by Greg Keyes
So he and Milo go back in the house to sleep.
Koba wakes up with a lot people talking. They are everywhere in the house. Some of them are looking at Tommy. Most of them are looking at Milo and Koba.
“Easy there,” a man says, as Koba sits up.
“Crap, look at him,” someone else says. “Is animal control on the way?”
“They should be here any minute,” the first man says.
Koba can see outside.
Koba go outside, he signs.
“Watch it,” the second man says. “He’s doing something.”
Koba looks past the men. He points at outside.
The first man is now holding a thing like Tommy had pointed at him.
Koba go outside, he says again.
“You know,” one of the people says, “I think he might be trying to say something. You know, like those monkeys the scientists talk to?”
“This one looks like the chimp on that TV show,” Somebody else says, pointing at Milo. “He has that same mark on his face.”
“You can’t tell one of these things from another,” the second man says. “They’re all just dumb animals.”
“Well, I can sure tell these apart,” he says, pointing at Koba’s eye. “There’s no way I’d forget that.”
Koba knows then that the people won’t help him. He knows there is only one way he can go outside.
He bounds forward, over the couch where Tommy will never wake up, through the open door. He reaches the grass, feels it beneath his feet as he runs with every ounce of strength in his body.
They run after him. Koba sees a tree and scrambles up it. It is hard—all those days in the cage cause his muscles to cramp, but it still feels good as he climbs up toward the sky. This time he thinks he might touch it, because there is no cage, and he can keep going up, up, higher until no one can even see him.
Something hits him in the side, hard, and it hurts so much he almost loses his hold. He puts his hand there and finds something sticking out of it.
He looks down, and sees lots of people looking at him. Some of them are pointing. He sees Milo, being led on a leash toward a truck.
Then he turns and begins climbing again, but it’s more difficult now, and everything is going strange. His hands and feet seem very distant, not connected to him anymore. His heartbeat is like a little fly buzzing in his chest. The sky above seems to be moving around the tree.
The last thing Koba is aware of is falling. He feels as if he is in the sky.
13
David didn’t turn, as the voice had directed. He ran like hell. It wasn’t a strategy or the result of a conscious decision. It was just what he did.
This time he heard the high-pitched whine of a silenced gun firing sas he sprinted back toward Church Street, with nothing but open ground around him. Then he heard it again. He didn’t hear the third shot because he was too busy being hit by it. White heat blazed through his back and the ribs on his right side, and his lungs suddenly felt hot, as if he’d been running all day.
He stumbled, trying to keep his feet under him.
The only part of his brain still working was the part that wanted to live, which meant he had to keep running, no matter what.
Except he couldn’t.
“Hey!” he heard someone shout, and realized it was the old man with the dog. He was holding a pistol.
Shit, David thought.
He heard the thwimp of the silenced weapon, then the explosion of the decidedly unquiet weapon in the old man’s hand—once, twice, three times. David lay there, feeling the blood leaking through his ribs, wondering why he wasn’t dead yet.
He finally lifted his head and saw the soles of the old man’s feet, close by and pointed at him. When he turned around, he saw a younger man with dark glasses, lying in a similar position.
David sat up cautiously. He saw a few people running away—everyone else had already gone.
He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. The old man was clearly dead, but he checked for a pulse anyway. The dog, a Pomeranian, whined and licked at his deceased master’s face. The other guy—the one who had tried to kill him—had a bloody hole where his nose once had been, and another in the middle of his chest.
David stumbled back to his knees and began to vomit. When he was finally done with that, he shakily took out his cell phone and dialed 911.
The phone told him that the network was overloaded.
He looked around. There wasn’t another soul to be seen.
Swearing at the pain in his side, trying to get his thoughts in order, he began searching through the murderer’s jacket. He took his wallet and his phone, but didn’t find anything else of significance.
Then he left the scene, limping, holding his side. He stopped and looked at the old man again, then at the body of Linda’s sister.
God, what have I done? he thought.
He couldn’t think of where he should go. All of the hospitals were slammed, and if he went to one, he would probably catch the plague anyway. He had a first-aid kit at home, but going there seemed like a bad idea. Had they followed her or him to the meeting? Was his phone tapped? What if another guy with a gun was waiting for him at his apartment?
How did he have a hole in him? How could someone shoot three people in a city park? This happened to other people, not to him. Other people in other places.
But now it was happening to everyone, wasn’t it? He felt a sudden plummet in his gut as he realized how fragile civilization really was. All of this steel and stone and glass around him seemed strong, durable, and dependable. It was built to withstand earthquakes.
But a civilization wasn’t made up of its buildings. The pyramids had outlasted the pharaohs and the Colosseum remained long after the Roman Empire. Civilization, in the end, was about rules and norms that people agreed to follow. And that was weaker than tissue. He remembered a satirical article he’d once read, about people who had resorted to cannibalism after being stuck in an elevator for fifteen minutes. He’d thought it was hilarious at the time.
Now it didn’t seem funny at all.
He needed an emergency room, but he knew they were all slammed.
Talia, he realized, then. She didn’t live far from here.
* * *
He buzzed five times before she answered.
“Who the hell is it?” the intercom crackled.
“David,” he said. “Talia, it’s David Flynn.”
He heard the intercom click off, then back on.
“David, I just pulled a seventy-hour shift,” she said. “I’m not in the mood—”
“I’ve been shot, Talia,” he sobbed. “I don’t know where else to go.”
“Shit.” A pause. Then the door clicked. “Get in,” she said. “Wait for me in the foyer.”
She was down a few minutes later, wearing flannel pajamas and slippers. She had a tote bag with her.
“David?” she said, kneeling beside him.
“Thanks, Talia,” he murmured as she examined his wound.
“Damn,” she said.
“Is it that bad?”
“It could be a lot worse,” she replied. “You’ve made it this far. Let’s get you upstairs.”
She helped him to the elevator and up to her apartment. She had gotten a new couch since he had last seen it, and moved things around. It looked like she still lived alone, though.
She moved him to the bathroom and pulled his shirt off.
“How did this happen?” she asked, as she examined the wound more closely.
“I met a source in Delores Park,” he said. “Somebody shot her, then shot me. Then someone shot him… Ow!”
“That’s a lot of shooting,” she observed.
“Some old guy walking his dog just happened to have a gun, or I’d be dead.”
“I think probably everyone who owns a piece is carrying it right now,” she told him. “I’ve seen more gunshot wounds in the last few days than in my entire career.” She looked over at h
im. He’d forgotten what beautiful, dark eyes she had.
“I think it just went through the ribs,” she said. “I don’t think it nicked your intestines. If they were perforated, that would be bad. Still, there’s enough tissue damage that some of it might go necrotic.”
“How bad is that?” he asked. “Can you fix it?”
“I can sew it up,” she said. “Stop the bleeding. But you need antibiotics, which I don’t have here.” She caught his gaze and held it. “I don’t have any anesthetic, either.”
“How about vodka?” he asked.
“You know me that well, anyway,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
David woke up, head throbbing, and realized that between the pain and the vodka he had made it all the way through the operation. He was lying on Talia’s bed. She had cleaned and sewn him up in the tub, and so she had stripped him down. He was still naked.
She lay about a foot away. She had changed pajamas.
He contemplated the fact that he had never seen Talia in pajamas. Lingerie, yes. T-shirt, yes. Birthday suit, check. Never pajamas. He didn’t even know she owned any. And they had seen each other for the better part of a year. It had been good, really good, but then things had gotten busy for both of them, and they hung out less and less. Nowadays he never saw her in the bars and restaurants where they used to go. He guessed that she was either too busy at work, or had hooked up with a different crowd.
Fortunately for him, she hadn’t moved to a different apartment.
She stirred, and her eyes flickered open.
“Well,” she said, smiling. “You finally stayed the night. How about that.”
“I never stayed over?” he said, trying to remember. “That was stupid of me.”
“No, that was just you,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hammered while someone worked a needle into and out of my skin.”
She touched his cheek, and for just an instant he thought it was a gesture of affection.
“You’re warm,” she said. “I should check your temperature. And you need to hydrate.”
She brought him orange juice, and found that his temperature was just over a hundred.
“I go back on shift this afternoon,” she said. “But I’ll try to get you some antibiotics before that.”
She looked so tired. “You should rest,” he said.
“I got a few hours of sleep,” she said. “It’ll do. Hey, I’m young, right?”
“It’s bad out there, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded.
“And getting worse,” she said. “Half the staff are down with it.”
“Don’t go back,” he said. “Just don’t go back.”
She gave him another weary little smile.
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” she told him. “But too many have already taken a walk. Somebody has to try.” She patted his arm. “I’ll be back. Hopefully with antibiotics.” She rose, went to her closet, and selected a pair of scrubs.
“Talia,” he asked. “Why did we stop hanging out?”
She looked down then, frowning a little.
“I liked you,” she said. “A lot.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I liked you, too.”
She drew her gaze up to meet his.
“I was tired of liking you,” she replied. Then she left the room. A little while later, he heard the front door open and close.
He lay there for a moment, then gingerly levered himself up. He went into the living room, got the satchel, and brought it back to the bed. Inside were an ultralight laptop and several file folders. He switched on the laptop and waited for it to boot up as he flipped through the files.
“Holy shit,” he said, after a moment. He found his cell phone, but he didn’t have any service, so he picked up Talia’s landline and called his editor.
“Sage,” he said, when he got hold of her. “Flynn here.”
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “I have an assignment for you.”
“I’ve already got a story,” he said. “You’re going to want to leave some space on page one. And if you’ve got anybody inside the mayor’s office, I’m going to need to get a couple of things vetted.”
“You’re going to have to give me a taste,” she said.
* * *
When he was done, there was silence on the line for four, five, six heartbeats.
“You’re sure about this?”
“I’ve got original Gen Sys documents,” he said. “Paper and ink. With signatures. I just want to see if we can get corroborating information from House’s office.”
“I think I can swing that,” she said. “Are you at your place?”
“No,” he said. “Somebody actually tried to kill me, if you can believe it.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. He shot my source, and he shot me. Then someone shot him—it gets complicated.”
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you safe?” “Yeah. You can reach me at this number. Do not give it to anyone else.”
“Don’t you need medical attention?” “I’ve got the best I’m likely to get,” he said. “Just get that stuff for me.”
“I’ll get back to you,” she said. “Go, write. You’ve got six hours.”
14
One of Rocket’s scouts dropped down from the higher branches. Caesar saw that he was agitated.
What?
Humans, the scout said. That way, coming this way. Many.
Caesar frowned in frustration. He’d hoped the trick with the white rectangles would have kept them busy for a longer time. But here they were again, the very next day. Would they ever give up?
He was starting to believe they wouldn’t.
Show me, Caesar signed. He motioned for the rest of his band to follow.
He chased the chimp through the treetops. The scout’s name was Jojo, and when Caesar caught a flash of his face, he saw that the agitation had been replaced by pure joy. Until they freed him, he hand never been outside. At first he had been terrified, but now he had embraced his new existence, his life as it should always have been. A lot of the apes were like this. It was as if they were waking up from a long sleep.
For some, a sleep that had begun at birth.
Eventually Jojo slowed and, down through the trees, Caesar could see the humans. It was hard to count accurately through the leaves, but Jojo was right—there was a lot of them, mostly with guns, moving in the general direction of the troop. Furthermore, they were walking side by side, spread out in a long line. This would make it easier for them to find what they were looking for.
He turned to Jojo.
Return to Rocket, he said. Tell him I’m leading them to the sunset side of the mountain. Tell Rocket to go to Maurice, have him move the troop up the valley to the sunrise side.
He glanced back down at the humans, passing beneath him. Then he glanced at Koba, and saw how taut his muscles were, every inch of him a threat.
Koba, he signed. Stay high in the trees, follow, warn us of flying things.
Koba stared at him for a moment, then acknowledged.
As Caesar turned back to his band, one of the humans looked up, and their gazes locked.
He had known many human expressions: kindness, love, fear, anger. He had seen meanness in the eyes of Dodge, his “caregiver” back at the shelter.
The gaze of this man was made of something he had never seen, and could hardly understand. But it felt very, very dangerous.
Then other heads turned toward him.
Follow me, he signed. Then he flung himself from limb to limb, down, toward the forest floor. He heard the humans shout as they caught sight of him and his band, and he began the chase. A glance back showed them following.
He felt a prickling on his exposed back, and expected them to start shooting at any moment, but for some reason they did not. That made things a little easier, since the trick was to keep them following, and avoid getting kil
led.
* * *
When Koba reached the top of the trees, he glanced around, but didn’t see anything in the air. He did see the city where the humans dwelt—where he had dwelt, where his mother had died, and he had been tortured.
Why had Caesar put him in the high canopy? The other chimps in the band had better eyesight. After all, he only had one eye. He would be more useful down there, where he could fight.
But it was good up there, so near the sky. He reached for it, but it was still too far away. How far could it be?
Koba shook his gaze from the heavens and refocused on his job. From this vantage point he could see what transpired below, but he was starting to realize something. There weren’t as many humans as he had thought chasing Caesar’s band. It looked like only eight or nine, at most.
He was trying to figure out what that meant when the unmistakable sound of the flying cages reached his ears. He scanned the sky, and saw the source of the sound. They were in the distance, not moving toward Caesar at all.
They were flying toward the troop.
* * *
Suddenly there was a crashing in the tree branches above. Caesar looked up as Koba came hurtling down. He was trying to swing and gesture at the same time. He kept pointing up, so finally Caesar peeled off from the band and followed him. They reached the treetops, and from there he saw the helicopters.
Most not chase you, Koba signed.
And Caesar suddenly understood. This time he had been tricked. The helicopters were moving toward the troop.
Koba, find Rocket. Bring him to the troop, he commanded. Then he turned and raced back the way he had come. As he whipped over the heads of the humans this time, they started firing at him, but within seconds he was beyond their sight, swinging as fast as he could, hoping he wasn’t too late.
* * *
The ape was gone, rushing off through the trees, but the fierce intelligence of his gaze remained with Malakai. It was like nothing he had ever seen in an ape.
He remembered the first gorilla had had ever seen, when he was with his uncle. There had been something there—an awareness, something on the level of a child, but caged in an outsized body. He had recognized a cousin, but knew it was a distant one.
When his uncle had shot it, the gorilla looked confused. It kept touching the hole and making pitiful noises. He asked his uncle to shoot it again, to make the sounds stop.
