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Undertow	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 11341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Chapter List
- 1-1/?
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
- 4-4/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
- 10-10/?
- 11-11/?
- 12-12/?
- 13-13/?
- 14-14/?
- 15-15/?
- 16-16/?
- 17-17/?
- 18-18/?
- 19-19/?
- 20-20/?
- 21-21/?
- 22-22/?
- 23-23/?
- 24-24/?
- 25-25/?
- 26-26/?
- 27-27/?
- 28-28/?
- 29-29/?
- 30-30/?
- 31-31/?
- 32-32/?
- 33-33/?
- 34-34/?
- 35-35/?
- 36-36/?
- 37-37/?
- 38-38/?
- 39-39/?
- 40-40/?
- 41-41/?
- 42-42/?
- 43-43/?
- 44-44/?
- 45-45/?
- 46-46/?
- 47-47/?
- 48-48/?
- 49-49/?
- 50-50/?
- 51-51/?
- 52-52/?
- 53-53/?
- 54-54/?
- 55-55/?
- 56-56/?
- 57-57/?
- 58-58/?
- 59-59/?
- 60-60/?
- 61-61/?
- 62-62/?
- 63-63/?
- 64-64/?
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- 66-66/?
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- 68-68/?
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- 70-70/?
- 71-71/?
- 72-72/?
- 73-73/?
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- 75-75/?
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- 77-77/?
- 78-78/?
- 79-79/?
- 80-80/?
- 81-81/?
- 82-82/?
- 83-83/?
- 84-84/?
- 85-85/?
- 86-86/?
- 87-87/?
- 88-88/?
- 89-89/?
- 90-90/?
- 91-91/?
- 92-92/?
- 93-93/?
- 94-94/?
- 95-95/?
- 96-96/?
- 97-97/?
- 98-97/?
- 99-99/?
- 100-100/?
- 101-101/?
- 102-102/?
- 103-103/?
- 104-104/?
- 105-105/?
- 106-106/?
- 107-107/?
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- 109-109/?
- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
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- 38
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Having expended their ready energy in nearly sixteen hours of swimming, two little penguins paused to determine the creek they needed to swim up to reach Howe Caverns. Three candidates formed a delta feeding into the rippling Mohawk and since it was already four p.m., there were only a few hours left of daylight to complete their trip. It was time to dig deep into reserves as Skipper allowed a break after they beached themselves.
"Ready for some training?"
"On holiday?"
Skipper put on what he hoped was a neutral face. "Let me take a mulligan. Ready for pleasant competition? Nonjudgmental experiment? Training for a half marathon for laid back hippies?"
Those words would sharpen any commando penguin's focus, tired or not. "I'm in."
Outstanding! "We're about to use the GPS and we haven't needed it before. Let's let Mama Nature try first. Close your eyes and point to where the sun will set."
The young penguin did himself proud. "There, where the meanderin' Mohawk merrily makes music."
"Yupperdoodle! Now dive inside yourself and ask yourself does this feel like I'm heading towards my goal?"
Private opened one eye. "It's a rum go to hear you talkin' about feelin's, honey."
"Don't tell anybody outside our rookery I did, just do it yourself. Orienteering is more difficult for us penguins away from the sea, so try extra hard. Well?"
Private concentrated once more as strain appeared on the features where there should be no strain. "I can't hear myself. My head's muddled as Pinkie's flock when they try to fly right after Alice clips their wings so they can't escape the habitat."
The dear bird always did his best to please. "Waddle with me." The two penguins trod one after the other in a tight circle, clockwise and counterclockwise in ten minute sets. "Faster." Now they power waddled, swinging flippers and stepping high.
Private panted, "Gettin' bushed, Skippa. Oughtn't we save our strength for swimmin' these last miles?"
It was time to change the playing field. "I'll try now, and then you." Skipper closed his eyes, pointed himself west and visualized the caverns as they had been described to him. His ulcers would act up sometimes when deploying this search engine inborn to any penguin's software, but not on this occasion. Because he asked it to, the planet reached out to his brain, subtly influencing his sense of direction through magnetism. Because his brain as well as his body was tired, there were no niggling worries as everything except this mission, no, this experiment, fell away. He knew what Private meant about being muddled, though, because he felt as if he had a hangover the second he began. He almost had the answer, but almost wasn't good enough when he could get both of them lost.
"Washington's wooden teeth, what do you know? I'm stumped, too. Let's deploy the fershlugginer smartphone and aim for a better connection to Mama Nature later."
"A smashin' idea." They plotzed together, back to back. Private dug out the device.
Skipper tackled the smartphone as he sat in concealing greenery beside the open Hello Kitty backpack. "Let's see now, slap this button to turn it on, poke this, jab this, shake this, crank this - "
"Skippa, mightn't I do the GPS? As a part of my trainin', I mean?"
Skipper regarded the tech challenge in his tight grip. He nodded at last. "All right." He passed the smartphone to Private. "Remember how to do it?"
"K'walski was very thorough, so yes. But you can prompt me!"
Skipper detected a whiff of condescension wafting through their little midstream island haulout, but it was sensitively wrapped in gilt paper with a silver ribbon sparkling with love, so he'd go along with it. "A team effort? Seguro."
"Righto, then. Here we go!" Private swung around closer to share the screen view. "Phil preprogrammed key number five for Howe" - he tapped - "see, here are icons for car, walkin', train, bus, okay, we are swimmin', well, walkin' is what we'll need to put in, said K'walski" - he stroked - "oooh, only one more hour till arrival, Skippa!" - he turned serious - "now we get the directions." The smartphone spoke.
"Hike along Schoharie Creek Trail until you reach Cobleskill Creek Trail to the north. Cross the footbridge. Turn left on Cobleskill Creek Trail. If you have reached Esperance, you have gone too far."
Private looked skeptical. "That sounds premature, don't you think? I don't recognize Esperance from the list of towns we'd swim by that K'walski recited. Um, did I hit the wrong button? Are we truly only one hour out? Skippa?"
"We're a little way from what the phone lady said, so let me think some more." Skipper closed his eyes, turning his head to right and left as if using a homing satellite dish to find Channel One's broadcast of the Rangers games they would miss. He nodded firmly. "Yeah, we're close to the turn off the Mohawk, maybe a mile further." He smirked. "Mama Nature for the win."
"K'walski said there might be oopsies with the GPS and that we need to hang a left at Ft. Hunter for our second turn."
Peeking through the waving grasses and weeds towards a far shore, Skipper spied a middling sized town. "Yeah, he did. And there's a piece of Americana nearby for us both to admire because Schoharie Crossing shows the Erie Canal in its fading glory. Good old Phil says it's the best place to view what's left of the rocks and stuff, er you know, the engineering knowhow that opened up The West." His chest swelled with pride. "The Ewe Ess of Ay is patriotic numero uno to me."
"Will there be rubidium to tell Rico about in these rocks?"
Personalities, schmersonalities. "It's a historical site, babe, not exciting like Shinjen's legendary sword or like that kaboomy metal. It's worthwhile learning about all the same."
"Another bit of trainin' on holiday then, for me. Hmmmph."
"Deal with it." But Skipper's smile undid any command rigor.
Private wanted to kiss away the frown of intensity that creased his love's forehead as the elder bird set to work once more. The hiatus is endin' soon and I'm all atwitterpated! A little dizzy from fatigue, he leaned his shoulder into Skipper's.
"I'm sensing, uh it's a strain so far from the ocean, but I'm sensing" - oh, the voice tensed and Private frowned - "that, that this island isn't quite far enough up the Mohawk for us to see any of these waterways to be our correct turn and besides, no creek looks as wide as Phil described the Schoharie. They look more like feeder creeks and we don't use one to reach the caverns until we're right there at the insert point. Let's use the finder app." He softened his touch on the device at Private's nudge until a feminine voice again spoke authoritatively.
"Hike along Schoharie Creek Trail until you reach Cobleskill Creek Trail to the north. Cross the footbridge. Turn left on Cobleskill Creek Trail. If you have reached Esperance, you have gone too far."
Skipper hmmmed. "Yeah, we heard this before, lady. We're swimming, which is faster than walking, so I guesstimate one hour forty-five minutes from Ft. Hunter until beachhead at Howe." He flourished the smartphone as he tapped his forehead with his other flipper. "Mama Nature knowhow supported by good old American knowhow!"
Private leaned more heavily into the brawny shoulder. "No hurry, no hurry, the sun's still up at six and besides, I'm a bit tuckered from our long swim, aren't you?"
"We paced ourselves well but yes, I am a touch tuckered. A little more rest, a nice easy swim and we'll reach Howe." He looked around their wooded respite, which the smartphone named Upper Pepper Island. The comfortable gravel beach was laced with willowy withes of cottonwood that shushed musically in the light breeze. No leaves yet on the poplars, observed Skipper, but the catkins are growing already. He reached up to bat the nearest one and watched it sway before patting Hello Kitty on the backpack.
A sense of caution surged because the waters were still too high from winter's runoff to produce a summery murmur yet. Skipper quelled the surge because he would term the aquatic sounds nothing I can't handle even if we're both tired because I am physically superior and can save him if necessary. He put his flipper around Private's shoulders. "This is a peaceful place, Private. I feel, um, mellow? Is that what this is?"
"I shouldn't be at all surprised, Skippa. Enjoy your accomplishment." He played some more with the smartphone.
Something had autocorrected in the GPS because at Private's next tap, the voice said, "Ft. Hunter is on your left. Continue through the town and turn left at the confluence of the Mohawk and Schoharie."
"There we go, the Catskills! A traditional relaxin' spot for us New Yorkers!" Private nuzzled Skipper's cheek. "Honey, I can't wait to settle into our cavern and see crystals every whichaway."
"Mmmhmm. Let's punch the street view of our present position since the gizmo's updated and see what we get." Skipper tapped the two arrows in a circly thing that Kowalski said provided street view. He closed his eyes in thought. "I think we have a match now and technology agrees. Nice."
"Do you feel north and south and everythin'? Because I do, a little." Private lifted his head from Skipper's shoulder and swiveled it.
Progress! His private rating of his private's maturity rose two points. Skipper placed the smartphone back into Hello Kitty's innards and sealed the fastener. "Now that the GPS is all sorted, let's head out. Good pussy, nice pussy, how dry you are inside." A tune bubbled up and he swayed in time at the prospect of more adventure as he donned the backpack. "Oh I'm a pepper you're a pepper he's a pepper she's a pepper wouldn't you like to be a pepper, too?"
Private looked blank.
"Old TV commercial jingle."
Private tapped his temple.
"Carrie Manilow wrote it?"
Private smiled politely.
"We're on Upper Pepper Island? Dr. Pepper, Seven Up, tie in with sodas?"
Private scanned his surroundings and nodded.
"Never mind. Before your time, it seems."
Private seized the opening. "How old are you, Skippa?"
"That's not important, Mr. Nosey Beak."
"Well, no, but it's quite inte- "
"Let's launch!"
"Righto."
IOIOIOIOIO
"Jump right in! ¡Rápidamente!"
The group of high-spirited adolescent Sea Scouts jostling each other on the wooden observation deck above them reminded Skipper of the times he had played under the boardwalk in Atlantic City with any number of nubile females, some of whom had even been penguins. He had never been spotted by humans peeking down through the slats and was not going to start now.
Skipper pushed down deep the memory of their ghastly approach from the feeder creek to the caverns over a broad meadow with barely sprouting grasses for cover. There had been no time to check out the gift shop for thimbles as they sidled through the building and gained the caverns proper through holes only large enough for penguins. His battle mind seized on the idea of exiting through the natural opening of the cave when they left for home, rather than re-braving the building and all those human feet. Sentimental Private would likely try to talk him out of giving up on the thimble, though, because he was sweet as the sugary caramel on a Christmas croquembouche.
Icy rushing waters were normally inviting to any self-respecting penguin. Private hesitated. "Wot's on the other side?"
Skipper was antsy for leisure to enjoy the glittery drapes, ripples, and creamy flowstone rather than skulking under a deck. "I haven't looked at the GPS down here yet! Adventure is part of the reason we came! Jump in or I'll push you, come on! You wanted this vacation!"
Private eyed the underground lake that turned into a torrent as it drained into unknown depths at the far end of the part of Howe Caverns explored by humans. He supposed that it came out miles ahead as a lesser torrent spewing from limestone crags to add to Cobleskill Creek. It was what was between here and there that gave him pause. The pink, gold and blue globes the humans had added for atmosphere and, of course, lighting seemed mystical - hang about, mystical?
Private shook his head. Why did that word echo in his brain as much as the boyish voices echoed in the caverns? The chatter from the group standing on the observation platform above his head grew louder as they pushed and shoved each other. There was a good chance he and his skipper would be noticed. What if the river didn't come out aboveground but continued down, down into the mystic - there was that word again - reaches of the earth?
"If we wait longer here, the last boatload for the day of happy turistas will float by. Count of ten, Private! Nine - eight - seven - sixfivefourthree -"
"Two - here we go!" Private pushed Skipper in and spiraled behind him and to the left. Down, down they sped, two penguins frolicking in their best environment. What awkwardness they displayed on land disappeared as their sleek black and white torpedo shapes sliced through the black waters. Onward, onward to the farthest reaches of the cavern that were visible to humans they pushed to finally pop up just before the passage narrowed to fit only penguins. The Howes Cavern tour guide on loan from New York State's Park Police didn't notice them, but an observant Sea Scout did.
"Look!"
The ranger spun from his position facing the tour group to peer into the gloom behind him. "Where away?"
"Fifteen degrees to port!"
It had been a long time since New York State Forest Ranger Rick Esparza had been a Sea Scout himself, but he homed in on the mark after a moment's thought port left starboard right. "Is that - are those penguins?" His bass came out a squeak right before his jaw dropped.
"Maybe they're mallards!"
"Naw, canvasbacks!"
"Mallards, stupid!"
"You're all wrong, they were buffleheads, right, Rick?"
Seven pairs of teen eyes looked to him for guidance. He closed his mouth, scratched his Lincolnesque beard and gathered himself before replying.
"They were not mallards or wood ducks or any sort of duck. They were penguins." He wouldn't fib to these bright lads. "I'm prepared to say to you that we have seen penguins today. What a trip when you guys tell your leader, wow!" He thought for a moment and sighed. "If this gets out, there'll be a news conference and meetings with my superiors who will likely give me administrative leave without pay because they will think I'm loofy. Your parents will want answers and guys, the whole penguin scenario is awfully unlikely." Rick let his words hang in the dank air of the cavern. Of course, he liked dank and dark and spooky or he wouldn't have requested this assignment. "I need that regular paycheck, fellas."
One bespectacled Scout in the back spoke up after a full minute. "Actually, given that our latitude is nowhere near any sort of penguin environment, it's not likely they were penguins."
"They were penguins! They were!" The youngest Scout bounced on his toes. "They were dope!"
"Men, think about it. Do we want publicity?" By calling them men Rick showed them respect and okay, played into their egos. He saw them actually think and gave them two minutes of grinding their mental gears before speaking again. "I know I don't. And considering how canvasbacks have large amounts of near white feathers - hence the name - it's reasonable that we saw them rather than penguins."
The youngest would not be deterred, plus he had a lot of knowledge. Rick predicted trouble with him even though he had played the dreaded your parents will find out card. The boy's voice cracked as he spouted, "But but but canvasbacks aren't black and white, okay white-ish, and and they have chestnut colored heads - "
The rest had concluded what Rick hoped they would. Already, they hovered on the cusp of adulthood with its reverence of status quo. He hated to step on their adventurous spirit in a way, although they had to learn sometime that it was mostly desirable to leave well enough alone. He hurried to reassure himself. This would become a mystery as they went through life, wondering what penguins were doing swimming in this locale, where they came from, where they were going and how the heck they had gotten underground. Ahah, he could foster the lure of the unknown that he had felt at their age!
Rick felt marginally better about himself.
He stepped in with the one good trick he'd learned from Ranger To Youth Encouragement class. Engage them in any conflict you have with them and make them think how to solve it themselves, said his instructor, by asking one simple question. In other words, smack the ball back into their court. He asked the question. "What do you think I'm going to say next?"
Their replies touched his heart.
Kid Number Six replied first. "That you'll mark down our evaluation if we don't agree with you?"
Number Four was practical. "That you really, really need a steady paycheck because you've got a baby?" He went on after Rick's blink of surprise. "I saw a baby seat in a New York Nature Services jeep when we walked through the parking lot."
Number Seven was truly up on his birds, yet anthropomorphism flavored his response. "That buffleheads are open sea ducks only and shun the underground because they're claustrophobic?"
Number One was way off. "That you love your job to be uninterrupted?"
Oh ho, Number Two had been thinking overtime. "That you are in a Witness Protection Program so publicity is a bad thing? What crime did you see? Was it something heinous to animals?"
Um, okay, time to put a stop to this. Rick had his mouth open to speak when the youngest, Number Five, came up with the perfect diversion. "Aw, guys, I guess they were canvasbacks after all. I need them for my Life List and I've already seen penguins. Lemme have this, okay?" The boy winked at Rick.
Rick clapped the kid on his shoulder. "Way to go growing up, men. There ought to be a merit badge for that. I'll make do with an extra citation for citizenship for the lot of you." He cast a last look at the farthest visible end of the lake where he'd never gone.
Torrents swooshed through hanging crystalline curtains of calcite and the overhead lights from their lookout point barely reached the limits of this part of the cavern. Through the sounds of glubbing water, he spoke to the dark where he thought he saw two black heads submerge. "Good luck wherever you're headed, penguins," he whispered before turning back to his responsibilities. "Now, kids I mean men, who's up for snowcones at the snack bar outside?"
Number Three spoke up at last. "Me!"
IOIOIOIOIO
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