This is a work of fiction and the characters portrayed are over the age of eighteen years. There is no museum as one the one depicted and any similarities are purely coincidental.
Adam Winton took a deep breath and let it out slowly before climbing out of his worn-out pickup truck. It was a few minutes before the start of his shift, and he was not relishing another night working alone. Contrary to public perception, it was no fun at all being a night guard at a museum. He had hoped to avoid being stationed at the old Salt Flats Aviation Museum, but his supervisor insisted it was his turn. Adam needed the income if he were to finish school and finally get away from the security business. Adam had big plans and they did not involve a dusty old reliquary.
He crossed the gravel parking lot, pausing for a moment to admire the sunset. Over the eastern horizon, a full moon was beginning to peak over the distant hills. Turning, he made his way to the front entrance where the gift shop was located. Adam waved at the portly woman who worked behind the counter and she waved back before returning to the shelf she had been dusting. The gift shop served as the front desk, selling tickets and memberships in addition to the random assortment of books and toys.
The last of the visitors were leaving as he entered the old hangar facility. The smell of the nearby tidal flats gave the air a salty tinge that Adam did not find unpleasant. It was much better than his time guarding a paper mill, it took months for the smell to get out of his clothes. The Salt Flats Aviation Museum was built around two old dirigible hangars that had been erected back in World War Two. The blimps were gone but in their place was a scattering of aircraft from the mid-twentieth century. Adam had visited the museum many times as a youth but had become bored with the lack of variety over the years.
The museum was only popular in the summer months when tourists were visiting the coast. Here it was the first week of November and only a smattering of tourists visited. It was no small wonder that the museum could survive at all, let alone have enough money to hire out a security firm to watch the campus. Adam walked past the displays of early aviation and barnstorming, cut through the middle of an exhibit on War in the Eastern Front where a rugged looking IL-2 Shturmovik sat parked, and made his way to the security office.
"Anything I need to worry about tonight?" asked Adam in a bored tone.
Gregg Hughes, the Day Shift Security manager was packing up a backpack at the main desk. He shook his head, not bothering to say anything to the night shift. Yet another reason why Adam disliked this posting. He only ever got the cold shoulder from the Day Shift guards, or half-muttered reports of no importance. Adam took up the weekly attendance roster and filled out his hours for the night before taking a set of keys and a radio. He was required to provide his own flashlight which hung from a strap on his utility belt.
"Alright, I will go clear out the last of the visitors then." Said Adam, to no one in particular but following protocol at the least.
He walked out of the office and locked the door before walking the route he developed from working here for almost two years. He strode under the wing of a B-17 Flying Fortress parked nearby, ducking his head to avoid the propellers. He turned on his flashlight and shined it inside the old bomber. Sure enough, two pairs of eyes peered out of the waist gunner's position.
"Time to go folks." Adam said in a friendly but firm tone. The couple, a man, and a woman, stepped out of the aircraft hatch gingerly and made their way to the exit at the far end of the hangar.
Satisfied, Adam walked over to where a gentleman was taking pictures of a Navy SBD Dauntless dive bomber. He turned to place his expensive camera in its custom fitted bag, grumbling the whole time about there not being enough time to see the museum. Adam ignored the blustering and waited until the man was on his way out before moving further back into the hangar.
He spotted another couple darting further back into the area displaying the history of the Salt Flats Local Aviation. This part of the hangar was always poorly lit, Adam was forced to turn on his LED flashlight and look for the couple as they evaded him. He past several prewar barnstorming aircraft and the bronze statue of a local aviatrix between a Stinson and a DH.4. Adam saw a woman's foot poking out behind the Stinson, he cleared his throat several times before walking around the corner.
There they were, in a lover's embrace, the pair kissing passionately. Despite his blushing, he could not help but grin. The woman was attractive, Adam was a little jealous of the man she wrapped her arms around. Adam waved the beam of light over the couple for a moment and cleared his throat again.
"Sorry folks, the museum is closed. You will need to take this out to your home or hotel if you wish to continue."
The woman broke off her kiss and the two looked up in embarrassment.
"Sorry, we're newly-weds. We'll be going now." Said the man.
Adam congratulated them and exchanged a few moments of small talk before they too, turned and made for the exit. Adam went all the way to the back of the hangar and made sure no one else was still inside. When he was satisfied it was cleared, Adam made his way back to the exit door. As he did so, he passed the statue of the sitting aviatrix and stopped for a moment. He could have sworn her head had been turned to the left. He stared at the monument for a moment and read the inscription.
Dedicated to the memory of Lisa Lovelace, Aviatrix, Rumrunner, Barnstormer and Friend
Adam was unfamiliar with the story behind Lisa Lovelace and decided to look her up online when he took his break in an hour. He walked back to the exit door and withdrew the large keyring at his side and locked the doors. Another heavy sigh, it was going to be another long and uneventful night at the Salt Flats Aviation Museum.
2
Adam sat down in the security office and took out his smartphone and typed in the search bar. Lisa Lovelace should have been as famous as Amelia Earhart, but owning to her mixed-race background, she was pushed into obscurity. She flew liquor for William Dempsey, a rum runner who was also a police captain in Portland. When she wasn't smuggling booze, she was dazzling crowds with her daring acrobatic stunts. Her almond shaped eyes, high cheekbones and lithe figure gave her an exotic, almost ethereal appearance. Adam could not help but find her incredibly attractive in her flight suit and goggles as she posed in front of her custom fitted de Havilland DH.4 biplane.
He read on, curious as to what became of this singularly determined woman. By World War Two, she was determined to fly for China. She managed to get an audience with Chiang Kai-shek where she championed her cause to the leader of Nationalist China. While Chiang Kai-shek was reluctant, he finally gave into her lobbying after Madame Chiang became acquainted with the flyer. Lovelace managed to fly several sorties in Soviet supplied fighters against the Japanese until she was shot down and killed in 1940. Her body was never recovered and to this day there remains speculation over the exact circumstances of disappearance. It was said, Madame Chiang was in mourning for several months when news reached Kuomintang.
"Hmm, you learn something new every day I suppose." Mused Adam as he stood up to begin making his hourly rounds inside the museum. He walked a meandering path around the hangar, checking the emergency exits and securing any unlocked aircraft. He had learned how to close each individual airplane's hatch or door in a few weeks of working here and now the novelty had worn off. It was just another tedious task he had to worry about. He walked through the exhibits, careful to avoid tripping on toe-rails or banging his head against the wings. He felt his mind wander to what he would do once he got home.
Home, he did not want to think about too much. It had been three months since Korey, his girlfriend had broken up with him, and the pain was still raw. She could not stand the hours he worked, and she badgered him constantly to find a different job. He liked the work, he just wished he could have a change of scenery once in a while. She had been Adam's first real relationship and it had hurt to see her walk away one last time. Sure, there had been rough patches, but they were as passionate as the two lovers he chased out of the museum this evening. He missed sleeping together, not just the sex but the shared company. Having that presence next to him while he slept was one of the greatest sensations in the world, he thought.
He shook himself, trying to clear away the brooding thoughts, he focused on the positive side of things, he decided what to eat, when to play video games, and when to go to bed. There was a freedom in being alone. It just got very lonely at night, indeed.
He walked past the bombers again, taking a moment to admire the bristling machine guns that protruded from nearly every port and window. He found he preferred looking at the old bombers over the jets that were positioned at the entrance of the museum. The bombers had a rugged elegance to them that could not be matched by their smaller counterparts.
He continued his meandering path, walking underneath the wings of a C-47 Dakota wearing alternating black and white stripes. A placard nearby stated this aircraft carried paratroopers on D-Day, its paint scheme signifying the aircraft's fateful mission. As he rounded walked past the undercarriage, he noticed that the rear hatch was ajar. He clearly recalled closing it an hour earlier, so he withdrew his flashlight and switched it on to its brightest setting. The pale white beam cut through the darkness and illuminated the hatch combing. He poked his head inside cautiously, not wanting to be blindsided by a late-night aircraft looter.
The interior of the aircraft smelled faintly of sweat, machine oil, and olive drab paint. Taking a step up on the access stairs, he shined his light into the interior. Aside from restoration crews, no one had been inside the aircraft since the late forties. He could not help but feel a thrill as he breathed the same air as those brave soldiers on D-Day. He spent a few moments simply reveling in the sensation before taking one last look inside and closing the hatch. He felt his stomach gurgle and the first pangs of hunger. Time for lunch. As he exited the old cargo plane, he swept his flashlight over the area one more time. Seeing nothing, he chided himself for being jumpy.
3
Adam continued to walk through the darkened museum, he was almost to the aviatrix displays and was almost ready to turn around and head back to the security office when something caught his eye. The statue Lovelace was missing. He felt his adrenalin spike as his flashlight played about the darkest part of the hangar. He reached up and keyed his radio.
"Clarke, I think we have a situation in the North end of the building. Could dial up the local PD?" Adam was alone for the night but hoped he could bluff the intruder into leaving. He was in no mood to find himself in an altercation with a midnight plumber or other form of nefarious looter. He walked forward slowly, keying the squelch button, and eliciting static from his walkie-talkie. His breathing became shallow and he felt his hands being to tremor. This is not at all what he wanted to deal with this night.
"Where's the rumpus, handsome?" asked a husky feminine voice. Startled, Adam spun around only to feel his right foot impact against the heavy bronze base of the statue. He felt himself topple over like a tree, slow at first, but gaining momentum quickly. His utility belt cushioned him against the impact with the heavy baseplate, but the fall knocked the wind out him for a moment. He rolled to his side and leaned against the wall of the hangar, trying to catch his breath, when a dark figure suddenly straddled him. Impossibly strong hands gripped his wrists and held them in what felt like an iron cage over his head.
"What the fuck?" he managed to shout before one hand suddenly covered his mouth. It was cold and unyielding, the assailant must have been wearing heavy gloves, they were hard as bronze. The hands smelled of metal and cleaning solvents and were impossible to break free of. He tried to shout but the hand clamped over his mouth meant he could only manage a surprised grunt. The hand over his mouth let go after a moment and he struggled for a breath.
