of habit.” He paused. “Wish you were still the chief, though.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” Dreyfus said, clasping Paterno’s hand. He nodded at the mob. “How long has this been going on?”

  “No more than an hour,” Paterno said. “It was one of those flash crowds, or something. Like everyone suddenly had the same idea.”

  “They’re all sick?”

  “Some of them are just demanding antibiotics. You know, we’ve had about two dozen drugstore robberies this morning. They skipped over the usual painkillers and such, and went straight to the antibiotics.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Dreyfus said. “They’re probably worth more than cocaine right now.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw that some of the press had noticed him, and a camera crew was headed his way.

  “Hold the fort, Charlie,” he said. “This could get ugly real fast. I’m not the chief anymore, but if you want my advice, you’ll need more men here.”

  “I’ve asked for more,” Paterno said. “But a lot of officers called in sick, and the rest of us are stretched pretty thin.”

  “Well, you’re doing a hell of a job,” he said, getting it out just in time for Channel Five to record it.

  “Hi, Frances,” he said to the reporter. She was a slight, birdlike woman, but looking very competent in her dark blue suit.

  “Mr. Dreyfus,” she said. “I wonder if we can talk to you?”

  “Well, you’re talking, and I’m listening,” he replied.

  “You’re no longer the chief of police. What brings you down here today?”

  She held the microphone toward him.

  “I’m not the chief, but I still care about this city,” he said. “I wanted to see what was going on. Can’t really do that from my office, despite your fine reporting.”

  “Aren’t you worried about contracting the virus? You aren’t even wearing a respirator.”

  “Well, aren’t you, Ms. Chang? Worried, I mean?”

  “Well, this is my job,” she replied.

  “I’d like to think it’s mine a well,” he said. “I’ve tossed my hat into the political ring. The least I can do is inform myself of what our troubles really are.”

  “Do you—”

  She stopped as gunfire exploded, somewhere—first one shot, then a volley of them. Dreyfus ducked reflexively, his eyes picking through the crowd. He couldn’t see who was shooting, because the mob suddenly surged forward, engulfing the police near the door.

  “Oh, shit,” the reporter said. Then to her cameraman, “You didn’t get that, did you?”

  Paterno drew his pistol.

  “Best get out of here, sir,” he said.

  * * *

  Dreyfus saw why. Most of the mob was crushing itself into the hospital entrance, but a significant faction had turned toward Paterno and the other officers on the perimeter. Judging from that, he guessed that it must have been the police who started shooting, or that the crowd thought they had.

  “Murderers!” one of them shouted.

  Dreyfus didn’t really think about what he did next. He stepped in front of the officers.

  “Stop it,” he shouted. “Stop it right there!”

  But it didn’t look like they would. They didn’t seem to have a leader, as such, so he picked out the biggest man he saw—a fierce-looking fellow with copious tattoos and a brick-square face—and locked him with his gaze.

  “Don’t do this,” Dreyfus said.

  Taken aback by the direct address, the man did stop, and so did many of the others, more or less. Some continued to inch nearer. They were a motley collection—some were in suits, others in jeans or shorts and tie-dyed T-shirts. Most were on the younger side, but none of them seemed like people who would ordinarily charge at police.

  Except there was a certain look in their eyes, a look he had come to know all too well in his years on the force.

  “They started shooting,” the big man said. He thrust a finger at Paterno. “The cops started it.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Dreyfus said. “I didn’t see it. But this isn’t how to sort it out. I can tell you for a fact that these men behind me have done nothing but try to ensure your safety.”

  “There is no sorting this out,” a young woman screamed. “We’re all gonna die. They have the cure in there, and they won’t let us have it.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about a cure,” Dreyfus said, trying to keep his voice controlled and reasonable.

  * * *

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “It’s known, man,” someone else said. “It’s on Twitter!”

  About twenty cell phones shot up to corroborate his assertion.

  “I just want antibiotics,” the big fellow said. “I don’t know anything about any cure.”

  “Let’s just all calm down,” Dreyfus said. “You’re good people. I can see that. You don’t want to hurt anybody.”

  The madness was starting to fade in some of their eyes. More than a few glanced back at the mob that was still trying to funnel into the emergency entrance. There were no more gunshots, but there were plenty of screams.

  “Look,” Dreyfus said, pointing. “They’re trampling over each other. What’s that going to get them? Is that how we behave in this city?”

  A few started to look slightly ashamed, as if waking up hung over, and recalling all the stupid things they had done the night before.

  “I’m just scared,” a young woman with braids said. “I’m so freaking scared.”

  “So am I,” Dreyfus told her. “We all are. These men behind me are. But we don’t just turn on each other like this. We find solutions. I know that help is on the way. Medical help. I’ll see to it. I’ll see to it. It’s going to be okay.”

  And he saw belief kindle where the madness had been. If they asked him how he would see to it, he didn’t have an answer for them. And at the moment, he didn’t hold any position of authority, and couldn’t reasonably deliver on his promise.

  But they weren’t going to question him, because they wanted to believe. They had seen him on television many times as the chief, and most of them probably knew he was running for mayor, so in their minds he was somebody whose word could be trusted.

  Besides, he believed it himself. Come hell or high water, he would do something.

  * * *

  “There’s an easier way to do that,” Clancy said, from over Malakai’s shoulder.

  One of the contractors, a young woman named Sela, watched them with a bored expression. Corbin was pacing.

  “How so?” Malakai said, staring at the list of businesses on the screen.

  She leaned over and took control of the mouse.

  “Well, there’s a map, see? I put a point on it here, where we are, then hit ‘search nearby.’ Exactly what are you searching for?”

  “Supermarkets. Convenience stores. Any sort of market.”

  “Okay,” she said, typing as quickly as she could, despite the awkward angle. She typed in “supermarket” and a series of icons popped up.

  “The closest ones are in Mill Valley,” she said. “It’s not that far from the edge of the woods, but the apes would have to cross a lot of urban area. And go through whatever perimeter these guys have set up.”

  “You think they’re going grocery shopping?” Corbin said.

  “They need fruit,” Clancy said. “We’re just trying to figure out where they can get it.”

  “A small group of them could easily breach your perimeter,” Malakai added. “And they are not strangers to urban settings.”

  “Okay,” Corbin said, “but they don’t have the Internet. How will they find these places?”

  Malakai regarded the man for a moment, wondering just how long he could survive without computers, satellites, cell phones, and all the rest. Not long, he suspected.r />
  “By looking for them,” Malakai said finally.

  Corbin’s brow furrowed.

  “Sure,” he said. “By looking for them. Why didn’t I think of that? So now what?”

  “We call a few of the nearest stores and see if they’ve been broken into.”

  Corbin thought about that for a moment.

  “Okay,” he said. “Just watch what you say, okay? Communications are restricted.” He punched a button. “And it stays on speaker.”

  Malakai dialed the first number on his list.

  After a few rings, a woman picked up. Her voice sounded strained.

  “Baxter’s Market,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  “Hello,” Malakai replied. “I was wondering if you could tell me if your store has been recently burglarized.”

  “Is this some kind of security service?” She asked, after a brief pause. She sounded irritated. “Are you in India or someplace? We don’t accept solicitations on the store line.”

  “I’m not in India,” Malakai said, “And I am not a telemarketer. I am calling on behalf of the City of San Francisco. We’re doing a survey—”

  “Well, skip the survey and put more cops on the street,” the woman said. “Of course we’ve been broken into. Bottled water, medicine, beer, canned goods—cleaned us out.”

  “What about fruit?” Malakai asked.

  “Fruit? No, they left the fruit. Fruit goes bad. Do you even know what’s going on?” She paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re not in India?”

  “Thank you for your time,” Malakai said, and he hung up.

  “What was all of that about?” Clancy asked. “What does she mean by ‘what’s going on’?”

  “Never mind,” Corbin said. “Don’t pay any attention—she’s just a store clerk. Make the next call.”

  Malakai picked up the phone, then held it for a moment, considering.

  “Perhaps one of you should make the calls,” he said. “I think my accent is causing trouble.”

  “I’ll do it,” Clancy said.

  Her first two calls met with similar, if more courteous results. Yes, they had been robbed. No, the fruit wasn’t touched.

  The next call to Hong Tan Market got different results.

  “Yeah, all the fruit and pretty much nothing else,” the man said. “They came in at night. They took all the fresh fruit, but they got into the canned stuff, too, and the frozen. All the durian. We’re not a big place, but they got it all.” His voice turned a little suspicious. “How did you know?” he asked. “This isn’t some sort of prank is it? You’re not mocking me, are you?”

  “It’s not a prank, sir,” Clancy said. “Did the thieves eat it there? Were there skins or shells scattered around?”

  “No, it was just gone. I looked… holy shit! It was the monkeys, wasn’t it? The ones who came over the bridge—”

  “Hang up,” Corbin snapped. “Now.”

  Clancy looked darts at him, but she turned the phone off and placed it on the table.

  “So they’re eating,” Malakai said. “At least for now.”

  “Then what do we do, stake out Asian markets?”

  Malakai thumped his fingers rhythmically on the table, trying to decide what to say, but it was Clancy who spoke up.

  “They’re using a fission–fusion strategy,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Corbin demanded.

  Clancy looked Corbin straight in the eye.

  “I want you to swear to me right now that our mission is to locate these apes so they can be captured, and humanely,” she said.

  “Honey,” Corbin said, “I promise on my sainted grandmother’s grave. That’s the mission. We screwed up the other night—and that’s exactly why we brought you two in.”

  “Fine,” Clancy said. “Fission-fusion, then. Chimpanzees do it in the wild. When times are good, and they have plenty of food, they gather into larger social groups. When food is scarce, they break up into smaller groups and disperse. I think they’re adapting to this new environment. Instead of completely breaking up, they’re sending out small groups to forage for their larger community.”

  “How do you know they aren’t just playing ‘each ape for himself’?” Corbin said.

  “Because they didn’t eat any of the fruit where they found it,” Clancy replied. “None. They took it all with them.”

  “Okay,” he sighed, pushing back his hair. “So what does this mean?”

  Clancy leaned back in her chair.

  “So if you stake out the grocery stores,” she said, “you might catch a small group of them, but that’s all. And given how well they’ve been doing at dodging you, I wouldn’t even count on that.”

  “So we follow them back to the big group,” Corbin said.

  “Yes,” Clancy said. “Well, sort of. It would still be too hard to figure out which stores to watch.”

  “You think we should bring the fruit to them,” Malakai said.

  Clancy touched her nose with her forefinger.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Send someone into town to buy fruit—anything, but be sure to include some durian, if they can find it, and as stinky as possible. Most likely you’ll find it in Thai, Vietnamese, or Malaysian markets, at least in quantity. We can lay a trail of it to a central cache.”

  “Won’t they know it’s a trap?”

  “They might. But they need the fruit. Cut off their supply—increase your presence on the Mill Valley side of the woods, so they can’t forage in that direction.”

  Corbin nodded and reluctantly grinned.

  “You guys may finally be starting to earn your keep.”

  “Just remember your promise,” Clancy said.

  “Noted and logged,” Corbin replied. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Well, if you’re done in here, let’s lock up and turn in,” he said.

  “I’d like to stay for a while, do a little research,” Clancy said. “I might be able to refine the plan a little.”

  “This is a sensitive area,” Corbin said. “You’re not allowed in here unsupervised. And I’m tired of supervising for today.”

  Clancy shrugged.

  “Whatever,” she said. “I guess I am sleepy at that.”

  * * *

  Malakai had his doubts about that, so when he heard the faint creak of the door to Clancy’s room, he felt a little smile touch his face. He waited a few more moments and then rose himself. He watched her cross the dark compound to the command center and slip into the prefab building.

  He hesitated a moment, looking around. He didn’t see anyone. No alarms went off, yet he decided not to follow her. If he did, she would probably scream or something. Instead, he waited.

  It took longer than he had expected. It reminded him of standing on duty in a camp in Uganda, what seemed like a very long time ago. But that night the quiet had been broken by mortar shells, and then rifle fire. Nothing similar would happen here. Thinking about it, however, he had a vivid image of chimps armed with assault weapons and gorillas with rocket launchers, swarming into the compound, bent on exterminating the humans who were so determined to hound them. He shook his head at the impossibility of it.

  And yet…

  He stiffened as a sentry walked past, oblivious to him standing in the shadows. He checked his watch.

  Thirty minutes later, the man walked by again.

  When at last he saw Clancy re-emerging from the building, another twenty-nine minutes had passed, according to the radium dial of his watch. As she crossed the compound, he noticed the sentry about to turn the corner. Once he did that, he would spot her for certain.

  “Hey there!” he shouted, stepping from the shadow and moving toward the watchman. The man froze, lifting his gun. Malakai put his hands up and took a few steps to the side.

  “Hey, now,” he said, his voice lower. “There is no need for that.”

  “What are you doing out?”

  Malakai walked away from where Clancy had been. The sentry t
urned to follow him with the weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her freeze, then tiptoe past and into their hut.

  “Just looking for a smoke,” he said. “I thought you might have one.”

  “I don’t smoke,” the man said, lowering his weapon. “You shouldn’t either. It’s bad for you, and secondhand smoke kills.”

  “Ah, I’ve been thinking about quitting, anyhow,” Malakai said. “Perhaps you’ve inspired me.” He turned and went back inside, trying to ignore the itch he got whenever someone with a gun was behind him.

  Clancy was sitting in a chair next to the small table in the common room when he entered.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, as he approached.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  She nodded. He pulled the other chair up to the little table.

  “How did you know?” she asked. “You had a look in your eye,” he said. “I’ve seen it before. I’ve had it in my own eye, for that matter. How did you get in? They didn’t lock it?”

  “They did,” she said. “I jammed chewing gum in the hole in the strike plate while they were watching you fail at the computer.” She shrugged and looked up. “These huts don’t have high-tech locks.”

  “Well, what did you find?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Something,” she said at last. “Phillips—our boss, the guy running things here. He works for a multinational that owns, among other things, Anvil.”

  “Okay,” he said. “That I could have guessed.”

  “They also own a company called Gen Sys. The computer is lousy with Gen Sys files. I can’t read any of them because they’re encrypted.”

  He waited, figuring she would finish her point, but she didn’t. Then she saw the puzzlement in his eyes.

  “Gen Sys was the second place the apes liberated,” she said. “They were the company using apes for testing drugs.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” she said, “but it’s out there now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I managed to send a friend of mine an email. I’m pretty sure it won’t be detected unless they go through the whole system looking for it. Anyway, he’s a reporter. I asked him to check it out quietly and get back to me.”