Caesar stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below, the river churned, gray and swollen. On the far bank, a column of black smoke rose from a burned-out Ape stronghold. His ears, still sharp despite the tinnitus of a thousand gunfights, caught the distant chatter of human voices. Laughter. They were laughing.
Caesar did not answer. His mind was no longer a place of strategy or hope. It had become a dark cave, and at the back of that cave sat a single, glowing ember: revenge. War for the Planet of the Apes
“The children are starving,” Maurice signed. “The horses are dead. We cannot run again.” Caesar stopped at the edge of a cliff
The night before, they had found the body of his eldest son, Blue Eyes. He had been sent to scout a northern passage. The humans had not just killed him. They had posed him. Tied to a cross of splintered pine, facing east—toward the rising sun, toward the hope he had been seeking. His ears, still sharp despite the tinnitus of
And on the human side of the river, the Colonel lit a cigar, looked at the dark forest, and whispered to his radioman:
“Then I will give him war,” he said. “But not his war. Mine.”