Adventures of the Aviatrix

by Callista Hawkes

  “Like?” She smiles.

  “You know I did.” You pant before pulling her to you and kissing her, lying there in each other’s embrace.

  “We go tribe village.” She announces a few minutes later as you pull your clothes back on. While her tribe may be able to help, you wonder if you might find better assistance from the missionary she mentioned earlier. After all, he and his wife should have a better idea of how to get back to civilization.

  Find the missionary

  Follow the tribeswoman to her village

  Without a weapon, you’re not about to confront the stalker, even in a busy street. You walk on, weaving your way through the crowd, glancing back every few steps. He’s still back there, tall with a hat pulled low over his brow, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. You quicken your pace, slipping through gaps in the waves of people sweeping towards you as you try to put some distance between you. Turning a corner, you see a shadowy alley to one side. You hurry along it, looking for somewhere to hide. The aroma of fresh cooking drifts out of some open windows. You must be behind some restaurant kitchens. There are some large bins you could hide behind. Glancing up, you can see a wrought iron fire escape. You could just about reach the lower rung of the ladder and haul yourself up.

  Hide behind the bins

  Hide up on the fire escape

  You leap up and hook your fingers around the bottom rung of the fire escape ladder, your weight dragging it down. With a nervous glance over your shoulder, you quickly clamber up onto the platform above, the ladder sliding back up as you step off it. You climb a couple of flights and peer down at the alley below just as your mysterious pursuer appears at the end. He glances up and down the street before stepping into the alley, his long shadow stretching along the cracked paving. You freeze, watching as he stalks slowly towards you. His footsteps echo off the high walls to either side and you realize you are holding your breath. As he reaches the bins and peers behind them, you thank your lucky stars you hadn’t hidden there. He grunts, standing there for a moment almost directly below you. Exhaling a plume of smoke, he flicks his cigarette away, the glowing tip arcing through the shadows towards the bins. You hear him sigh before retracing his steps and disappearing back into the crowded street beyond.

  After waiting a few minutes to ensure the coast is clear, you climb back down the fire escape and retrace your steps back to the street. A little shaken after your brush with the mysterious stalker, you glance nervously at the faces in the crowd before stepping out amongst them.

  As you wander the streets, you begin to feel a little demoralized. It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack and you wonder what you were thinking, chasing Noah across a continent and losing your plane in the process. Perhaps to continue this fool’s errand is pure folly and you would be better served working out just how you are going to stump up enough cash to get back to the Caribbean.

  Give up

  Keep going

  With a sigh of resignation, you peel away from the crowd and lean against a wall. As you gaze up at the clear blue sky, your eyes drift once more to the statue of Christ the Redeemer, his arms outstretched at the peak of the mountain. So much for divine intervention.

  Having made your way to the docks, you ask around for some work. After bruising your knuckles on a few jaws when some lewd suggestions are made, you find yourself employed in the galley of a tramp steamer bound for Havana. From there, you’ll island hop until you get home, but what you’ll do now your plane is gone, you have no idea.

  A few weeks later, you find yourself working in the beachside bar, biting your tongue every time you collect glasses and feel some drunken lowlife grabbing your butt. In your quieter moments, you find yourself occasionally glancing out at the jetty where your plane used to be moored and wondering what happened to Noah Wheatley and what was he really up to?

  “Hey, two glasses of rum over here, sugar-tits!” One drunk yells, breaking your reverie. You glare across the bar at him before sighing and reaching for the bottle and a couple of glasses.

  THE END

  You’ve come this far and you’re not about to give up now. Clenching your jaw, you continue on, weaving your way through the crowds.

  With your feet aching as you aimlessly walk the streets of Rio, you begin to question your own sanity for continuing such an obviously futile search. As you turn a corner, you see a sprawling whitewashed building ahead with a sign outside that reads: ‘Museu Histórico Nacional’. While you don’t speak Portuguese, you can hazard a guess at the English translation for that one. Might be just the kind of place Noah would visit with his busted compass.

  “Worth a shot.” You murmur to yourself before stepping inside.

  Glad to be out of the oppressive heat, you walk across the marble floored lobby, enjoying the gentle breeze stirred up by the ceiling fans overhead. Approaching an elderly woman behind the front desk, you return her polite smile.

  “Do you speak English?” You ask her.

  “O que?” She replies knitting her eyebrows. You wince and feel your shoulders slump. Of course she doesn’t. As you chew your lip, wondering how on Earth you are going to mime a description of Noah, you are dimly aware of the echoing tap of footsteps across the lobby to your right. Glancing in the direction of the sound, you see a tall, thin figure in a familiar beige suit. You clench your jaw and narrow your eyes. Noah Wheatley. Somehow you’ve found the double-crossing bastard. Oblivious to your presence, he seems to be making his way towards the door.

  Confront him

  Keep your cool and follow him

  “Never mind.” You murmur to the woman, turning and following him as he steps out into the bright sunshine. Pausing outside, Noah pulls his hat low over his eyes before walking slowly on. Keeping a safe distance behind, you shadow him as he makes his way through the busy streets. He stops a couple of times and glances over his shoulder, but you slip into a shop doorway or shield yourself behind a throng of people before he has a chance to spot you.

  Once he reaches the fringes of the city he makes his way towards the harbor.

  “Where are you going?” You murmur to yourself, feeling a little more exposed now you have left the bustling streets behind. Fortunately, he seems a little more relaxed, striding purposefully along the dockside, weaving through the sailors and dockworkers as he passes several large cargo vessels moored along the wharves. Men shout out to be heard over the whine of crane jibs swinging overhead as ships are each loaded or unloaded, crates and containers set down on the dockside. Noah continues on past the vessels and you wonder what he is doing. Is he planning to stow away aboard one of the ships and make his way back stateside? Why did he come to Rio in the first place? As you pass a particularly large freighter, you see a smaller ship behind it. The Herkules, a tramp steamer by the looks of her. A red flag with a white disc inset with a black swastika flies from a mast at her stern. You duck behind a crate and watch as Noah pauses before climbing a gangplank and disappearing aboard.

  “What are you up to, Noah?” You murmur. Is he really in cahoots with the Nazis? You peer up at the ship. You can’t see anyone on deck. Perhaps you can slip aboard without being spotted...

  Follow Noah now

  Wait until nightfall and slip aboard under cover of darkness

  Deciding there is no time to lose, you leave your hiding place and dash across to the gangplank, stepping lightly as you climb it and slip aboard. As you step out of the sunshine and into the darkened interior of the vessel, you pause, listening for a moment. There is the steady hum of the ship and you can hear a few distant voices speaking German. Is one of them Noah? Perhaps he’s not American at all, but a German spy impersonating an American? But why the wild goose chase with the map and the compass? You creep deeper into the bowels of the vessel, feeling increasingly vulnerable with each step and wishing you were armed.

  “Elyse?” You hear a voice gasp in surprise. You turn to find Noah behind you, flanked by a tall, square jawed officer of the SS jud
ging by his black uniform and peaked cap. “What on Earth are you doing here?” The SS officer growls something in German and reaches for his holstered luger.

  “No, wait!” Noah objects as he pulls it free and aims it at you. You raise your arms, but you can see the hard, flinty gaze of a killer in the SS officer’s cold gray eyes. As you open your mouth to beg for your life, he coolly pulls the trigger before you can even form a syllable.

  THE END

  Go back a few moments and rethink your actions

  Having drawn a few curious glances and the odd wolf whistle from dockhands wandering past, you fall back a little and find a less conspicuous vantage point where you can keep an eye on the ship. Noah doesn’t leave the vessel and no one else boards all afternoon. The day seems to drag on forever until finally the sun drops behind the mountains and darkness swiftly falls. You can see a few figures appear on deck, busily scurrying about. Looks like they are readying the Herkules to leave port. Realizing it’s now or never, you leave your hiding place and move stealthily from cover to cover, ducking behind crates and barrels and working your way towards the hulking vessel. Dashing across the last stretch of open ground, you reach the gangplank and climb aboard.

  “What are you doing, Elyse?” You mutter to yourself as you step inside the vessel. As you walk through a labyrinth of metal passages, you wonder if your pursuit of Noah has become a mindless obsession. It’s already cost you your airplane. If you get spotted, it might cost you your life. Hearing footsteps approaching, you back up along the passageway. You stiffen, hearing a grunt behind you before feeling a heavy blow to the back of your head. You crumple to the deck, your vision fading to black as a stocky, unshaven sailor stands over you, a club in his hand.

  Your eyes flick open and you wince, closing them again, your head aching.

  “Goddamn it.” You groan, trying to reach up to nurse what is sure to be quite a lump, but finding your wrists are tied to the chair you are sitting on. Tentatively opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings. Riveted deck plates and bulkheads with no windows. The smell of oil and sweat. A compartment below decks, perhaps in the ship’s hold. There’s nothing or no one else in the room. Your ankles as well as your wrists are bound to the chair and while you strain against them, they are tight and secure. You can feel the rhythmical movement of the deck beneath you and realize with a start that you must be at sea. Suppressing the fear that threatens to overwhelm you, you take a deep breath and consider your options.

  Shout out

  Wait for your captors to reveal themselves

  “Hey!” You shout out. “You can’t keep me cooped up like this!” You listen, but can’t hear any footsteps. “C’mon, you sons of bitches! Let me out of here!” You stamp your feet against the deck plates as best you can, but still there is no answer. You sigh and glare malevolently at the closed bulkhead door across the compartment. “Noah, Noah, can you hear me? This is kidnapping, goddamn it! You’re in a lot of trouble now, mister!” You swear under your breath, knowing you are sounding increasingly desperate. Rage boils up inside you and you shout and curse, stamping your feet before finally you hear footsteps clanking behind the door. The locking wheel squeaks as it slowly turns and the door creaks open. A burly looking sailor steps in, his face grimy and his overalls stained with oil. He stomps angrily towards you and slaps you across the face, making you gasp and your eyes water.

  “Silence bitch.” He snarls in German accented English. He turns and stomps away again, closing the door behind him.

  Keep silent

  Make a ruckus

  “Fuck you!” You scream defiantly at the closed door, stamping your feet again, the clanking sound echoing around the compartment. You scream and shout, the noise deafening in the enclosed space. Moments later, the door creaks open again and the burly sailor squeezes his broad frame back through it, advancing towards you.

  “You Americans never know when to keep quiet.” He snarls before crashing his fist into your stomach. You double up, winded and gasping for breath. “You want more of the same, you just carry on.” He grins cruelly before turning and walking out, slamming the door shut behind you. Your stomach aches painfully as you wonder what to do next.

  Persist

  Wait

  “I’ve only just got started, pal!” You scream at the closed door. Again, you stamp your feet and shout and curse. The door swings open and the sailor squeezes his huge frame through it, advancing towards you. This time, he brandishes a club and there is a look of pure rage in his eyes.

  “I warned you, fraulein.” He snarls, raising the club over his head.

  “No, no, wait!” You cry out, but he is already swinging the club down. The first blow cracks your skull and your head lolls forward as the enraged sailor viciously beats you to death.

  THE END

  Go back a few moments and rethink your actions

  “Son of a bitch!” You growl, striding across the marble floor towards him. Noah stiffens at the sound of your voice and turns towards you, his eyes widening as his gaze meets yours. He immediately bolts for the door, his rapid footsteps echoing as he sprints past you. Setting off in pursuit, you burst out into the sunshine. The double-crossing bastard has a head start, but he won’t give you the slip that easily. He is clutching a small canvas bag and you wonder if the compass is inside. He keeps glancing fearfully over his shoulder at you as he weaves through the crowds of people. You smile, gaining on him now. You’re fitter and faster and there’s no way you’re going to let him give you the slip. Not now. Not after everything you’ve been through. He abruptly darts into a side street and runs towards the gates of a rather grand looking building with long red drapes hanging down the outside walls.

  “Noah!” You shout out angrily, just a few paces behind him now. As he steps through the gates, you are upon him, wrestling him to the ground and ripping the canvas bag from his grasp.

  “Give me that!” He calls out as you scramble back to your feet.

  “Go to hell!” You snarl, kicking him in the ribs. Noah grunts with pain before pulling himself back to his feet. “This is mine.” You reach into the bag and pull out the compass. “You can have it back once you give me my thousand bucks. And a new plane.” You swiftly add.

  “What is going on here?” A German accented voice barks. You glance towards the newcomer, seeing a gray uniformed guard stepping out of his sentry box and approaching you, unslinging a rifle from his shoulder. You notice a sign next to the box reading ‘German Consulate’ as well as the Nazi swastika adorning the long red drapes.

  “I think you’d better give that back.” Noah warns you, holding out his hand while still clutching his injured ribs.

  Give him the compass

  Refuse

  You’re not giving up that easily.

  “I don’t think so.” You tell him defiantly, glaring at Noah and then the guard. The guard murmurs something in German to Noah. He nods and glances sadly at you.

  “You’re with them!” You gasp, taking a backwards step. “You treacherous son of a bitch!”

  “It’s not like that!” He objects as you back away towards the gates. Again, the guard speaks to Noah in German, his words urgent now.

  “Stop, Elyse!” Noah tells you as the guard levels his rifle at you. You are nearly to the gates now. Surely he won’t shoot you in broad daylight just for some old trinket.

  “Fuck you.” You reply, turning away. The crack of the rifle shot echoes off the buildings around you and you see a fine red mist spray before you as you are thrown forward by the impact, the compass slipping from your grasp. You drop to your knees, staring in disbelief at the expanding crimson stain in the front of your shirt. Noah kneels next to you, his face anguished.

  “I’m sorry, Elyse.” He tells you gently as he picks up the compass. “This is the last thing I wanted to happen.” You try to speak, but just gargle blood before your vision darkens and you keel over.

  THE END

  Go back a few moments and re
think your actions

  You glance from Noah to the guard, who is brandishing his rifle threateningly before reluctantly deciding that the compass is not worth dying for. Glaring at Noah, you slam the heavy silver artifact into his hand.

  “Have it your way.” You growl. “But you still owe me a thousand bucks and a new plane.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Noah tells you grimly.

  “Oh, you will be, buster.” You snap back. “I’ll…” At that moment, you feel the butt of the guard’s rifle smash into the back of your head and drop to the floor. You groan weakly for a moment before everything goes dark.

  Your eyes flick open and you wince, closing them again, your head aching.