Beneath the Planet of the Apes - Avallone Michael (книга бесплатный формат .txt) 📗
They moved as fast as the terrain would allow.
Brent kept the horse at a careful trot, eyes peeled for trouble. The girl clung to him, her lithe body almost a part of his own. Any other time, any other place, it would have been an extraordinarily pleasant sensation, but not now. Brent’s mind was far too filled with the horror of Ape City to heed it.
His consciousness, his mentality, was too busy fighting off an assault of total unreality. The crash landing, the Time jump, Skipper’s death, the remarkable news about Taylor—all of it had made his sanity teeter precariously toward complete incoherence. His brain was filled with pictures and images of apes talking, apes acting like doctors, apes rolling up and reading maps . . .
But he pushed the horse on, the soldier in him still on duty. The habits of a lifetime are hard to break.
When the single rifle shot cracked out and the horse beneath him suddenly reeled in a headlong plunge to the earth, he responded almost like an automaton. The air blazed with more gunfire and then he was vaguely aware of himself and the girl, up and running; breaking like startled rabbits for the nearest cover. He heard Nova cry out in fear. His mind was perforated with frenzy. He ran madly, pulling the girl, trying to see from which point the danger came. And then time and place overwhelmed him. And doom.
Gorillas were charging them from all points of the compass. Armed gorillas, brandishing truncheons, pointing rifles. Leather-jacketed troops of some insane sort of militia. They bounded in closer and Brent whirled to fight. His eyes bulged in terror. He could now smell the zoolike aura of their bodies, could almost see the fierce intelligence in their beady black eyes. Nova screamed again. Brent struck out wildly, burying his fist on a simian snout. But they closed in on him and the girl. A swarm of brute force. Helmeted, uniformed, and oddly silent and efficient. Brent went down under a weight of bodies. Coarse, leathery hands raked him. Gorilla claws plucked at his flesh. He tried to lash out, lock away, but he was borne to the soft earth, his nostrils filled with the singular stink of defeat. His mind clouded over. They were spread-eagling him on the ground, as helpless as any chicken with a wolf pack. A rough leather collar with a long, trailing leash was slung around his neck. Nova was being similarly manhandled. Gorilla-handled? Brent strove to laugh at the bitter irony of the whole situation. But he couldn’t. His throat was like ashes. The gorilla smell and the gorilla might boxed in his senses like an awesome reversal of all the norms in any man’s universe.
Low growls and snorts emanated from his captors. But no words. Which somehow only made it worse.
The militia of gorillas led Brent and Nova away, dragging them by the long leashes off through the scrub toward—what?
Brent did not even want to speculate.
All he could remember and think of until it burned like a hot poker in his skull was Cornelius’ warning: Never speak. If they catch you speaking, they will dissect you. And then they will kill you. In that order.
There was no danger of Nova speaking.
Brent only fully realized the extent of his predicament when he and Nova were literally hurled through the gates of a human pen and the barred doors swung shut. It took only one look to understand to what incredible degree Man had fallen and the Ape had risen.
For here, locked up in wooden cages, were dozens of humans. Emaciated to the point of starvation, filthy, festered with sores, some of them howling like wild dogs, some of them dying, some of them possibly already dead. All in all, a thoroughly hopeless and helpless amalgam of savagery, stupidity and total ignorance of man’s basic superiority to his ape jailers.
Nova shrank against Brent in one corner of the horrible cage, trembling. Brent tried to hang on to his nerve. It wasn’t easy.
The awful stench of the place, the terrible sight of the gorilla guards on duty beyond the barred walls, was enough to drive a sane man right out of his mind. What was left of it.
But Brent kept his lips closed, trying not to cry out, in the name of God and science, for help.
He remembered what Cornelius had told him.
He would have to wait.
The horrors mounted.
No more than an hour later, two horse-drawn cage wagons, each driven by a gorilla teamster, clattered up outside their filthy pen. Brent felt a ray of hope. For standing outside their cage was Cornelius! Cornelius in his long coat and trousers, busy with pad and pencil. With him was an armed gorilla guard. And unless he was hearing things, Cornelius was in the process of selecting humans for research! The regular guards were manhandling at least six of the wretched human tide into one of the carts, acting obviously on Cornelius’ instructions. There was a great howling and resistance put up by the humans, but effective slashes of rubber truncheons and leather whips were making the fight pitifully inadequate. Cornelius displayed no emotion at this. Brent grit his teeth, hanging onto Nova. There was so much he couldn’t understand.
A sergeant rode up, his three stripes glowing in the glare of sunlight. The gorilla face was a mockery beneath billed cap. The sergeant barked at the guard with Cornelius: “Twenty required on Number Two Range for C Company target practice. Jump to it!”
Now more humans were thrust into the two cage-carts. Brent and Nova were manhandled out of the pen, pushed toward the first waiting cart. But suddenly Cornelius seemed to spot them and came forward, holding up a delaying paw. The guards holding Brent and the girl waited for his instructions.
“Stop a minute,” Cornelius said coolly.
He approached Brent, his face without expression, and appraised the face before him. He jabbed his fingers into Brent’s jawbone, explored his cranium. Brent strove to maintain a calm he didn’t feel. Then Cornelius lifted Nova’s eyelid, all the while murmuring some impressive medical gibberish. As if musing half aloud to himself.
“Brachycocephalic—and prognathous . . . incipient glaucoma . . . hmmm.” He raised his voice, for the guards’ benefit. “We could do with these two.” He signaled for Brent and Nova to be put aside for further examination and study.
The mounted sergeant spurred closer, his tone surly and insolent. And impatient. His right hand bore a menacing truncheon.
“Required for human target practice on Number Two Range,” he repeated. “Captain Odo’s orders.”
Cornelius stared up at him icily.
“Required for cranial research by order of Dr. Zaius, Minister of Science.” With that, he turned to the guards and indicated the second wagon. “Load them up.”
The sergeant snarled, but whipped his horse around angrily and trotted off. Brent and Nova now found themselves hustled into the second cage-cart. The door clanged shut behind them. Up front, the gorilla driver cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward. Brent stared through the bars of the cage at Cornelius. But Cornelius had returned to his study and examination of the rest of the filthy pack remaining in the big human pen. Business as usual! Once more, Brent could only muffle his astonishment and anger. He was perplexed.
Nor did the wagon journey through the streets of Ape City lessen his aggravation. Through the bars, with the silent Nova ever just behind him, he witnessed even more of the spectacle of a world gone topsy-turvy. A universe insane. As they made for the outskirts of the complex, he could see many signs of some kind of military preparations: apes in close-order drill, apes taking courses in the use of the bayonet, apes stabbing dummies made up to resemble humans, apes going through the paces of rifle instruction. Ape City—if all the evidence was to be trusted—seemed to be making ready for some invasion or sortie. Was the city under siege? Had the humans somehow gotten back to their former level and threatened the apes with total extinction? It was too much to hope for.
