Birth of the Planet of the Apes

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Fremont clicked off the radio with a tired hand. The colonel was clearly sleeping poorly, for it was evident in the dark shades under his eyes and the sag in his shoulders. Malcolm could feel his own lack of sleep eating at his body as well. Ellie had been trying to get him to sleep more, but with all that had been going on, the peacefulness of sleep easily eluded him.

Ever since Alex and Riley left, the people of the colony had been in an uproar. As predicted, news of the ape attack spread through mouths like wildfire and after 48 hours, Fremont had to file thirty-four cases of break-ins at the armory alone. It was when a small mob had managed to steal an entire case of M-16s and ammo that it was decided to move the weapons from their place in the Palace of Fine Arts Theatre to pier one at Fort Mason. Fremont didn't like moving his men and weapons away from the people they protected, but due to the fact the panicked civilians where becoming a threat, he made the hard decision quickly. With the weapons harder to get to, life had calmed slightly. Unfortunately, with people unable to get to guns, many soon resorted to breaking into food stores and running south to try and get away from whatever danger the apes were going to send at them. Both Fremont and Malcolm were nearing their breaking point in patience, with controlling the people as well as dealing with each other's opinions on what needed to be done.

"Looks like your boy and Riley aren't going to make as good of time as we thought," Fremont said with a low grunt of annoyance.

Malcolm rubbed his temples, "I know," he responded with a tired sigh, "Once Alexander's up and moving again they should make up some of what they lost though." His hope was blank.

Fremont leaned back in his chair; the rusty metal squeaked roughly, "It's still not going to be good enough. From what Riley told us a few days ago, that map she found estimates them being, maybe, halfway there. They've got a good week ahead of them, and that's if the thing is a reliable source."

"What should you have us do then?" Malcolm was starting to get frustrated, "You and I both know that sending trucks would make matters worse when we find Caesar."

"If we find Caesar," Fremont raised an eyebrow with a quick frown.

Malcolm glared back, "When we find Caesar. They'll find him. I'm positive."

"Oh, to have hope. Sure wish there was some of that left in these old bones," Malcolm saw the colonel's eyes turn down as he said his words, the clouds of dark memory running through them. Malcolm always wondered what Fremont was made to do during the outbreak. Martial Law was a harsh task to follow and those who had to keep it felt its repercussions the hardest.

"Give them time, Greg. We just need to give them time," Malcolm reassured.

"Unfortunately, time is something we don't have," Fremont looked back up at Malcolm; his eyes hard with a decision that Malcolm would most assuredly never approve of.

Malcolm straightened in his seat, "What are you going to do?"

As if on que, a soldier walked in through the flap of the tent and saluted, "Colonel Fremont, sir!"

Fremont gave Malcolm a quick, unemotional glance then turned to the soldier, "Permission to speak, Harrison."

Malcolm caught the slightest hint of hesitation in his eyes before he answered Fremont, "The charges are in place, sir. We are awaiting your final order."

Malcolm rushed his eyes back on Fremont, "What did you do?!"

Fremont pursed his lips and let out a rush of air through his nose before standing from his chair, looking down on Malcolm with an air of purpose, "Follow me." He walked past Malcolm and gave the boy, Harrison, the order for his truck, before exiting the tent.

Malcolm was frozen in his chair. What the hell was Fremont doing? Charges? Was he planning on blowing something up? What was large enough to have any kind of strategic advan...

"Oh my god," Malcolm's jaw dropped in sudden realization. He almost fell out of his chair as he ran after Fremont through the door.

"You can't possibly be thinking of doing this! What about Riley?! What about Alexander?!" He was shouting his whole way up to the colonel.

Fremont climbed into the passenger side of his bullet ridden Humvee mutely. He never looked at Malcolm's pleading eyes until he had shut the door and rolled down the window. Fremont let out another slow sigh out of his nose, "I've talked with everyone else I can about this, Malcolm. Everyone agrees this is the best, short term decision we have of easing the peoples' fears."

Fremont nodded to the driver and the truck lurched forward. Malcolm quickly jumped up on to the step by the door and held to the railings along the top on the truck. "Greg, please! There's got to be something else we can do?"

"If you have a better idea, you've got," he looked down at his watch, "eight minutes to convince me. Otherwise, plans are going to continue without further argument."

Malcolm tried to think of something fast as they neared their destination. Surely he had something to argue with. But, as he thought, more counterarguments came up that Fremont could use against him. He could think of nothing to give him and his time was up.

The truck came to a halt at Torpedo Point; the regal towers of the Golden Gate Bridge still gleamed under the sun with what was left of its iconic red paint. Malcolm stepped off the truck and Fremont exited after. The colonel came up beside Malcolm and stared sadly at the San Francisco landmark before them.

"We've boats that can bring your son and Riley back over," Fremont said, never looking over at him, "The apes will have no other means to cross the bay so they'll be forced to come up with another route."

"Is this your plan for the other four?" Malcolm's voice was blank.

Fremont nodded, Malcolm barely saw it out of his peripheral vision, "I sent men yesterday to set charges on the Richmond San Rafael. Those are to be set off not too long after these. Oakland and San Mateo are planned for tomorrow and Dumbarton the day after. With the bridges out, the apes should take a good four to five days before they're able to make their way around the peninsula. You said we needed time, Malcolm. Here it is."

"And you think this'll stop the panic? You're going to fence us all in with no way of getting out. And what if..." he hated what he was about to say, "...what if the apes take Alexander and Riley hostage? What will you do then?"

"Then we'll just have to sort it out when that time comes."

"Can't we give them three more days? Surely we can hold off the protests that long. Just wait a little longer, please."

Fremont snorted a laugh, "Wait? You know, Malcolm, there were a lot of people saying we should wait till the apes are on the bridge to blow it," he turned back to Malcolm, his face hard as stone, "Be grateful I didn't listen to them."

With that final word, Fremont raised his hand and shot a flare into the blue sky. There was a deafening silence, then blasts of light and debris rushed like dominos across the Golden Gate's central roadway and at the anchors of the two main cables at the top of the towers. It took several seconds before the pops reached their ears, and by that time, the giant bridge was already falling slowly to the sea, its two red towers remaining as lonely sentinels to its memory.