Adventures of the Aviatrix

by Callista Hawkes

  “He’s already checked out, Miss Blake.” She tells you fearfully. “Left about a half hour ago.”

  “Shit.” You curse under your breath. “He say where he was going?”

  “No, ma’am.” The maid replies, glancing at the wrecked frame of the door.

  “Sorry about that.” You mumble. “Tell the owner to put that on my bill.” The maid nods as you turn to leave.

  “Miss Blake?” The maid calls out from the doorway. “There was this.” She holds out a piece of crumpled notepaper. “Found it screwed up in a ball next to the trash can.”

  “Thanks.” You tell her gruffly, taking it from her and examining it. ‘Wednesday. 9.30am flight to Rio de Janeiro’. You check your watch. It’s quarter past nine. You’ll never reach the airstrip in time. “Goddamn it.” You curse, screwing the piece of paper back up and tossing it away in disgust. While your first instinct is to head to the beach, jump into your plane and set off in pursuit, the plan is foolhardy at best: Rio must be three thousand miles away and your plane is short range. You’ll have to land to refuel several times before you reach your destination. Perhaps you’d do better to chalk this one up to experience and let it go. Besides, while the slimy bastard may have cut and run without paying you your thousand bucks, you know where a haul of treasure worth a hell of a lot more is buried…

  Pursue Noah to Rio

  Abandon the pursuit and settle for the haul of priceless treasure

  “Do it.” You tell him, grinding your hips down on him. “Come inside me.” Noah’s eyes close, his hands sliding down to your waist and gripping your hips as he slams up inside you. Moaning with glee, you watch his face as his jaw clenches, his body tensing up before he roars with release. You gasp as you feel his hard cock twitch inside you, the warm wetness of his seed gushing deep within your pussy. The sensation sends you over the edge too and you cry out as you feel the blissful warmth of your orgasm radiate out from between your thighs. You both tremble in the throes of your climaxes until you slump forward, your head next to his as you pant for breath.

  “You were incredible.” He whispers in your ear.

  “You weren’t so bad yourself.” You grin, rolling off him and gazing up at the whirring ceiling fan as you wait for your heart to stop trying to punch its way through your chest. He throws an arm over you and you allow him to gather you into his embrace. Within moments, you both drift off into a deep sleep.

  You yawn as you wake, bars of sunlight thrown across the bed from the gaps in the window shutters. Rolling over, you find just crumpled sheets and no sign of Noah. Fine. You don’t need the awkward and stilted ‘morning after’ conversation anyway. As you slowly come round, your gaze focuses on the side table. You sit bolt upright. The compass is gone!

  “Son of a bitch!” You growl. Scrambling out of bed, you quickly pull on your clothes and swing open the door of your room. As you step out onto the veranda, you glare across at the door to Noah’s room.

  Check if he’s still in his room

  Try to catch him before he has a chance to leave the island

  You chew your lower lip for a moment before slowly stretching out your left foot and gently pressing it to the bulge between Noah’s legs. He gasps in surprise, his head snapping up and his eyes widening as his gaze meets yours.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s feeling a little stiff tonight.” You smirk. “You need a massage too?”

  “Well, if you’re offering?” Noah shrugs, grinning broadly. You chuckle and begin to rub your toes up and down his length. His eyes meet yours and as he groans with pleasure, you feel a thrill of excitement course through you.

  “You like that?” You purr as his mouth drops open and his hands become increasingly distracted while he continues to massage your other foot.

  “Hell, yes!” He moans thickly. As your pussy tingles with arousal, you crave a little more attention yourself. “You want to move things over to the bed?” He asks intuitively.

  Sounds good

  Enough foreplay. Sit on him

  “I don’t think so, Mr Wheatley.” You reply. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Just a drink, that’s all.” Noah replies, a hurt expression on his face.

  “C’mon Noah, we both know when a guy knocks on a girl’s door at this hour, he’s looking for more than a drinking partner. I’m not that easy.”

  “Didn’t realize I was being that obvious.” He shrugs with a rueful grin.

  “You’ll just have to try harder in future.” You smile, holding his gaze for a moment. “Goodnight, Noah.” You close the door before leaning back against it, listening as his footsteps slowly recede. Letting out a sigh, you wonder if you should have invited him in after all. It might have been fun and God knows, you’re going through a lean spell at the moment.

  “Goddamn it.” You mutter, throwing yourself down on the bed and gazing up at the ceiling fan as it spins overhead. As you undress, the thought of what might have been has left you a little antsy. You switch off the lights and climb between the soft cotton bed sheets. Lying in the darkness, you toss and turn as your mind conjures all manner or erotic scenarios. Squirming, you wonder whether you should attend to your own needs.

  Touch yourself

  Get some sleep

  Resisting the urge, you roll over onto your side and listen to the constant nighttime chorus of the tree-frogs outside before drifting off to a deep and dreamless sleep.

  When you wake the following morning, you climb out of bed and rub the sleep from your eyes. As you focus on the side table, you are suddenly wide awake. The compass is gone.

  “No!” You cry out, scrambling out of bed and frantically checking on the floor and behind the table. “No, no, no! Noah, you son of a bitch!” The slimy bastard must have picked the lock of your door after you’d gone to sleep and stolen it. You quickly pull on your clothes and swing open the door to your room. As you step out onto the veranda, you glare across at the door to Noah’s room.

  Check if he’s still in his room

  Try to catch him before he has a chance to leave the island

  You know there are no passenger ships due to leave the island today, so the son of a bitch must be heading for the airstrip. With a glance over to your motorcycle parked at the other side of the lot, you jog across and climb astride it. Folding back the kickstand with your heel, you switch on the ignition, the engine growling as you rev the throttle. You accelerate out of the hotel parking lot and streak off along the narrow roads towards the airstrip, the wind in your hair. The palm trees lining each side of the road fly past you as you rattle through the gears. The sun is rising in the sky and the temperature is already soaring. The airstrip is only a few miles away and you are determined to reach it in time.

  Sweeping around the final corner, you brake hard, skidding to a halt before a couple of steel gates. The tiny airstrip beyond is little more than a shack, a hanger which is practically a glorified barn, a wind sock and a long strip of concrete. A small airliner is sitting at one end of the runway, its propellers whirring as the last few passengers climb the steps and disappear inside. The last in line is a tall and willowy man wearing a familiar beige suit and Panama hat.

  “Let me through.” You bark at the guard in his gatehouse.

  “I’ll need to see a ticket, ma’am.” He replies, stepping out towards you.

  “I haven’t got one, but that man’s a thief!” You reply, gesturing frantically towards Noah as he too steps inside the airplane.

  “That’s a matter for the police.” The guard shrugs. “Can’t let you past without a ticket or a police warrant.”

  “Goddamn it!” You reply, watching helplessly as the boarding steps are rolled away and the chocks pulled clear from the wheels. Balling your hands into fists, impotent rage rises within you as the whine of the propellers grows louder, the airliner easing forward before quickly accelerating along the runway. The nose lifts and you fume as it rises up into the air, climbing sharply before quickl
y shrinking into the clear blue sky.

  “I’m sorry miss.” The guard tells you, following your gaze.

  “Where was that plane headed?” You ask him, dropping your gaze from the speck in the distance to the guardhouse.

  “Rio.” He replies.

  “Rio de Janeiro?” You echo, furrowing your brow. “What the hell’s he doing flying to Rio?” The guard, perhaps unsure as to whether it was a rhetorical question, shrugs his shoulders and steps back into the shade of his gatehouse.

  Wheeling the bike around, you twist the throttle, gunning the engine as you accelerate back the way you came. As you speed along the narrow lanes, your instinct is to jump into your plane and set off in pursuit. That plan is foolhardy at best: Rio must be three thousand miles away and your plane is short range. You’ll have to land to refuel several times before you reach your destination. Perhaps you’d do better to chalk this one up to experience and let it go. Besides, while the slimy bastard may have cut and run without paying you your thousand bucks, you know where a haul of treasure worth a hell of a lot more is buried…

  Pursue Noah to Rio

  Abandon the pursuit and settle for the haul of priceless treasure

  Taking a deep breath, you allow your head to rule your heart. What’s a measly thousand bucks compared to the hold full of treasure you left back on the peninsular? Sure, half a mountain might have caved in on it, but you know it’s there.

  By the time you’ve found backers to finance an excavation, all hell has broken out in Europe with the planet teetering on the brink of a second world war. When war does break out, U-boats are a constant menace, disrupting the shipping in the Caribbean Sea. Knowing you are in a race against time, you spend several months desperately digging through the rubble with your excavation crew in case the Nazis should turn their eye to invading the island. Thankfully, by the time you reach what’s left of the Nemesis, Hitler is fighting a war on two fronts and the Nazi war machine’s attention is elsewhere. You crawl through a narrow gap in the shattered hull and into the hold. Shining a flashlight around, you smile broadly at the glittering riches before you.

  “We’ve done it, boys!” You shout over your shoulder at the band of broad chested men squeezed into a narrow tunnel behind you. Together, you’ve spent the last eighteen months digging through the rocks, sweating and cursing. “Now, let’s get all this out and go celebrate. The rum’s on me!” As a cheer echoes around you, you sift through a nearby chest full of gold coins and your mind flits back to Noah Wheatley. You wonder what ever became of that lying two-faced son of a bitch. Hopefully nothing good. Still, you are curious as to the significance of that broken compass that he salvaged while leaving all this treasure behind.

  “What now, miss?” One of your men asks as they begin to pass back the treasure along the low and narrow passageway.

  “I dunno.” You reply with a wry smile. “I’ve been so absorbed with finding the treasure, I’ve barely given any thought as to what I’m going to do with it all.”

  “Guess you could lie on a beach sipping rum for the rest of your days.” He grins. You chuckle and nod. At one time, that would have been quite appealing, though you feel a little melancholy that the prize that has driven you for these past few years has been reached. Still, there’s plenty more treasure to track down. Perhaps you could make a career out of this…

  THE END

  Hoping there’s enough juice left in the batteries, you press the button to lower the undercarriage. You can hear the motors labor, the floor vibrating beneath your feet until a green light lights up on the instrument panel in front of you and you breathe a sigh of relief.

  “And now the hard part.” You mutter, turning the yoke and adjusting your heading towards the field. The almost tranquil whistle of the air is in stark contrast to the fear clawing at your soul as you watch the altimeter needles spinning counter-clockwise as you rapidly lose altitude.

  “C’mon, c’mon.” You coax, feeling beads of sweat forming on your brow. The field still looks way too far away and you feel the creeping dread that you will nosedive into the rainforest long before you reach it. Hunching over the controls, you will the little plane to stay aloft just a little while longer. As you glide low over the treetops, you grit your teeth, tensing as you await the brush of upper branches against the underside of the plane that will send you careering into the rainforest. The field is so close now that you can make out crops laid out in neat rows. The timber building next to it looks like a house. As you glide closer, you notice a large cross mounted above the door. Is it a church perhaps? You clear the last of the trees and adjust the flaps to slow your airspeed, easing the plane downwards towards the field. The ground rushes up to meet you and you brace for impact. When it comes, the collision is so violent, you feel as though every bone in your body has shattered. You are thrown around the cockpit, your elbows smashing into the ceiling as you throw your arms up to protect your head. You smash back down into your seat, the plane sliding sideways across the field with dirt splattering over the cockpit windows. The trees at the edge of the field rush towards you and the plane smashes into them, your head rocked to one side and smashing against the cockpit wall. Your vision darkens and you slump forward in your seat as you lose consciousness.

  You groan as you awake, feeling a little groggy. As your hazy vision clears, you take in your surroundings. You are lying in a bed within a darkened room. An oil lamp sitting atop a nightstand is the only source of illumination.

  “Thank God, you’re awake!” A male voice gasps from the shadows, his accent English. “Mariette! She’s awake!” He calls out, emerging from the darkness as he leans forward in a chair, his face illuminated by the light of the lamp. His tanned face is a little lined and you’d guess he is perhaps in his early forties. “You had us worried, miss.” He smiles kindly, his brown eyes peering inquisitively at you. “You’ve been unconscious for hours!” You hear footsteps approach from outside the room before a door creaks open and a woman steps through it. She is a curvaceous raven haired woman, perhaps a few years younger than the man. Her pale face and white linen dress reflects the glow of the lamp, making her appear almost like an apparition as she approaches the bed.

  “Who are you?” You croak, your mouth dry as you glance from one to the other.

  “My name is Edward.” The man replies, passing you a glass of water. “I’m a missionary here. And this is my wife, Mariette.”

  “That was quite a landing!” Mariette smiles, her French accented voice soft and velvety. You sip from the glass before nodding, the memory of the crash landing flooding back.

  “My plane…” You murmur.

  “There’s not much left, I’m afraid.” Edward tells you gently. “You’re lucky to be alive. Do you know your name?”

  “Elyse Blake.” You reply.

  “Good, good.” He smiles, glancing at his wife. “It would appear our guest is compos mentis.” His eyes flick back to you. “You’ve been incredibly fortunate. Other than a few scrapes and bruises as well as a bump on your head, you’re relatively unscathed.”

  “You’re a tough lady.” Mariette tells you.

  Ask them a little more about themselves

  Scramble out of bed and take a look at your plane

  “So, you say you’re some kind of preacher?” You ask Edward, your voice returning now your mouth is less dry.

  “A missionary.” He smiles, politely correcting you. “One must first bring the word of the Lord before it can be preached.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?” You ask.

  “Difficult to begin with.” Edward admits. “But the local tribe tolerated us and then grew to accept us. We now have a modest congregation.”

  “It’s been hard, but rewarding work.” Mariette nods, subconsciously reaching up to her chest and touching a small gold crucifix hanging from a necklace chain. “We’re very isolated, of course. Yours is the first white face we’ve seen in more than two years.”

  “I must
admit, when we saw your plane crash into our field, I was certain no one could have survived.” Edward tells you. “But by the grace of God…”

  “I’m sorry about your field.” You reply. “Reckon I’ll have churned it up plenty.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Edward replies. “We have plenty of food and we’re just glad you’re in one piece. Besides, it’s nice to have some company. I’m sure Mariette is keen to catch up on the latest fashions in the civilized world.”

  “I’m not exactly a ball gown wearing kind of girl, but I’ll do my best.” You grin, glancing at the Frenchwoman, who even in such humble surroundings, seems to have poise and elegance.

  You spend the next few days convalescing and getting to know your saviors. While Edward is clearly committed to his noble calling, you sense from Mariette’s eagerness to hear news of the wider world that she secretly pines for Europe. As Edward talks to you, you occasionally feel his gaze linger on you in a manner which is far from Godly. Perhaps it is just your imagination, but once or twice, you think you sense Mariette glancing at you in the same way.

  While your battered body aches all over, you gradually begin to feel stronger. As you lie there, wondering how on Earth you are going to get out of the middle of the Amazon without your plane, there is a polite knock at the door and Edward walks in carrying a tin bucket, water sloshing around inside.

  “Ah…” He smiles awkwardly, setting the bucket down next to the bed and shifting his weight from foot to foot, “Please don’t be offended, but I think it’s high time we cleansed you.”

  “I guess after a few days in this heat, I’ll be starting to smell a little ripe.” You admit with a smile. “Do you have a bath or a shower?”