“No apes!” said Kolp, firing another burst. “No apes at all!” This time, he fired at Caesar’s other side. He was guiding the ape, herding him, playing with him, turning him and moving him up toward Ape City. “You’ve forgotten what it is to have a master, haven’t you?” Kolp punctuated his words with fire and flame. The smell of it was intense and stifling. Caesar’s nostrils were scorched by the heat, and his eyes were watering from the smoke. His leg ached where it had been burned, and his head hurt where he had been struck. The rest of his body seemed weak and numb from the concussion that had knocked him out.
Above him, Kolp seemed to move in a cloud of gasoline fumes and flame. He belched smoke and fire, and his words blasted loudly through the red haze. “We could recondition you, Caesar. You could learn again what it is to have a master.”
He guided Caesar up the main street of Ape City, his jeep and gunners following slowly behind. “No apes, Caesar!” Burst of flame. “No apes at all!” Belching fire. “No apes anywhere!” Blasting heat. “No apes except the ones we choose to let live!” Burning hate. “In our zoos! Would you like that, Caesar?” Belching burning hate. “Or as our slaves! Perhaps you would prefer that—to be a slave again. At least you would be alive . . .” Red-fire-blasting, burning hate.
Heat and fire surrounded Caesar. He was confused and shaken; no matter where he tried to go, flames roared up in front of him. He was exhausted now. He was limping on all fours. He was crawling. He looked like an unevolved ape. “A slave, a slave,” the thought echoed through his mind. “It would be so nice to lake orders—no responsibility, no pain, no worry, no Aldo—no Ape City! No Lisa! No Cornelius—no Cornelius!”
Caesar stopped crawling. He stopped trying to get away. He stopped and looked back at Kolp.
Kolp noticed. And smiled. “Ahh, you’re learning,” he said. “That’s good. You’re a clever ape, Caesar. Very clever. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be one of the ones we let live. And then again, maybe not!” Another scorching blast of flame! Caesar twisted and dodged and tried to roll out of the way.
Kolp giggled at the sight. They were in the center of Ape City. Apes were all around him, on all sides, but not one had even dared move. None would. They were all staring aghast as he humiliated and destroyed their leader. After this, there would never again be an ape threat, not even an Ape City. They would be incapable of organizing. Ever. If any of them survived.
The ape crowd moaned with every burst of the flame thrower. They recoiled at every blast. They wailed and covered their eyes. One ape in particular—Lisa. Hearing the noise below, she had left her son’s body and come to the window, only to watch in horrified silence, the slow, step-by-burning-step, hateful, painful torture of her husband.
Kolp was just loosing a blast. “Crawl, ape!” he shouted. “Crawl!”
Caesar didn’t move. He stayed where he was, even though the flame was only inches from him.
“Crawl! I said, crawl!” Kolp’s voice rose in annoyance and anger. This ape was spoiling the game.
Caesar only glared back.
“I am your master. You will obey me. You will crawl!” This bloody, stupid ape was going to defy him! But he was Kolp! No ape defied Kolp! No ape embarrassed Kolp, not in front of other apes!
Caesar just glared.
“Crawl, ape. I said, crawl, you hear? I’m giving you one last chance. If you don’t start crawling, I’m going to kill you. I’ll burn you!” Kolp’s control was fraying. He was ready to end it now. He had to; the monster had defied him. “Crawl,” he said one more time, gesturing with the flame thrower.
But Caesar was through crawling. He gathered his strength for one last-ditch leap, a spring for Kolp. He tensed.
“All right! You forced me to do this. You did it yourself. It’s your own fault” Kolp raised the flame thrower.
A voice, a shout! “No, Kolp, no!” A female voice. Alma? Here? He whirled.
It was Lisa, clutching the window frame. Lisa? Lisa! An ape? Saying “no” to him?
And then Caesar was on him, pulling him down, pulling at the straps that held the flame thrower in place. They struggled, rolling in the dirt, Kolp kicking and lashing frenziedly, Caesar clawing and grabbing.
Kolp kicked Caesar away, trying to free himself. He rolled, half-twisted, trying to place himself between Caesar and the other mutants, trying to hold onto his flame thrower. And as he rolled the machine went off. The tongues of flame lashed out and touched the jeep. The mutant driver and gunners jumped out, rolling to extinguish the flames. The gasoline and ammunition exploded behind them, enveloping the vehicle in a ball of orange fire and a cloud of greasy smoke.
The blast crashed through Ape City, hurling Caesar and Kolp apart. Kolp was thrown aside where he fell, dazed and unconscious. Caesar rolled and somehow, miraculously, found himself on his feet.
“Caesar!” A voice called. It was Virgil, shouting and running. He tossed Caesar a gun.
Caesar caught it, released its safety catch with familiar efficiency. Watching him from above, Lisa hid her eyes. Caesar let off a short burst at a small crowd of mutants nearby.
Then, suddenly, all the apes began to fire at the mutants.
Startled by the sudden defeat of their leader, the mutants were caught off guard. They began running back down the slope, down the road. They scrambled and tripped over each other in their haste to escape the angry apes.
“Come on!” Caesar was shouting to his comrades. “Let’s fight like apes should! Come on! Kill the humans!”
All around him, chimpanzees and orangutans and gorillas cheered their support. They rallied around him and began charging after the fleeing mutants.
But more mutants were pouring down the road from the ridge. The bulk of the mutant army, a lumbering black mass of smoke-belching trucks, jeeps, and motorcycles, was heading eagerly toward Ape City. Kolp or no Kolp, they were bent on destruction.
The apes caught sight of this unstoppable juggernaut, and for a moment they faltered. They stopped in their tracks and moaned in fear. They wailed in fright, and one or two even dropped their weapons.
But Caesar was shouting, “Come on, apes! Defend your city!” And other apes, caught up in his passion, echoed his cries. “Get to the barricades! Kill the humans!”
The mass of the mutant army rolled on down the road toward them. They moved in a great cloud of dust and smoke and fumes, torching and burning whatever they encountered, leaving only ruins behind, heading inexorably for the apes.
They began letting off rounds, and the apes echoed their fire. The two armies were almost within range of each other now. They were about to touch—the barricaded apes and the rolling black Wehrmacht.
For a moment, the valley held its breath. And then Aldo and the surviving members of his gorilla cavalry, nearly a third of the original force, came down out of the hills above the road. They had regrouped and been tracking the mutants all the way. They appeared suddenly beneath the trees and came sweeping down on the unguarded flank of the mutant army, catching the mutants in a savage pincerlike movement between themselves and Caesar’s angry apes.
Caesar’s troops began firing at the suddenly disorganized mutants. Aldo uttered a throaty scream and charged. The gorillas waded into the mutants with flashing swords.
And machine guns! The gorillas had machine guns! And they knew how to use them. They fired indiscriminately into the mutant ranks at almost point-blank range. Horses fell, throwing their riders. They whinnied and fought for footing, stamping and kicking and trampling.
The mutant captains tried to organize their troops, tried to rally them. But even as they stood up and shouted, they were dying and their men were dying. It couldn’t be done. The men scrambled to desert an ancient school bus as a round of fire blasted out its windows. The gorillas were wielding their machine guns with a fanatic precision. A mutant on a motorcycle was chased by a gorilla on horseback—it was Aldo!