x
Some hundred and twenty miles away from the site of their last desperate fight, the castaways were once again on the move. Led by the determined stride of Steve Burton and the steady guidance of Dan Ericson, they had covered an impressive distance in just a few days, heading steadily south through the scorched and rugged terrain. Since abandoning the apes’ truck—rendered useless after a tire was shredded during their frantic escape—they had pressed on by foot, driven by equal parts urgency and instinct. The land had grown even more desolate, the sun baking the cracked earth beneath their feet, but still they moved forward, each carrying their share of salvaged gear, the silence between them heavy with exhaustion, purpose, and the ever-present tension of being hunted.
Later, on the day following the simian Senate's heated session, the castaways crested a series of low, undulating hills that rose across their southern path like ancient wrinkles in the earth’s skin. From the ridge, they paused to catch their breath and survey the landscape. To the east, the view opened up into a vast expanse of cultivated plains—the outlying regions of the Land of the Apes. Oceans of wheat and barley rippled in the wind like golden waves, interrupted only by the slow, distant movement of grazing sheep, goats, and cattle. Beyond those fields stretched great parklands, where tall grasses swayed and meandering streams glittered under the sun.
This entire region had once been seeded, irrigated, and tended by humanoid hands—human laborers enslaved by the apes. Some of those toiling far below might even be distant relatives of the castaways themselves, or kin to Nova. But the open plains offered no sign of movement today—no farmers bent at their work, no motorized patrols keeping watch. Still, Steve signaled for caution. They moved slowly, ducking low when necessary, taking advantage of each fold in the land to stay hidden. To be seen from the east would mean alerting the ever-watchful ape overseers—and that, Steve knew, would mean death or recapture.
As the castaways approached the southern ridge, Steve led the group with a cautious but steady pace. The hills, though sprawling, proved no real obstacle—broad, shallow rises easily scanned for the lowest passes. From afar, Steve picked out a natural cut through the slopes, and by midday they were threading their way through it without difficulty.
But what lay beyond the hills caught Steve off guard.
He came to a sudden stop as they emerged into a clearing, eyes narrowing at the dense green beyond. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That’s more forest than I ever expected to see out here.”
At first, the tree clusters they encountered were just that—isolated groves scattered across the flatland, nothing more than shaded oases between long stretches of sunbaked scrub. But by late afternoon, those groves had thickened, merging into one another until the castaways found themselves under a darkening canopy, the forest proper pressing in on all sides.
The air grew cooler in the shadows, filled with the scent of moss and bark. Bird calls echoed eerily through the trees, and every snapping twig underfoot made the group freeze for a half-second, listening.
“I didn’t know the Forbidden Zone had anything this... alive,” Dan said quietly, peering up into the thick foliage overhead.
Steve nodded, still staring into the murky depths of the woods. “Neither did I. Let’s keep moving. This place may not be on any of Urko’s maps—but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
The castaways moved in hushed awe, the sheer abundance of vegetation around them stealing words from their lips. Every step into the forest revealed more impossible pairings, more botanically implausible companions rooted side by side in rich, loamy soil. Groves of African acacia trees clustered beside towering sugar pines native to the Sierras. Ancient, gnarled oaks tangled their limbs with desert juniper, while bright yellow stalks of bamboo burst up in wild clusters between their roots.
Massive olive trees twisted toward the canopy, their branches draped in delicate orchids—a bizarre, hauntingly beautiful sight—while thick-trunked mahogany trees muscled in from the south, their broad leaves casting deep, dark shade. Grapevines, clearly stunted but clinging on, wrapped like curling snakes around the lower boughs of peach and plum trees heavy with unripe fruit.
Everyone in the group, except for Nova—who looked about in wonder but had no way to express it—felt the same gnawing frustration: the desperate wish to stop, to take notes, to study. This forest was a biological impossibility, a miracle... and a mystery. “We could write volumes,” Betty whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “But who would believe us?”
Dan gently snapped off a bamboo shoot, examining its structure. “This isn’t just a jungle,” he muttered. “It’s a botanical patchwork quilt. Some of these species are continents apart—thousands of years apart. And yet... here they are.”
Twice during their cautious trek through the dense, surreal forest, the castaways startled small herds of deer—graceful creatures that bounded away with the startled grace Dan had fully expected for this latitude. “Deer, sure,” he murmured. “That at least makes sense.” But when harsh, alien shrieks echoed down from the high canopy—monkeys, unmistakably primates of a kind native to equatorial jungles—the confidence in his tone faltered.
And then came the most jarring sight of all: a lone South Asian musk ox, its shaggy, sweat-matted coat dark with humidity, lumbering across a break in the trees not twenty yards from where they crouched. It paused only long enough to sniff the air warily before disappearing into a thicket of bamboo and wild citrus. Dan stared after it, dumbstruck. “That—shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. “Not even close.”
Fitzhugh, brushing an orchid petal from his sleeve with theatrical disdain, muttered, “Yes, quite right. And perhaps next we’ll stumble into a herd of penguins roasting coconuts in a sauna.” He gestured broadly to the orchids and bamboo, the jungle heat thickening around them. “Because of course this is exactly what I expect from a hike through northern California.”
The forest wrapped itself around the castaways like a living dream. In its depths, the light faded to a dim, muted green, filtering down through the layered canopy in scattered, trembling beams. Shadows danced across the undergrowth as if the trees themselves breathed and shifted. It felt like twilight had fallen, though it was still midday. Then, without warning, they would stumble into a glade—an island of light in the green sea—where sunlight sparked like gold on blades of tall, wild grass.
In one such clearing, butterflies of every imaginable hue flitted and twirled through the warm light, creating an almost magical scene. A doe, her coat sleek and golden, raised her head from the grass and stared at them wide-eyed before leaping away, her fawn following in bounding grace. They soared with fluid elegance over a fallen forest giant—its bark weathered silver and dark with age. Dan stared at it in wonder. “That’s a sequoia,” he murmured. “Has to be.”
Above them, perched in regal stillness on the curved crown of a royal palm, a bald eagle watched them silently, its yellow eyes sharp and unblinking. Then they stepped once more into the trees, swallowed again by the cool hush of the woods. The light grew soft, almost foggy. The rich scent of damp, dying wood and layers of decaying leaves mingled with the fresher smells of cedar sap and young pine needles, painting the air with the wild perfume of the forest’s eternal cycle of life and death.
The forest wrapped itself around the castaways like a living dream. In its depths, the light faded to a dim, muted green, filtering down through the layered canopy in scattered, trembling beams. Shadows danced across the undergrowth as if the trees themselves breathed and shifted. It felt like twilight had fallen, though it was still midday. Then, without warning, they would stumble into a glade—an island of light in the green sea—where sunlight sparked like gold on blades of tall, wild grass.
In one such clearing, butterflies of every imaginable hue flitted and twirled through the warm light, creating an almost magical scene. A doe, her coat sleek and golden, raised her head from the grass and stared at them wide-eyed before leaping away, her fawn following in bounding grace. They soared with fluid elegance over a fallen forest giant—its bark weathered silver and dark with age. Dan stared at it in wonder. “That’s a sequoia,” he murmured. “Has to be.”
Above them, perched in regal stillness on the curved crown of a royal palm, a bald eagle watched them silently, its yellow eyes sharp and unblinking. Then they stepped once more into the trees, swallowed again by the cool hush of the woods. The light grew soft, almost foggy. The rich scent of damp, dying wood and layers of decaying leaves mingled with the fresher smells of cedar sap and young pine needles, painting the air with the wild perfume of the forest’s eternal cycle of life and death.
The mingled scents of wild fruit, crushed leaves, and distant blossoms filled the air, sweet and musky and strange—but to the weary castaways, it was the smell of freedom. As the sun dipped low, casting gold across the strange patchwork forest, they came to a halt in a small glade beneath the spreading branches of a peach tree. No sign of pursuit. No thunder of gorilla tanks and jeeps or the harsh bark of commands in Ape dialect. Only the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant cry of a bird or beast they couldn't identify.
It was the first time in days they dared pause without fear gnawing at their heels. They dropped their salvaged gear and stretched out in the long grass, breathing deeply, grateful for the stillness, the space, and the momentary peace. Somewhere beyond the next range of hills might lie the Marintha—if she even existed anymore—and with her, the faint hope of safety, of return, of answers. But for now, this place of impossible trees and fragrant shadows was a sanctuary of its own.
“We're camping here tonight,” Steve said quietly, not needing to raise his voice.
As the castaways moved deeper into the glade, the thick forest canopy gave way to dappled light, creating a patchwork of sun and shadow across the soft forest floor. The air was rich with the scent of moss and wildflowers, the chirring of unseen insects blending with the rustle of leaves above. Valerie, sighing with relief, chose a low patch of grass near a moss-covered boulder and dropped her pack beside it, stretching her aching legs. Betty, ever the practical one, moved to the edge of the clearing where the trees grew close together, selecting a spot with natural cover that might serve as shelter.
Mark wandered a little farther before settling near a half-fallen tree, its trunk covered in thick green lichen, making it a perfect bench for resting and organizing his gear. Fitzhugh, grumbling about the exertion but secretly grateful for the chance to sit, dropped his pack beside a flat stone and collapsed with theatrical flair, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.
Meanwhile, Steve and Dan walked slowly toward a faint glimmer they’d spotted through the trees. Nova followed close behind, silent and alert, her eyes scanning the undergrowth with practiced caution. They emerged a few minutes later at the bank of a narrow, crystal-clear stream that wound its way through the trees like a silver ribbon. The sound of trickling water was soothing, and the stream itself was no more than a few feet wide, shallow enough to wade through but steady in its flow.
Steve stood at the edge of the small, clear pool nestled between outcroppings of mossy rock, sunlight slanting through the alien canopy overhead. The water sparkled in the filtered light, a rare gem in the strange, futuristic world they'd been stranded in. He let out a low whistle, grinning. “Well, would you look at that? Our own swimming hole—just like back home in the Sierras.”
The others looked up from their camp duties, their eyes following his to the tranquil water. The momentary silence was filled only by birdsong—odd, guttural cries from feathered giants in the trees.
Steve held up a small, battered tin—its label mostly worn off but still faintly readable: Lifeboy Soap. “Found this wedged behind one of the lockers when we did the last sweep of the Spindrift. Figured it might come in handy. God, it seems like years since I've had a bath!”
"It's been centuries since any of us have had a bath," Dan said with a laugh. "I've been meaning to speak to you about that for some time now."
"Hey, you don't smell like a rose yourself, friend," Steve shot back.
Steve stepped into the shallows, then turned and waved the others over with a relaxed, sweeping motion of his arm.
“Come on—water’s perfect. You’ve earned it.”
Slowly, one by one, the castaways emerged from the shade of their chosen trees. Mark, Betty, Valerie, Dan—even Fitzhugh, grumbling but curious—ambled toward the bank. Their movements were unhurried, almost reverent. The moment felt sacred in its simplicity.
Each of them found a spot along the grassy verge and began to peel off the layers of dust-caked clothing. Boots were unlaced with weary hands and set aside in uneven rows. Shirts, jackets, belts were tugged free, and slowly the pale gleam of skin caught the sunlight—smeared with dirt, streaked with fatigue, but unmistakably human. Muscles taut and lean from long days of fleeing and climbing, their bodies shone with a light sheen of sweat under the dappled canopy, golden rays filtering through giant leaves.
No one spoke. There was only the soft rustle of fabric and the low hush of wind over water.
Steve turned back to the pool and stepped forward. The others followed suit, slipping silently into the cool embrace of the water. A collective sigh rippled across them, barely audible but deeply felt.
As they waded deeper, the water crept up past their knees, thighs, waists—finally, they all stood shoulder-deep, their feet finding purchase on the smooth, sandy bottom. It was quiet and still, the surface only disturbed by gentle ripples radiating from each body.
Steve leaned back slightly, water lapping at his collarbone. His voice was thoughtful, low, almost hesitant. “What about Nova?” he asked, eyes scanning the treeline. “She might like this too.”
Steve’s question lingered in the air like the scent of wet leaves and soap.
Dan glanced toward the treeline, then back to Steve. He shifted slightly in the water, droplets tracing lines down his sun-darkened shoulders. “I haven’t seen any sign she’s afraid of water,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.
Betty nodded faintly, glancing toward the dense foliage. “She’s not exactly shy when it comes to following us around.”
“More like shadowing us,” Valerie added with a slight smile. “She’s quiet, but not scared.”
From the far edge of the pool came a sudden snort—Fitzhugh, bobbing gingerly just above the surface, arms paddling as though he suspected the bottom might give out beneath him at any second.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered with theatrical exasperation, “why not invite the silent savage to the pool party? Perhaps she’ll bring hors d’oeuvres made from tree bark and mystery roots.”
Dan rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. Steve gave Fitzhugh a flat look, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Careful,” he said dryly, “you’re in the deepest end. Keep talking like that, we might not save you next time you slip.”
Fitzhugh puffed up slightly. “For your information, Captain, I happen to be an excellent swimmer when properly motivated. For instance, if chased by apes."
A few chuckles broke the quiet, and the tension eased again. The group lapsed into silence, save for the quiet lapping of water and the distant rustle of wind in oversized trees.
Then a soft sound—barely there—caught Steve’s ear.
He turned his head.
There, standing just beyond the edge of the brush, partially hidden by the shadow of a massive fern, was Nova. Watching. Eyes wide, curious. Silent.
Steve’s eyes met Nova’s across the clearing—her form almost blending into the undergrowth, her stillness like part of the forest itself. She stood barefoot on a patch of damp moss, her long hair falling in unkempt waves down her shoulders, head tilted slightly as she watched them in the pool with an expression somewhere between wariness and wonder.
Steve raised a hand slowly, not in greeting exactly, but more as a gesture of acknowledgment. Then he looked back toward the others. “I don’t think bathing—at least the way we do it—is really part of her world,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “No soap, no scrubbing. Just rain and rivers when necessary.”
Valerie smirked gently, stretching her arms behind her head as she floated near the surface. “Well… she’s young. Beautiful. And smart, in her own way,” she said. “Get her used to the idea of something like this—a clean, cool swim on a hot day—and I’d bet she’d dig it.”
Dan chuckled softly. “That’s one way to bridge cultures.”
Valerie shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They all turned again, discreetly, toward Nova—careful not to spook her. She hadn’t moved, but there was a flicker in her dark eyes. Not fear. Curiosity.
Steve lifted the bar of soap in one hand and held it out with an exaggerated gesture, then lathered it playfully across his arms, making a few sudsy bubbles in the water like a magician performing for a child. He smiled and gave a theatrical sniff of his forearm. “See? Smells like... civilization.”
That got a faint laugh from Betty and a weary sigh from Fitzhugh, who was now clinging to a water-smoothed boulder like a beached seal.
Nova stepped forward. One bare foot settled on a rock near the edge. Still watching.
Steve’s eyes softened. “Your move, Nova,” he said quietly.
Nova took a step closer, bare feet silent on the loamy ground. Her posture was tense but not afraid—more like an animal cautiously investigating something unfamiliar but fascinating. She crouched low near the water’s edge, her elbows resting lightly on her knees, hair cascading down as she stared at the strange spectacle before her.
In the pool, the castaways had relaxed into the kind of easy, improvised play that came only in moments when the danger of their futuristic world briefly faded. Dan was the first to break from the group, ducking beneath the surface and slicing cleanly through the water with a smooth breaststroke. He emerged in a spray of droplets, flipping onto his back and gliding lazily across the pond.
Steve followed, launching into a confident front crawl, the practiced rhythm of arms and legs slicing through the stillness. He turned mid-stroke and sent up a playful splash toward Valerie, who squealed and retaliated with a wide arc of her own.
Valerie dove under, disappearing for a beat too long, then surfaced near Fitzhugh with a loud splash that sent him flailing backward with a shout.
“For heaven’s sake, woman! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Laughter rippled through the water.
Nova blinked rapidly, her brows knit. Her eyes darted from one castaway to another—legs kicking, arms sweeping, bodies turning and diving. It was like watching birds take flight, but underwater. The motion was alien. Unpredictable. She leaned forward, her fingers twitching slightly as though mimicking the movements unconsciously.
Betty floated past her, her arms spread, head back, her hair fanned out behind her like kelp. She gave Nova a gentle, reassuring smile, then twirled slowly in place like a leaf caught in an eddy.
Nova tilted her head. Her lips parted slightly—not in speech, but in wonder. She reached out one tentative hand and touched the surface, letting her fingers trail the cool water. Ripples shimmered away from the point of contact.
Still, she didn’t step in.
Instead, she stayed crouched at the edge, her gaze darting, calculating—curious, yes, but still unsure if this strange, shimmering ritual was something meant for her.
And then, Steve stood chest-deep, looking right at her.
“No pressure,” he said gently, more to the group than to her. “Just let her watch.”
Nova didn’t move—but her eyes never left them.
Nova’s fingers lingered on the water’s surface for one final second… then slowly drew back.
Something in her eyes shifted. That flicker of curiosity dimmed, replaced by a distant shadow—something old and instinctual buried in her mind. A memory not of words, but of fear. Of cold water, of hands pulling, of voices raised in alarm. Echoes of a time she didn’t understand, only remembered in flashes and sensation. Her breath caught, and she turned away from the pool.
Steve noticed it right away. He straightened in the water, droplets cascading from his shoulders. “Nova?” he called, concern touching the edge of his voice.
She didn’t look back. Her bare feet stepped lightly across the moss, moving toward the trees—not running, but retreating. Quietly, deliberately.
“Nova, wait,” Steve said, raising a hand. Then he softened, tried again with a wide, encouraging grin. His voice lifted, light and warm.
“Come on, hon! Have some fun!”
He swept a splash of water toward the air as if to demonstrate, a small wave rising and falling in a soft arc. Valerie joined in with a grin, doing a backward kick that sent a shimmer of water dancing toward the bank.
Dan gave a friendly whistle. “The water’s fine, Nova! Best you’ll find on this side of the jungle.”
But Nova only paused, her back to them. Her head turned slightly, just enough for them to see her profile. The expression was unreadable.... caught somewhere between longing and refusal. Then, she stepped into the undergrowth, vanishing behind a curtain of ferns.
Silence returned to the water, broken only by a few gentle ripples and the sound of Fitzhugh muttering, “Well. I suppose it’s not everyone’s idea of a day at the spa.”
Steve looked at the spot where Nova had disappeared. He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he took a breath and let himself drift back into the cool water, floating on his back beneath the great alien sky.
“She’ll come around,” he said quietly. “Just gotta give her time.”
Nova froze just before the treeline, her bare feet rooted to the ground, her back rigid. Her breath came shallow, eyes wide as something flickered behind them—unbidden, sudden.
A memory.
Blurred shapes. Water, dark and swirling. Panic. Harsh hands pulling her from a rushing canal or flooded trench. Faces above her—human, but afraid. A voice raised in warning. Then the mechanical whine of a gorilla patrol vehicle, its lights flashing through the mist. A gorilla soldier standing in the open turret hatch, black gloves gripping the mounted rifle.
A sharp burst of sound. Then silence.
Nova trembled slightly and whispered words that seemed to rise unbidden from the depths of her memory, shaped more by feeling than language:
“Om-flu! Mol-wah-bree!”
Her voice was rough, urgent—half plea, half warning.
Steve, still in the water, raised both arms in a gentle, beckoning motion. “Nova! Hey—come on! It’s okay!”
There was a beat of silence before Fitzhugh, now wedged between two smooth rocks near the bank like a lounging sea lion, raised his eyebrows and huffed dramatically. “Well,” he sniffed, “perhaps before inviting her for a swim, you two gentlemen should consider teaching her to speak something we can actually understand.”
Dan let out a short laugh, swiping water from his brow. “He’s not wrong,” he said with a grin. “We can’t wait too long. Not if we ever hope to ask her what half those words mean.”
He exhaled slowly, then spoke—more to himself than to anyone. “She’s probably scared. Not of us, but… the depth. That water might’ve been the deepest she’s ever seen. I doubt she’s ever been in past her knees before.”
Betty, floating nearby, gave a thoughtful nod. “She did look nervous when we started swimming. Almost confused.”
“Exactly,” Steve said, rubbing water from his face. “To her, swimming probably seems like some kind of magic trick.”
A loud snort came from Fitzhugh, who had begun inching his way toward the shallows with theatrical effort, clearly not enjoying being out of his depth. “Oh yes, marvelous theory,” he said dryly, gesturing with one hand as he tried to maintain balance. “So why not make it easier for her, hm? You and Dan could just throw her in. Nothing builds trust quite like being manhandled into deep water by your captors.”
Dan chuckled from where he treaded water near the edge. “Sure, that’d go over real smooth. Right after we push you in for manners training.”
Fitzhugh gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. “I’m already in, thank you. Against my better judgment.”
Steve let out a short breath through his nose—just enough to suggest a flicker of annoyance. “She’ll come in,” he said, turning back toward the deeper part of the pool, water rippling around him.
Fitzhugh raised an eyebrow. “Oh, naturally. Any day now. Perhaps she’s just checking her calendar.”
Dan gave him a look, but Steve cut in, his voice firmer now. “No,” he said. “She’ll come in. On her own. You just have to let her feel safe. No pressure, no pushing.” He looked back once more toward the trees where Nova had disappeared, then added with a quiet smirk: “Watch this.”
With that, he turned and dove under the surface in one clean, practiced motion—vanishing into the cool, clear water like a seal slipping through glass. A beat later, he surfaced halfway across the pool and floated there, arms spread wide, face toward the sky.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84YLVLnlfc
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0y90AamiUe
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡukiuHiS9PA
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeneZgZ2qnh
Time passed in quiet ripples. The castaways had returned to their floating and gentle conversation, giving Nova the space she seemed to need. The surface of the water had stilled again, sunlight dappling it in gold and green, while dragonflies zipped lazily above the reeds.
Then—movement.
At the far edge of the bank, Nova stepped slowly, warily, as though afraid the moment might vanish if she moved too quickly. Her eyes were fixed on the water—not the people in it. She crouched low, her knees drawing up to her chest as she studied the pool in silence. Then, with a sudden, almost childlike motion, she sat down on a smooth stone at the edge. Her feet were bare and stained from the earth and vines of the forest. Slowly, she extended them, inch by inch, toward the pool. The moment her toes touched the water, she jerked slightly—then stilled again.
Cool. Clear. Alive.
A wide grin broke over her face, lighting it with a warmth none of them had seen before. “Zee-maha,” she laughed—an exclamation of joy, of wonder, or perhaps a word for the sensation itself. She began to splash her feet gently back and forth, sending little arcs of water glinting into the sunlight. Her laughter, soft and breathy, carried across the surface like the chime of a bell.
Steve, still floating on his back, turned his head and smiled faintly. “Told you,” he murmured. “Just had to give her a minute.”
Valerie grinned. “That smile says more than words ever could.”
Fitzhugh, now drying his sleeves with exaggerated care from his perch on a sun-warmed rock, glanced over at the joyful splashing. “Well,” he drawled, “why don’t you just save time and grab her ankles, Captain? One good yank and splash, problem solved.”
Steve, still chest-deep in the water, turned just enough to shoot Fitzhugh a look—somewhere between amusement and warning. “She’ll make it in,” he said firmly, his eyes returning to Nova, who was now kicking at the water with playful enthusiasm. “And I’ll be anything you want to name on it.”
Dan grinned. “A gentleman’s bet?”
“Sure,” Steve replied, watching Nova laugh again as a spray of water caught her in the face. “But I don’t gamble when I already know I’m right.”
Fitzhugh huffed. “Well, I admire your optimism, even if it’s completely misplaced.”
As the banter faded into laughter, Nova leaned further over the water, her fingers now joining her feet in the coolness, scooping and releasing tiny handfuls like she was learning the texture of a dream. Her smile hadn’t faded.
And Steve, arms folded lightly across the surface, just watched her with quiet pride.
“She’s getting there,” he said under his breath. “Just a matter of time.”
Nova continued splashing for several more minutes, utterly absorbed in the sensations. She flexed her toes beneath the surface, then scooped water with her cupped hands, letting it pour through her fingers in silver ribbons. The castaways had returned to their quiet conversations and floating, not pressing her, giving her space.
Then, without warning, Nova stopped.
Her hands stilled. Her feet slid back onto the warm rock.
She stood.
Her body, lean and alert, cast a tall shadow over the shimmering water. She looked at the pool as though seeing it anew—not just as a thing of mystery, but as a question.
She raised one arm and pointed to the water with an open palm. Her brow furrowed slightly in thought. Then she turned to face the others—Steve, Dan, Valerie—her eyes searching.
“Muf-wa?” she asked, her voice low, tentative.
A pause.
Then she pointed again, this time more directly—toward the deeper middle of the pool where Steve floated.
“Muf-no-do-wa?”
The group glanced at each other.
Steve straightened in the water, wiping water from his eyes. “Muf-wa… Muf-no-do-wa,” he repeated softly. “She’s asking something.”
“Sounds like a question,” Valerie said, pushing her wet hair back.
Dan nodded. “Maybe is the water safe? Is it okay?”
Fitzhugh, now toweling off with a bit of cloth that looked suspiciously like part of a seat cushion, muttered, “Or perhaps she’s wondering if we’re mad for submerging ourselves in it like overgrown fish.”
But Steve’s gaze was steady. He took a step toward the bank, standing where the water met the moss.
He pointed to himself, then the water. “Muf-wa,” he said confidently.
Then he shook his head and pointed back to dry land. “Muf-no-do-wa.”
Nova watched him closely, eyes locked on his every movement. A breeze stirred the trees overhead. She didn’t move—but something in her posture had changed.
Dan leaned back in the water, propping himself up with his arms as he watched Nova’s focused expression. A slow smile crept across his face. “You know,” he said, glancing at the others, “I think she’s just trying to figure out if it’s too deep for her. That’s all. She’s not afraid of the water—just wants to know if her feet’ll touch.” He chuckled softly, clearly impressed. “Smart girl. She’s asking the right questions.”
Nova was standing on the bank, hesitation plain on her face. Steve shook his head no, pointing to her, then to himself, and placing his hands edgewise across his chest. Then he bent his knees, sinking down in the water to that point, and pointed to her. Afterward, he stood up again and pointed to himself.
Slowly she pulled the worn and very dirty skins that were her only dress over her head. She lay down on the bank next and slowly slid over the grassy bank on her stomach, feeling for the bottom with her hands.
"That's it, Nova! Come on in, you'll love it!" Steve encouraged her, moving over beside her.
Turning her face to the pool, Nova's face had the delighted expression of a child with a new toy at her discovery of the pleasure of water.
Steve turned slightly in the water, resting his arms on a submerged rock as he looked around at the others. “So what do you all think?” he asked, his voice steady but thoughtful. “Should we try to teach her how to swim?”
Valerie, still drifting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Teach her?”
Betty blinked, surprised. “You mean—like actually swim?”
Dan shrugged. “She’s curious enough. Might not be a bad idea.”
Just then, Mark Wilson—who had been quietly sitting at the water’s edge, testing the readings on a small salvaged device—looked up, finally entering the conversation. “Wait a second,” he said, brushing back a lock of damp hair. “Why would we even consider that? I mean, what’s the reason?”
Fitzhugh, as usual, chimed in with dry timing. “Yes, Captain, do tell. Is it in case she joins the Olympic team next spring?”
Steve gave a small shake of his head, water dripping from his hair. “No—it’s not for sport. It’s for safety. If we’re going to keep moving through this world, we don’t know when we’ll need to cross another river, or get caught in a storm, or end up in another floodplain. If she’s going to stay with us—and she clearly wants to—we owe it to her to help her survive.”
The others went quiet for a moment, the logic of his reasoning settling in like the weight of a smooth stone.
Mark nodded slowly. “Okay… that makes sense.”
Dan glanced back at Nova, who was still watching, her curiosity undimmed. “Well, if anyone can teach her, it’s you.”
Steve turned his eyes to Nova and smiled. “Then let’s see how far we can go.”
Picking the easiest form of swimming stroke he knew, he began to demonstrate it---the dog paddle, combined with a frog kick. She watched him with an almost comical concentration on her face. Then she tried it. When Steve thought she had the arm movement down pat, he floated onto his stomach, pointing back at his leg kicks to make sure she understood the reason for the motion; then he made a few strokes up the pool, and back down, showing her how to move both her legs and arms at the same time.
After a minute or two of watching him, during which time Steve had the impression she was going to burst into laughter at any moment, Nova bent forward until the water was up to her chin, but with her feet still planted on the sandy bottom and began to mimic his waterwheeling hand movements. Steve stopped swimming back and forth, smiled his encouragement, and moved over beside her. With his arm under her waist, he lifted her into a horizontal position and began to float her across the pool while she kept up her arm movements, her head held high out of the water.
"That's it. You're getting it," he said.
He then floated her through a turn, and back near the bank, where he set her upon her feet again. Nova laughed liked a child, pleased with herself and Steve.
Levering himself upward with his arms, he climbed out of the pool and walked over to where he had dropped his pack. From Valerie's makeup kit he took a bar of soap and unwrapped it, carefully saving the paper wrapper. Then he slid back into the water and began to lather his body with the rectangular white bar---which, luckily, had been specially designed to produce suds in hard water such as usually found out in the country, or even in saltwater if desired for a beach day.
"Boy that feels good!" Steve yelled, splashing water up under his arms after soaping himself down.
Nova stopped the swimming motions she had been making and, standing up again in the chest-deep water, waded over to where the blond pilot stood. "Bok-wa?" she asked.
Seeing the curiosity on her face, Steve handed her the bar of soap.
She felt it, almost losing it as it slipped between her hands, then smelled it, screwing her face up in distaste at the odd odor. Then, before Steve could stop her, she took a small bite from the edge of the bar. Spitting it out quickly, she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. Ignoring Steve as he finished soaping his body, she went back to her practice of the dog paddle.
Fitzhugh couldn't resist the opening. He watched the scene unfold with a smirk already forming on his face. “Charming,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Our lovely jungle guest mistakes soap for dessert. At this rate, Steve, you’ll have her brushing her teeth with shoe polish and seasoning her food with shaving cream.” He gestured vaguely toward Steve, who was still rinsing off, then added with a theatrical sigh, “Though I must say, no one’s enjoying that bath more than you—perhaps we should all leave you to your… ritual cleansing.”
Steve through the bar of soap to Fitzhugh. "Here," he called, "do something to improve the environment!"
He climbed up onto the bank and sat down to watch Alexander and Nova while the warm breeze dried his skin.
Fitzhugh stepped gingerly into the shallows, holding the soap as though it were a precious relic. “Well, if everyone else insists on looking like half-drowned laundry, I suppose I must follow suit,” he muttered.
He began to lather himself with exaggerated precision, rubbing the bar over his arms, then across his chest and neck, working up a thick coat of suds. The white foam stood out starkly against his pale skin, the contrast making him look more absurd than refreshed—but he carried on with great ceremony, as though he were at a gentleman’s club rather than squatting in an alien wilderness.
Nova, nearby in the water, paused her awkward dog paddle to watch him. Her head tilted slightly. She still wore a faint scowl; her brow furrowed in bafflement. Her gaze shifted from the soap to Fitzhugh’s soapy arms, then to the others washing themselves, and finally back to the bar itself. The strange white substance was still a mystery—bitter to taste, pungent in scent, and yet, her six companions seemed to find joy in it.
Once Fitzhugh had declared himself sufficiently scrubbed, he flicked some foam from his wrist with dramatic flair and tossed the soap to Steve, who caught it with one hand.
“Oh, do be a dear and pass it along when you're done,” Fitzhugh said, then glanced toward Nova with a mock-stern expression. “And as for her—our little woodland sprite could stand to try a bit of civilizing. Though I imagine convincing her to rub that stuff on herself would take an act of Congress.”
Steve looked at the cavegirl for a minute. She was playing in the water. At length, making up his mind, he slipped back into the water and, taking Nova's hand, led her across the pool to the main part of the stream, to where the water was barely only up to her waist. Dipping the bar of soap into the water, he gently began to rub it over her back and shoulders.
When Nova realized what Steve was doing to her, she tried to fight her way free of him. But he held her tightly, shaking his head and frowning when she gazed up at him with the sad look of a child being punished on her face.
Valerie waded a little closer, her voice soft and reassuring as she spoke to Nova, who was stiffening slightly under Steve’s gentle hands as he rubbed the soap along her arms. “It’s okay, Nova,” she said with a warm smile, brushing a wet strand of hair from her own face. “He’s not trying to hurt you—he’s just helping you get clean. Just relax… you might even learn to love it.” She laughed lightly, the sound floating across the water like a breeze. “It feels good once you get used to it—like washing the day away.”
As if sensing the meaning in Valerie's voice, Nova stood quite still while Steve began to lather her arms with the bar of soap.
"Take the bar, Nova," Steve said, handing it to her carefully. "Don't lose it!" he warned, showing her how to hold it in a firm grip. "You rub it over your body now. I'm going to go and get your dress, and we'll wash it next."
As Steve climbed up onto the bank, water streaming from his arms and legs, he reached for the bundle of Nova’s skins draped over a low branch. The sunlight caught the wet sheen on his back, and for a moment he simply stood there, catching his breath, listening to the quiet sounds of laughter and splashing behind him. But then, a thought struck him—sharp, practical, and insistent.
He paused, holding the bundle in one hand, and looked out into the trees, his brow furrowing. The Marintha. Maybe it wasn't here, but maybe it was. Either way, they couldn’t afford to waste time. They needed answers. A direction.
Turning back to the water, he raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Hey! Listen up!” he called. The others quieted, looking toward him. “While we’re taking a breather here, maybe one of us should do a quick recon. See if there’s any sign—any clue—that could point us toward the Marintha.” Doesn’t have to be far—just a quick sweep of the area.”
Dan gave a small nod and pushed himself up from the water with a grunt, droplets trailing down his arms as he made his way to the bank. “I’ll go,” he said, already reaching for his shirt and boots. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed and I’ll take a walk through the perimeter. See if anything looks out of place.”
Steve nodded, tossing him a towel. “Appreciate it.”
As Dan pulled on his damp clothes, he added with a faint grin, “I’ll keep an eye out for anything—metal scraps, tool marks, a bottle of complimentary liquor… you know, something that says ‘crash site’ instead of ‘ape village.’” He laced up his boots and grabbed a salvaged field pack, slinging it over his shoulder.
“If the Marintha really went down near here, there’s got to be something—anything—that doesn’t belong in the Land of the Apes. And if there is, I’ll find it.”
With that, Dan gave a short wave and disappeared into the trees, alert and focused, leaving the others to their bathing—and their waiting.
Nova had soaped her hold body by the time Steve waded out to her with the animal-skin dress. Together they washed it thoroughly, and because the breeze was warm Nova put it on immediately as they left the water.
As the sun began to dry their skin and the scattered patches of shade shifted with the breeze, the group quietly slipped back into their clothes, the easy laughter from earlier replaced by a more thoughtful silence. Nova stood nearby, clutching her skins to her chest, her head tilting slightly as she listened to the rhythm of their voices, not understanding the words, but sensing the change in tone.
Alexander was the first to speak. “Assuming we don’t get eaten, captured, or thrown into a cage again, what kind of future do we really have here?” he asked, wringing water from his sleeves. “I mean, if Steve’s really planning on fixing up the Marintha and taking Zira and Cornelius back to 1983… where does that leave the rest of us?”
Valerie frowned, sitting down on a log. “That’s a big ‘if.’ I’m not sure even Steve knows what he’ll do yet. But either way, we need to start thinking long-term. Shelter. Food. Safety. We can’t just wander forever.”
Betty nodded slowly. “And Nova—if she stays with us, she’s going to need more than protection. She’ll need connection. A place with us.”
Mark, pulling on his boots, glanced toward the trees where Dan had vanished. “Well, there’s one more thing no one’s talking about,” he said. “When Barry finds out what happened to Chipper… he’s going to be heartbroken. That dog was his best friend. He’ll need someone. Maybe…” He looked at Nova thoughtfully. “Maybe in time, she could be that someone. A friend. Maybe even more.”
A quiet fell over the group.
Steve stood near the edge of the bank, his damp shirt clinging to his back, watching Nova as she twisted a strand of her hair curiously. He didn’t speak. But as the others began gathering their things, one thought settled in the back of his mind, firm and undeniable: Maybe it was time to start thinking less about escape—and more about building something real.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEh2Tbk9OW6
