Quiet reigned for a time as Caesar sat by the fire. He was not often alone, and before long a figure came loping up the ramp that led to Caesar's home. The bonobo waited for Caesar's permission before approaching and as he did, his attention focused into the impenetrable depths of the cave. Though its sleeping occupant was not visible, Koba's craggy features were further marred with distrust.
I do not like anything about this, he signed as he joined his leader, his hands casting shadows on the ground.
You know I initially shared your doubts, Caesar responded. But what future do we have without family?
We are already a family.
Caesar smiled in fond acknowledgment.
Apes are strong, Koba insisted. Human blood will make us weak. His signing grew more erratic, and he humphed with disgust. Their taint will be on our children. It will poison us.
Caesar shot Koba a level stare. Would it be better to die out, to fade into nothing, as if we never were?
Koba did not respond, but lowered his head in submission. Caesar sighed, the tension subsiding. Besides, nothing may come of it.
Koba snorted with satisfaction at that. How long must this human stay?
The pair sat in silence – one fidgeting, the other contained – before Caesar caught his advisor's attention again, signing firmly, If by spring, there is no result, she will go.
Koba looked pleased, but knew not to push any further. Instead he changed the subject. You will hunt with us tomorrow?
Be ready before first light, Caesar signed, and rose to let Koba know he was dismissed.
The first of the morning birds were trilling, the cave still and shadowed with the last indigo remnants of night.
You'd always been a light sleeper, especially in unfamiliar surroundings, but it was a deep and dreamless slumber you awakened from. Your forehead was chilly above the bear pelt that cocooned you, and on either side of you the nest was empty. If Caesar had been here while you slept, you hadn't felt it.
Your fingers were stiff with cold as you dressed, and you hoisted the heavy pelt and wrapped it snugly around yourself. Your mouth was dry, and your gourd empty; and though you knew the stream would be frigid, you craved at least a quick wash.
The courtyard was quiet and empty as you skirted around it, a scattered few apes moving about at the fringes. You kept your head down, wishing you could pass by invisibly.
You wondered if they could smell Caesar on you.
When you reached the creek you traveled downstream, to lessen the chance of encountering anyone. The first colorless rays of sunlight filtered through the mist, and the echoing rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker far above punctuated the stillness of dawn. Over the past weeks the fog had rolled in, like a quilt that muffled sound and dampened hair and brought the bone-deep cold with it.
You found a suitable place, where the stream crooked through a copse of alder saplings, and draped your coat over a low branch before stripping from the waist down. You steeled yourself and plunged in up to the knees, regretting it immediately and swearing at the icy current. You hurried to wash your groin and thighs and beat a hasty retreat to the bank.
You hadn't thought Caesar had been particularly rough last night, but there was still a lingering discomfort making itself known as you huddled on a convenient dry rock. He was large, and powerful, his bicep alone twice the size of yours. How much of his strength had he been holding back?
You splashed your grimy face, and decided to give your underwear a wash as well. You'd have to go back to the camper for more clothing – though you no longer knew where that was. It must be far, or else you would've encountered apes before now. Your trousers stuck to your clammy skin as you tugged them on commando, then your coat, and dried your feet vigorously with the pelt before stuffing them back into socks and boots. You should've brought your gourd to refill, you chided yourself, and bent to scoop a handful of water and drink thirstily.
When you raised your head your heart clenched with a shot of startled adrenaline. Apes were materializing from the trees, dark shapes appearing among the criss-cross of the branches.
You understood now why the village had been so quiet.
The scene was breathtaking. Their faces were caked in white, bodies dappled with myriad designs and embellished here and there by touches of red or blue. Here and there among the group were riders on horseback, several of whom dragged a fresh elk carcass on a litter. But despite their ferocious appearance the mood among the band seemed light. Success made them jovial, their expressions relaxed and open, and you could see many hands moving as they joked and conversed with each other.
At the front of the band rode an ape whose height and bearing, despite his chalked face, were instantly recognizable. Caesar was magnificent in the paint, and deadly intimidating. A scarlet streak slashed down from his hairline between his eyes, with white arcs on his chest corresponding to his ribs. It took him no more than a heartbeat to spot you, and you felt almost as if you'd been caught out in your undisguised gawking.
Handling his mount with an ease born of much practice he split from the other riders, fording the shallow creek and stopping short just next to you.
Had you encountered this primordial warrior under other circumstances, you would've been terrified to tears.
"Far from village," he rumbled.
"Yes – well, I – " You sent out a silent thanks to the universe that the apes hadn't come across your bathing spot just a few minutes earlier. "I was washing. My clothes. I need more clothes."
Caesar digested that. "Can take you... to camper," he affirmed, and though you hadn't expected him to refuse, you were relieved, and smiled your gratitude anyway.
"Return with us," he continued gravely. The last of the hunting party was trickling away in the direction of the colony. "See... how to... prepare meat."
He was offering to let the apes teach you, you realized, and your heart jumped again, this time with enthusiasm. He reached for your bear fur, tossing it lengthwise over his horse's rump, then extended his hand again for yours.
You had only to consider the chill mist and the long walk back to accept. You took his hand, bracing to pull yourself up onto the pelt. But instead of seating you behind him he swung you up in front, as easily as if you'd weighed nothing at all, and spurred the horse into a brisk trot.
At the forward momentum you were bounced back into Caesar's chest. One muscular forearm clamped around your waist, the other controlling the reins as he held you secure. Your ass slotted indecently into the V of his powerful thighs as the horse's gait created an unavoidable and near-obscene friction.
"You eat?" Caesar's question vibrated against your back, and you shook your head. You couldn't see his reaction, but his huff sounded disapproving.
"Food stores in cave," he chided. "Ask Leaf."
"I don't know how," you reminded. He lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
"Can show you," he said decisively after a while.
"How to sign?" You rotated in place to look up at him. He released his hold on your waist to shape his hand into a loose C, raising it by his eye.
"Caesar," he intoned.
You copied the movement, eyes meeting through the frames of your hands. "Caesar."
He steered his horse back towards the group, breaking into a rolling canter to catch up to the front. You clutched at the base of the horse's mane for support, but his arm came around you again, solid as an iron band.
Caesar rode up next to the young blue-eyed chimp, also on horseback, and he slowed to a walk and drew up close to get his attention.
"My son," Caesar said in your ear, confirming what you'd suspected.
Blue Eyes looked you over with reserved curiosity, his lips parting as though he were about to attempt to speak, then thought better of it.
Caesar signed something one-handed to him, and Blue Eyes considered, then began to sign to you. You mimicked, following him through a dozen or so signs as Caesar provided each word – hungry, cold, water, where, thank you. You repeated under your breath, forcing your brain to associate the words with their correct signs.
Blue Eyes placed his thumb to his forehead, open palm upright.
"Father," Caesar supplied, his voice warming. You turned to see him raise his own hand to his temple as if in a relaxed salute, bringing it down across his chest. "Son."
You smiled at the obvious affection between them, but the mood was broken when Caesar's attention slipped past Blue Eyes to the scarred bonobo trotting past on horseback.
Caesar showed you a loosely curled hand to his throat, then tipped his chin toward the newcomer. "Koba."
Koba did not acknowledge you, let alone join the impromptu lesson, merely jutted his chin in greeting to Caesar and urged his horse on. You glanced up at Caesar. If the terse retreat bothered him, it did not show.
As you rode up the track leading to the village you were greeted by a chorus of whoops and hollers, apes immediately descending on the elk. Caesar dismounted first, and as you swung your leg over to slide off he reached up for you, hands almost spanning your waist as he lowered you deftly to the ground. Face to face, the paint was even more imposing, his green-gold eyes vivid against the white.
"Thanks," you murmured. He hadn't let you go.
Your cheeks flushed at the prolonged contact, but the apes around you were too distracted by the excitement of the successful hunt to pay your personal affairs any mind. As Caesar took a step back at last you straightened, fiddling aimlessly with your jacket zipper as he engaged in a brief signed conversation with what you guessed was a senior female.
The work of skinning and butchering the elk was beginning already and the female tugged you by your sleeve over to a work area beneath a wide domed roof. With a parting glance back over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Caesar's retreating back among the advisors who seemed ever by his side.
It didn't take long to realize you'd been assigned the most undesirable task – getting rid of the unwanted offal. The innards were slippery and steaming and you fought the urge to gag with each handful. You'd tossed aside your jacket and rolled up your sleeves, and and your forearms were stained pink halfway up to your elbows. But you squashed the nausea, focusing instead on trying not to breathe through your nose.
The apes chopping up the carcasses seemed rather tickled at having foisted this onto the unsuspecting human. But when you'd dumped basket after basket of guts and hooves and eyeballs in the river without complaint, Leaf finally appeared and took pity, gesturing you over to demonstrate how to prepare the freshly removed hides. With knives – some human-manufactured, others tear-shaped rocks with hammered-sharp edges – the remainders of fat and tissue were scraped away, each skin stretched tight over a rack when it was deemed clean enough.
It was an unexpected and humbling reversal of evolution, learning this way, with the soft hoots and grunts surrounding you and the scent of roasting meat wafting through the air. As you worked you slowly figured out the technique, and as your pace improved the apes nearby seemed to warm to you. Time had flown and the sun was high in the sky now, bright where it managed to sneak through the clouds. Hides were finished and set to dry, hands washed, and you were urged along with them to where others tended the cooking meat.
Spirits were high, and everyone ate with relish. Hunting day must be the exception to their lack of afternoon meal. It seemed that much of the elk would be saved for jerky, and in between mouthfuls some of the apes were already cutting it into thin strips and stringing them up to dry. You hadn't seen whether or not the meat had been seasoned in any form, but it was tender and smoky and you ate until you couldn't remember ever being so full.
You could tell the moment Caesar appeared behind you. There was a change in the countenance of the apes you sat with – not alarm, but a respectful awareness. You craned your neck up.
"Come with me," he said, and like a marionette on strings you rose.
As you walked next to him up to his cave your pulse took on a more rapid tempo. As he entered, and approached the nest, it accelerated into overdrive.
"In the middle of the day?" you hissed, stopping short at the mouth of the cave. Unimpressed at your protest, Caesar looked back out over the courtyard. Nobody was paying the slightest attention. The paint only deepened his frown lines and though you weren't really afraid of him, there was that animal part of your hindbrain that insisted yes, oh yes, you were.
"Come," he repeated, more forcefully.
You obeyed.
Instead of going to the nest he passed it, to the furthest corner of the cave. To your surprise there was a near-invisible gap in the wall you hadn't noticed before, partly concealed by an overhang of rock. Following him into it, you had to squint in the gloom, until a calloused hand enfolded yours and led you along the narrow passage.
For several minutes you walked, sensing with each cautious step you were going slightly uphill, until a faint rushing sound became audible. Without warning the tunnel ended and you emerged into a small, dim cave. Through a jagged hole in the ceiling poured a slim waterfall, coursing along slick black rocks for a foot or two before disappearing into the ground. You reached out into the pillar of falling water, its pressure flaking away the dried elk blood.
"Can wash here from now on," Caesar informed you. The waterfall misted him with tiny droplets, studding his fur like gems.
Embarrassment heated your cheeks. "Did you – was I seen bathing?"
Caesar shook his head. "But cave has more... privacy."
"Maybe that's weird to apes," you mused aloud.
"Humans are humans," he said with a shrug of one broad shoulder, as you rubbed water up to your elbows. "Always clothes. Always washing. No sex in day time."
Your head snapped back to him. Even in the low light you could see the crinkle at the edges of his eyes, the wry curve to his chalked mouth.
He was flirting, you realized with a shock. Caesar was flirting with you.
A not-unpleasant sensation fluttered in your belly and you ducked your head, suddenly very interested in scrubbing your hands. When you cast a glance back at him his features were arranged once more in neutrality.
As you exited the cave he captured your hand again, unprompted. It was warm and dry, and yours was all but hidden within it. You knew the gesture was only to keep you from stumbling around blind, and you decided this made it acceptable for you to appreciate it.
"How do you know how to speak?" It seemed easier to ask this personal question now, in the dark.
"Lived with humans." His answer was detached, distant. "Before."
"None of the others speak."
"Only sometimes. Sign is easier." For a time there was only the scrape of loose pebbles and the sound of footsteps – yours little thuds, his almost soundless. "Not all ape, learn speech from humans."
You could recall bits and pieces of Golden Gate Bridge incident from the news. The footage was faded in your memory now but you could visualize the smoking bridge, apes flowing around the stopped cars like dark water, headed to the redwoods. You knew they'd escaped from a sanctuary of some kind, and others from a laboratory. People had jokingly called it "monkey-gate." For a week or two, anyway. Until the Flu. Nobody joked about that.
Everyone here had a story, a past; aside from Blue Eyes and perhaps a couple others, all had been alive before the pandemic. Many undoubtedly had good reason to distrust humans.
"Can you show me where the waterfall resurfaces?" you asked, just for something to say.
"Not far," he responded, as you came back out into his cave. "I cannot... take you, there are... things I must do... but can show the path."
He released your hand, and you flexed your own unconsciously as you moved past the nest. It looked cozy, with its rumpled furs and inviting shape, and utterly innocent in the light of day.
Your lingering attention didn't fly under the radar of Caesar's notice, and you slid your gaze away in a manner you hoped was natural. Judging from his expression, you failed.
"Later," he said, and though he tossed the word over his shoulder off-hand as he left, in his voice was a promise.
The waterfall was nice. It tumbled down the cliff wall at least four hundred feet, and you climbed down the steep, lush path to where it cascaded into a deep pool and bubbled away through the trees. The sound of the churning water was soothing.
Dinner was nice, too – more elk, with a side of roasted seeds. Several of the chimps you'd worked with today were congenial, showing you a few more signs and squealing with with uproarious laughter as you accidentally signed something comical instead. The weather was milder than it had been, a welcome but undoubtedly brief reprieve, and you were comfortable in just your sweater instead of your bulky jacket.
It was all nice.
What wasn't was the niggling in the back of your mind, the flipping of your stomach each time you remembered what awaited you when the fires were dampened and the courtyard emptied. It was not fear tightening your gut, nor disgust, but an indefinable and all-consuming anticipation that vacillated between exhilaration and near-excruciating anxiety.
You waited a long time by the fire. When it was clear the apes were finished eating you busied yourself helping with clean-up, and they certainly weren't going to turn down the extra assistance. You sat by the fire a little longer until it was only embers.
You could put off the inevitable no longer.
Caesar sat on the ledge outside his cave, head bent over something in his lap. As you drew closer you recognized the shape of a spear; he wound a leather cord around one end, securing the sharp tip to the shaft. He didn't stop when he noticed you, his eyes holding yours for longer than seemed necessary, and after a stabilizing breath you continued up to sit next to him.
His shoulders shifted with each dexterous movement, the simple rotation of his wrist holding some odd fascination. He tied the cord with a neat knot and, after analyzing his work, slid it across his knees to you.
You ran a tentative finger along the edge of the spear point and at the sudden sting of pain you flinched, recoiling. A line of blood welled up on your fingertip, black in the fire-light. The laugh that burst out of you was unexpected.
"I don't know what I expected," you said self-deprecatingly. " I didn't think stone would be so sharp."
He grabbed your hand without preamble – "it's nothing, it's fine," you assured him – and examined the minuscule cut. You wouldn't have thought of your hand as anything other than average, but in his big dark palm it looked butterfly-fragile.
"It's seriously nothing," you insisted, reclaiming your hand. Physically you weren't as tough as an ape, but you weren't completely feeble. "I'm sure you get worse injuries all the time."
"Human weaker than ape," he said, knowing and matter-of-fact.
"Humans and apes in general, or you and me?" As he contemplated you from the corner of narrowed eyes you shook your head, a smile pulling at your cheeks. "No, never mind... like I don't already know the answer to that."
He slid the spear back to you and you accepted it, rolling it over your thighs. It was weighty, and just a hair too thick for your fingers to meet around.
"What's it for?" you asked. "Fishing?"
He made a sound, a fleeting huff, that might have been a laugh.
"Too big," he said, and there was no condescension in it. He rose nimbly, swinging the spear around to rest on his shoulder. "Come, see."
You trailed after him into the cave, to the rack of spears against the wall. He slotted his into an empty spot and reached for another, light and short with thin prongs on the end. The design was intuitive and you could immediately see how suited it was for its purpose.
"Even human can handle," he said, pressing it into your grasp.
"Oh, I don't know," you demurred, recalling past futile fishing attempts. He was right, it was a manageable size and weight; but you'd only ever fished with a rod and reel, and that had been less than successful.
Caesar moved behind you, his open palm running down your arm to your wrist. He maneuvered your arm into a throwing position and you giggled, self-conscious, as he demonstrated the range of motion to cast it. As he guided you his chest pressed squarely against your back, hard even through your wool sweater.
"Can try tomorrow," he suggested. This quiet, this close, his words were no voice and all growl.
A lump had come from somewhere to lodge just behind your tongue and you cleared your throat, a sudden rush of blood coursing in your ears.
"Okay," you said numbly. It was difficult to breathe, the air heavy like with an oncoming storm. You lowered the spear, down and free of his hold.
And then his deliberate hand slid across your chest, between collarbones and breasts. Your sweater ruffled the fur of his forearm and it tickled the side of your neck, smelling like pine sap and woodsmoke. Caesar was an all-encompassing experience: he was large in his size, in his presence, compelling you like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
Your breath was but a ragged shudder as his other hand caressed your waist, spreading over that soft indentation above your hipbone. It felt as if he was holding you entirely, that if you let your body go slack you would still remain upright.
Had you any air in your lungs it would've left you again as his long fingers delved into your waistband, brushing sensitive abdomen and pubic hair and moving past to your delicate folds. Your eyes drifted closed, head lolling back against his shoulder as he unraveled you, stroke by beautiful stroke.
This was just part of an agreement, you struggled to remind yourself. It meant no more to him that it did – should – to you...
Your cry escaped you like a freed bird and once it was out you dropped the spear with a clatter and clutched at his arm, canting your hips into his hand. You swayed on your feet, dizzy with expanding pleasure, and though he never relented he kept you rock-steady.
Your orgasm was soundless in the way extreme flame is white hot. Your body went taut, nails digging into his arm, but he didn't seem to mind. And when you went limp in his embrace – you were right, he did keep you standing – he adjusted his hold to scoop you up like a swooning bride and carry you to the nest.
He undressed you with care but his eyes burned, covetous and unequivocal. This was the first time you'd been fully nude before him. The large fire at the cave's entrance kept the air warm but you shivered nonetheless, exposed to the immense weight of his stare. Though his paint had faded throughout the day he was still fierce in a way that you suddenly found wildly, inexplicably erotic.
He flipped you on your stomach – whether from consideration for your shyness or because he was merely getting to business, you couldn't say – and dragged his hands down your back, from shoulder blades to the flare of your ass.
Instead of hauling you up onto all fours he settled on top, caging your body with his, and filled your soaked slit with ease. Sated as you were, you had no urge to climax again, but still you tamped down a whimper at the overwhelming pressure of his advance and the ready yielding of your flesh to it. The shift and rub of his fur on your bare back was indescribable, the weight of his brawny frame the most exquisite torment.
As if conscious of the sensitivity he'd caused that first night, his pace remained languid. His forearms paralleled yours and you thought it would be easy, such a simple movement, for your hands to interlock – and then he was spilling inside you, exhaling in your ear, and you squirmed up into the heady sensation of his fully seated and pulsing cock.
When he slipped out of you he did not retreat from the nest like before, but laid on his back as his breathing returned to normal, with his meditative, half-closed eyes fixed on some indeterminate point on the ceiling.
You supposed that meant it was time to sleep. But though you'd sunk into a fuzzy sort of serenity, you weren't drowsy. After pulling a fur over your naked form you tucked your arms under yourself and faced the opposite direction, inspecting the pattern of the nest's knitted branches. You reflected on whether he'd made it himself, and if it's instinctive like birds or if he had to learn how, and if he'd ever slept on an actual mattress, and if apes used pillows because you wouldn't be averse to one.
You angled your head back and peeked over your elbow at him. He hadn't moved, but nor had he fallen asleep.
"I'm not tired either," you ventured, hoping your assumption was correct. His lips pursed.
"Then... I will show you more sign," he concluded, shifting so his back was against the nest's low wall.
You smiled, and rolled over, ready to copy him.
