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The first to stir was Steve, his eyes blinking open to a sky that had lost its golden warmth. A cool hush blanketed the forest, and the fading colors of sunset had given way to a low, rolling gray. Mist clung to the trees now, curling through the branches like silent smoke. He sat up slowly, wincing slightly as his stiff leg protested, and looked around as if uncertain whether it was morning or evening.
Beside him, Dan shifted, rubbed a hand across his face, and then sat up with a groggy grunt. He looked skyward and frowned. “Fog’s rolling in,” he muttered. “That’s not good.”
One by one, the others began to wake—Betty stirring and pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, Fitzhugh grumbling as he sat up and looked around suspiciously, Mark stretching his arms overhead with a tired groan, and Betty and Valerie blinking sleep from their eyes, huddled in the crook of a tree root.
The forest had taken on a surreal hush under the thickening fog, the colors all washed in silver and gray. The birds were quiet. Even the wind had gone still. There was a tense weight in the air, as if the world were holding its breath.
Steve rose slowly to his feet, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to one side. His voice was low, cautious.
“Hold on… I’m trying to isolate something,” he said. “It’s not wind, not birds… it’s not natural.”
The sound came again—faint, mechanical, like metal shifting or gears grinding softly beneath layers of earth and brush.
Steve’s brow furrowed. He sniffed the air, then glanced at Dan. “Did you catch that? There’s a smell too. Faint… like ozone. Or something burning.”
Fitzhugh lifted his head, sniffed the air with exaggerated drama, then squinted toward the fog. “Pea soup,” he said with certainty. “Fried bananas. And roasted carrots, unless my nose has finally betrayed me.” He leaned toward Steve and Dan, lowering his voice. “And I hear voices—gruff ones. Gentlemen, that’s no ghost in the woods. That’s a cooking fire, and there are men nearby.” He grinned slyly, rubbing his hands together. “Perhaps it’s time we introduced ourselves… and sampled a few of their local delicacies, eh?”
Dan’s expression changed in an instant. He froze, listening more intently, then jerked his head toward the muffled voices echoing through the mist. “Wait,” he said sharply. “That’s not just rough talk… that’s gorillas!” He looked to Steve, eyes wide. “Somewhere close—real close—an ape patrol must’ve made camp while we were asleep. Damn it, they’ve been here the whole time.”
Valerie stepped between Dan and Steve, her voice soft but insistent. "Look, maybe Fitz is right," she said, glancing at both men. "It could be humans. I mean, we’ve run into enough strange things already—why not a group of survivors, or settlers, or—just people with food? Can we at least be sure before we panic?"
Without waiting for their answer, Valerie crouched low and began creeping carefully through the underbrush, each movement deliberate. She slipped between tangled tree roots and brush like a shadow, her breaths shallow and steady as she edged closer to the strange sounds and smells. Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the trees, face pale, her arms trembling. “I’ve never seen anything so—horrible,” she whispered, staring past them. “They were gorillas… gorillas acting just like people. Sitting around a fire, talking, laughing, eating. Like it was normal!”
Steve’s voice dropped to a tense whisper as he looked over the group, eyes sharp with urgency. “Everyone, with me—now. Stay low, keep close, and make as little noise as you possibly can. We’re moving out—into the brush.”
With that, he turned and disappeared into the thicket, the others following in a tight, quiet line. They crept through the tangle of shrubbery and vines, the undergrowth thick at first, branches clawing at their clothes and hair. But as they pressed forward, the terrain began to open—slowly, gradually—the brush thinning out into sparser groves and sunlit patches of earth. The group moved roughly in the direction of the rising sun, a faint golden haze bleeding through the trees ahead. After nearly a quarter-mile of tense, silent movement, they emerged onto a steep hillside. Below them lay a wide, hard-packed dirt road—its surface crisscrossed with fresh tracks.
Steve pointed down toward it, his voice low but charged with certainty. “There it is,” he said. “The road to Ape City. Just like I hoped.”
The castaways moved cautiously along the crest of the hill, staying just beneath the skyline and keeping the road in sight as it wound its way through the valley below. The rising sun filtered through the haze, casting long shadows over the rough terrain. Dry leaves crunched softly underfoot, and no one spoke. Every sound, every shift of the wind, could betray them. They continued to parallel the road, weaving through stands of gnarled trees and patches of scrub until the road curved sharply to the left, hugging a ridge of dark stone. Steve, in the lead, halted abruptly and dropped to his knees. He gestured for silence, then motioned for the others to stay back. Slowly, deliberately, he crawled forward on his belly toward a rocky outcrop that jutted out slightly over the curve in the road. He flattened himself against the rough stone, inching forward, elbows and knees scraping across the surface. Below, the road lay exposed. Anything moving along it would have full view of the slope above—so Steve moved like a shadow, silent and careful, peering over the edge with narrowed eyes, scanning for any sign of activity.
One by one, Dan and the other castaways followed Steve’s lead, sinking to their knees and crawling forward through the dry brush and gravel. Dust clung to their hands and clothes as they crept silently, the tension thick in the air. Even Fitzhugh, for once, said nothing, moving with surprising care. As Dan reached Steve’s side at the edge of the rocky outcrop, Steve turned and gave him a sharp look, then brought a finger to his lips. With his other hand, he gestured downward, then flattened his palm against the rock—keep your head low. Dan nodded, understanding, and slid up beside him, just enough to see. The others fanned out behind them, nestling into the crevices and hollows of the rock shelf, peering cautiously over the edge.
Below them, nestled in a small clearing beside the road, an ape patrol was breaking camp. Several gorilla soldiers moved with rigid discipline, packing up supplies, strapping gear onto their pack animals, and loading their weapons. A smoldering cookfire was being doused, and low, guttural voices barked orders in a language the castaways couldn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. The apes weren’t in a hurry—but they were organized, methodical, and clearly preparing to move out. The castaways watched, barely breathing, as the patrol readied itself, still unaware of the silent observers above them.
A burly gorilla with the insignia of sergeant on his black harness was striding about, delivering kicks and threats at random, getting his troops prepared to move out. With the noise and commotion of the ape patrol below masking their movements, Steve took the chance. He cast a final glance at the group, then started down the slope, his body low and his steps measured. The others followed, one by one, keeping close to the rocks and moving when the clang of metal or the stomp of boots covered the sound of their passage. They descended in short bursts—rock to brush, brush to scrub, scrub to another outcropping—pausing each time to let the activity below swallow up the noise of dislodged pebbles or the crunch of brittle grass. Steve moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times, testing every foothold before shifting his weight, eyes constantly scanning ahead. Dan stayed close behind him, glancing back to help the others pick safe paths. Fitzhugh muttered once when he scraped his knee, but a quick glare from Valerie silenced him.
By the time they reached the lower rocks, they were just above the patrol’s position—close enough now to make out the occasional word, to see the sharp glint of sunlight bouncing off rifles, to smell the sweat and leather and fire-smoke wafting up from the camp. The gorillas were still focused on breaking down their gear, oblivious to the human eyes watching them from just beyond the trees.
"C'mon!" the sergeant was bawling, "get your lazy asses in gear. We got a lot of miles to cover today and I don't intend to be explaining to the captain why we didn't get 'em covered before dark."
He aimed a kick at a young, stocky gorilla orderly who was packing a stack of maps and papers into a leather bag. The maps went flying into the bushes at the side of the clearing.
The young gorilla scrambled quickly to retrieve the papers, which were spreading rapidly in the light wind. But, quickly as he moved, Dan moved quicker, darting from his hiding place ten feet away and diving into the line of bushes at the edge, of the clearing, among the scattered papers.
The patrol was moving out onto the road under the sergeant's loud cursing when Dan and the orderly came together behind the bushes, both of them grabbing for the same maps. Dan was reaching forward to pluck one of the brightly colored sheets from the branches holding it, when the gorilla spotted him.
It was then that the gorilla made the mistake that was to cost him his life.
In the last fraction of a second before contact, Dan threw up one arm, hitting the gorilla in the shoulder as the ape flew through the air. That blow slightly deflected the ape's leap. Not much, but enough so that they hit the ground with the man on top. Almost instinctively, Dan's hands grabbed for the gorilla's fur-covered neck. Then he flung a leg across the ape soldier's back, straddling him and dragging his own weight up on top of the now frantically heaving gorilla. Digging his knees tight into the ape's ribs, he pinned him tight beneath him.
The black aviator's nails bit deep into the gorilla's neck fur, and he began to squeeze with all the power of his wrists and biceps. He knew that, if he let the thrashing body break from under him, if he let the gorilla turn face-up, the soldier's stronger hands and great, sharp teeth would rip him to shreds.
It became a contest between Dan's weight pinning the gorilla down, and the muscles of the ape trying to lever upward. Dan hung on grimly, forcing all the power of his arm muscles into his aching wrists, his fingers dug deep into the cordlike neck. But the soldier's struggles went on and on, undiminished, even fiercer as the gorilla realized that this humanoid was different---it was a killer!
Desperately Dan held on, his strength reinforced by his knowledge that the slightest slip would lead to his own death. But the powerful squirming under him was as strong as ever. Then, abruptly, the gorilla began to make choking sounds.
The sounds recharged Dan's determination, just as he felt his grip beginning to loosen. He made one last tremendous effort, tightening the squeeze and bearing down with every ounce of his weight---and felt the gorilla weakening. He was winning, he realized, and the thought changed his attitude from dread to exaltation. For a moment after the soldier's body had gone limp, he hung on, silently shouting his victory to the world.
Dan got to his feet on shaking legs and stumbled back toward the bushes where the other castaways were still hiding, unaware of what had happened. Just before leaving the line of bushes, however, Dan remembered what had brought him to the clearing to begin with, and he turned back to snatch up the maps and papers. He pulled the partially filled leather bag from around the dead soldier's neck.
"Quick, let's get everybody the hell out of here," he hissed at Steve when he got back to the group's hiding place in the rocks.
"In a minute," Steve whispered. "I've been listening to them, and it seems as though they're looking for us---and for any other humanoids they can find!"
"You can bet your sweet life they're looking for us. Or will be in just a few minutes. As soon as they find the body back there in the bushes."
"Body? What body?" Steve asked, confusion plain in his voice as he looked up at Dan.
"I had to kill one of them," Dan said simply. "The sergeant's orderly. And you can be sure the sarge'll be looking for him before long."
Steve didn't say a word. He turned and started back up the hillside, moving fast but making sure he kept out of sight of the road below. Dan paused long enough to strap the leather bag around his shoulder; then he followed.
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For fourteen relentless hours, the castaways pushed themselves across the brutal terrain, never stopping for more than a few seconds at a time. The sun, high and merciless at first, burned down on them as they scrambled through gullies, clambered over jagged ridges, and plunged through thick underbrush. Sweat soaked their clothes. Dust caked their skin. Every muscle screamed in protest, but no one dared speak of stopping. Steve and Dan led the way, scanning constantly for signs of movement behind them, always choosing paths that offered the most cover—dry creek beds, thick groves, narrow animal trails through the brush. The others followed in grim silence, too winded to talk, driven only by fear and the pounding knowledge that the apes might be just minutes behind them.
Their pace was brutal. Valerie stumbled more than once and was hauled back to her feet by Fitzhugh, who for all his complaining, never left her side. Betty was pale and shaky, but she pressed on without a word. Even Fitzhugh, normally the first to protest, gritted his teeth and kept moving, his face gray with exhaustion.
The sun began to sink at last, casting long shadows through the hills, and still they kept moving. Every snapped twig behind them made their hearts jump. Every gust of wind through the brush could’ve been the apes. Only after the last light of day had faded and the land lay cloaked in darkness did Steve finally slow to a halt beneath a stand of twisted trees. No sounds of pursuit followed them now. No voices. No distant engine rumblings. Just the rasp of breath, the trembling of spent limbs, and the quiet settling of the night. For now, at least, they had escaped.
Twice they heard shouting behind them, and twice they redoubled their efforts, striking off at angles to confuse the trail, dashing across rocky ridges to hide their tracks---anything to make the job of tracking them harder. By nightfall, it'd been six hours or more since they'd heard any sound of pursuit behind them.
Steve didn't bother suggesting that they stop. He just dropped to the ground, his lungs, laboring to supply his exhausted body with oxygen, his legs refusing to carry him another foot without rest.
Dan and the others dropped to the ground beside him, and for ten minutes nobody moved, nobody spoke. The black reached for the canteen strapped to his waist, took a deep pull, then passed it around, first Betty, Steve last. While everyone drank, Dan pulled open the leather map case and quickly sorted the maps from the other papers. He turned slightly to catch the last dying light of the sun on the sheets of crinkled orders and plans and started to read.
Five minutes later, a look of terror on his brown features, he glanced up at everyone. "It's death warrant," he said.
Fitzhugh, panting and bent over with his hands on his knees, glanced up sharply at Dan. "A death warrant?" he echoed, voice edged with sarcasm and just a hint of panic. "For whom, exactly? Us? Them? Or are we all just signing on the dotted line and hoping it’s not written in blood?"
"For us. And for all the humanoids!"
Betty looked from Dan to Steve, her eyes wide with disbelief. "A death warrant? But… what have we done to deserve something like that?" she asked, her voice trembling. "We didn’t ask for any of this."
Steve sat up abruptly, startling the others. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow with sudden realization. "The Spindrift," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then, louder, "They must have found it. That’s the only thing that would make them push this hard, hunt us like this."
"No," Dan replied. "Or at least these orders don't say much about it. They do indicate, though, that some sort of Unidentified Flying Object was seen in an area called the Forbidden Zone."
Mark Wilson folded his arms and shot Dan a pointed look. "Dan, don’t go scaring everybody with talk like that," he said firmly. "If it really is a death warrant, then whose name is on it? Ours aren’t. We’re not mentioned, right? Then how can it be for us?" His tone was calm, but there was an edge of nervous hope behind the logic. "Let’s not panic until we know what we’re dealing with."
"Listen," Dan admonished. This is a general directive to all commands, and especially to the Command Troops, whatever they are. It says that there've been reports of an Unidentified Flying Object landing in the Forbidden Zone, possibly crewed by 'humanoid-like creatures.' I guess that's supposed to be us. 'Because of this,' it says, 'all humanoids are to be rounded up and examined.' And the way it's worded, there's a strong implication that the high command, that's General Urko, wouldn't mind a bit if the examinations proved fatal to the examinees."
Fitzhugh’s face was red with a mixture of fear and outrage as he jabbed a finger toward the distant patrol trail. “That General Urko makes the worst Nazi look like a choirboy!” he exclaimed. “Did it ever occur to either of you”—he turned sharply to Steve and Dan— “that maybe we should be helping these poor devils get away from all this? Instead of just worrying about us?”
Steve and Dan exchanged a long, quiet glance—one that carried the weight of every mile they’d crossed and every impossible decision they’d had to make. Then they looked to the others: weary faces, sunburned and dirt-streaked, waiting for an answer they weren’t sure they wanted to hear.
Steve straightened slowly, brushing grit from his palms. His voice was steady but firm. “You think I don’t want to help them?” he said, looking hard at Fitzhugh, then sweeping his gaze across the rest of the group. “But look at us—we’re exhausted, nearly out of food, and being hunted by armed patrols.” He took a breath, steadying the frustration rising in him. “There’s just not enough time,” he said flatly. “And even if we had a month, it'd be too big a job for seven people to handle. We can’t save an entire race overnight—we’d only get them, and ourselves, killed.”
The group erupted all at once, voices clashing over each other in a confused, heated jumble of ideas and fears.
Betty threw her hands up. “We can’t keep running forever! If this is where we’re stuck, then we have to build something. Somewhere safe—permanent!”
Fitzhugh barked, “Build what? A log cabin under ape patrol lines? Don’t be ridiculous! We’ll be wiped out before we stack the first stone!”
Valerie, arms crossed, said, “No, he’s not wrong. Maybe it’s time we think about how to really live here.”
Mark Wilson jumped in, voice clipped. “That means finding resources—water, food. But first, we need shelter. Real shelter.”
Dan nodded slowly. “It’s gotta be somewhere hidden, defensible. Somewhere we can see them coming.”
Fitzhugh, exasperated, threw his hands in the air. “Oh, sure, invite all the strays! Let’s paint a big red X on the roof while we’re at it!”
Steve, raising his voice to cut through the noise, snapped, “Enough! We’ve all got the same goal—we survive first, and we make this place a home second. But we do it smart. We do it together.”
The group fell into an uneasy silence, the fire of debate still smoldering in their expressions.
Steve took a breath and let his eyes scan the tense faces around him. His voice was low, but it carried. “I don’t know exactly where we’re supposed to go,” he said, the frustration bleeding through, “but there’s got to be someplace out there where they won’t find us. We’ve got an entire world to pick from—somewhere, we can be safe.” He turned, staring off into the trees as his jaw tightened. “I’m not mad at any of you,” he added, voice rough with emotion. “I’m angry at whatever twisted luck landed us in this nightmare. But I swear, we’re going to find a way to make it through this. Together.”
Dan shifted his weight, brushing dust from his pants, then looked Steve in the eye. “We might have a whole world, Steve,” he said bluntly, “but we don’t have a whole world to pick from.”
Steve frowned. "What do you mean by that?”
The black aviator gave a dry laugh, more tired than amused. “I mean, wherever we go, we’ve got to get there on foot. There are no planes. No cars. No trains. Maybe we could steal a truck again—but anywhere we take it, the apes will just follow in theirs. We’re not exactly gonna vanish off the map in something that guzzles fuel and leaves tracks.”
Steve nodded slowly, the pieces fitting together in his mind. "There's only one place I can think of where they won’t follow us," he said. "The Forbidden Zone. It’s called that for a reason—maybe even one they don’t fully understand themselves. But one thing’s for sure… the apes won’t pursue us there. That makes it our best bet."
"The Forbidden Zone? The Forbidden Zone!" Fitzhugh threw up his hands dramatically, voice rising with agitation. "If that’s the place we crawled through for days—where the ship went down near that miserable riverbank surrounded by nothing but dead, yellow-brown hills—then it's suicide! That’s no place to live, not permanently!"
"Fitz has a point for once." Mark Wilson crossed his arms and gave a serious nod. "There's no water source except that river...and we don't even know if it's drinkable. No food, probably scorching heat by day and freezing by night. And let's not forget, the Underfolk weren't far from there either. No, Steve---I don't think the Forbidden Zone is the answer we're looking for."
Steve rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as a new idea began to take shape. "What about the other side of the Forbidden Zone?" he mused aloud. "If we put that wasteland between us and the apes, even if they do come after us, their supply lines will be stretched to the breaking point. They’ll be exhausted just getting across. And with some basic military training, a few weapons… we might actually be able to hold them off."
"One question, though," Dan said. "What makes you think there is another side to the Forbidden Zone. The whole continent---except for this strip we're in now, and east of here, where the apes live----may be a desert. This isn't our old Earth, remember."
Betty frowned as she spread out one of the crumpled military maps Dan had taken. Her fingers traced lines and symbols that meant little to her, and she let out a frustrated sigh. “These maps just don’t seem to show anything,” she muttered, “at least not anything useful."
Steve leaned over, peering at the paper. “Then what do they show, Betty?” he asked, calm but insistent. “There’s got to be something on them worth reading—or the apes wouldn’t be carrying them.”
"Nothing," Betty griped. "They just cover a strip between Ape City and the edge of the Forbidden Zone. From the line of green hills on the edge of the Zone westward it's just---blank."
"There's one person who probably knows what there is on the other side of the Forbidden Zone. Assuming there's anything on the other side."
“Wait a second,” Dan said slowly. “Who exactly are you talking about when you say, ‘there’s one person who probably knows what’s on the other side of the Forbidden Zone’?”
"Cornelius," Steve said flatly.
"The chimp who captured you?" Betty asked, surprise in her voice.
"He didn't capture me. He and his wife, Zira, were in charge of the Behavioral Studies Laboratory where I was taken after the gorillas caught me with the humanoids."
Fitzhugh threw up his hands in exasperation, his voice rising with disbelief. “Do you seriously think some ape is going to help you—us—against his own kind? They’re apes, for heaven’s sake! You think one of them is just going to turn traitor and hand us a road map out of this mess?”
"He and Zira helped me escape when the Supreme Council of the Apes was going to have me disposed of, permanently, as a potential danger to apekind." Steve’s voice rose slightly, steady with energy, as his sharp gaze swept over the group. There was an urgency in his tone that demanded attention. "And I think they'll help me again, once they know the circumstances."
“That means you have to go right into this---Ape City.” Fitzhugh exclaimed. “And you actually expect all of us to follow you straight into their stronghold?"
Steve’s expression remained calm, though a flicker of weariness passed over his face. “You think I’m taking this lightly, Fitzhugh?” he retorted, voice steady but firm. “Every step we’ve taken has been dangerous, but we don’t have the luxury of playing it safe anymore. If we want answers—if we want a real chance at survival—we’ve got to take risks. Big ones.”
Mark Wilson folded his arms and fixed Fitzhugh with a steady, unyielding gaze. “Fitzhugh,” he said firmly, “whether you like it or not, Steve is the flight captain. He’s the one trained to make these calls, and it’s our duty to follow his lead. Out here, second-guessing him isn’t just unhelpful—it’s dangerous. We’re in uncharted territory, and if we don’t trust the person steering the ship, we’re sunk before we even start.”
Fitzhugh opened his mouth to retort, but Mark held up a hand, cutting him off. “This isn’t about agreeing with every choice he makes. It’s about survival. And survival starts with unity. So unless you’ve got a better plan—and I mean a real plan, not just complaints—it’s time to put your doubts aside and support the man who’s kept us alive this long.”
Fitzhugh sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine! You win,” he grumbled, his voice heavy with reluctant acceptance. “Not like I’ve got a better plan. Back in my old line of work, we had a saying for times like this: if the boot fits, kick somebody with it.” He gave Steve a pointed look, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And Steve, my friend, you’re definitely wearing the boots.”
Steve allowed himself a small, approving smile, nodding toward Fitzhugh. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, his tone warm but firm. “Stick with me, Fitz. We’ll kick our way through this yet.”
Valerie stepped forward, her gaze firm as she addressed the group. “Listen,” she began, her voice steady yet carrying an edge of urgency, “if we can find somewhere safe—somewhere we can truly settle—it’ll be more than just shelter. It’ll be a base. A place to regroup, to plan, to survive. And more importantly,” she added, her eyes sweeping across her companions, “it’ll give us a way to go back for Barry.”
She paused, her voice softening. “We can’t forget about him. He’s depending on us to get him out of those caves. I know things are bleak, but we can’t lose sight of why we’re doing this. Barry needs us, and we’re not leaving him behind.”
Her words hung in the air, touching a nerve in the weary faces around her. Even Fitzhugh, who had been stewing in his frustration, nodded grudgingly. For all their differences, they shared the same unspoken truth: they were in this together.
The determination in Valerie’s voice seemed to ignite a spark of unity, a glimmer of hope that gave the group a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead was treacherous, but at least now, they remembered what they were fighting for.
