– Josh Olewiler

The hunt for Colonel James Woods had been on for the better part of a year when the letter arrived at his estate. News of his remarkable disappearance had reached adventurers from every corner of the globe. From the jungles of Peru to the sands of the Sahara to the frosted peaks of the Himalayas, his friends searched tirelessly. None was as committed to the quest as Rex Henshaw, his handsome young apprentice who had visited dozens of countries over the preceding months, and it was no accident that this document fell into his hands.

While significantly past his prime and directly defying the advice of his physician, the Colonel’s devoted butler, Spartacus, raced through the labyrinth of halls that comprised the Woods estate until he reached his master’s office. Therein stood Rex staring intently at an enormous map that stretched across an entire wall of the room. The world had been vandalized by the Colonel’s young ward, the seven continents barely visible. A chaotic blur of circles and lines littered with darts and thumbtacks. Rex was so focused he did not hear the hastened clop of tuxedo shoes in the hall — despite the echoes —nor the old man’s heavy wheezing as he desperately gasped for air and attempted to gain some composure.

It was not until the Colonel’s favorite pet, a large white tiger named Balthazor, stirred from his slumber and growled that Rex had even noticed anyone else was in the room. He immediately peered over the Colonel’s desk where the beast had been sleeping on a pile of tattered old books and caught his first glimpse of his exhausted and slightly balding companion.

“Master Henshaw… this… just arrived, sir,” Spartacus coughed, reaching into the jacket of his tuxedo and extracting the envelope.

A flurry of papers scattered fiercely through the air as Rex rushed across the room. Balthazor hopped down from the desk and followed casually. After snatching the envelope from the butler’s hand, Rex examined it thoroughly. There was no return address. No postmark.

Anxiously, he ripped it open, a perplexing wrinkle on his forehead. The ragged pieces of the envelope gracefully fluttered down upon the worn shag carpeting, leaving a trail as Rex paced over to the desk. The grumpy tiger followed close behind, taking a brief moment to pause and sniff some shreds of paper before sitting elegantly at Rex’s feet, rubbing its cheek forcefully against his jeans. The black denim complemented its fur, once a vibrant white but now fading to dusty beige. While growing rather husky with age, Balthazor was no less intimidating to anyone except Rex — how quickly he had forgotten that the same tiger nearly took his life on his first night in the estate — who reached down and gently rubbed its head as he unfolded the letter. The beast purred in satisfaction. As he read, Rex’s forehead grew more wrinkled, and his eyes began to squint in thought.

He glared at Spartacus, who remained in the thresholdhoping to avoid an encounter with the overgrown housecat.

“Where’s Archie?”

“I do believe he went out for a drink a good hour ago.”

Making his way across the room, Rex shook his head and handed the letter to the butler, who did not hesitate to satisfy his curiosity.

“Big surprise. When he gets back, tell him to sober up and fill his tank. Michael and I are leaving in the morning, and we’ll need him ready to fly.

“Why rush, sir? This clearly indicates that you have a month before Master Woods is expected to —”

“We don’t know when that letter was written. Sure, it could have been a week ago, but it could also have gotten lost in the mail for a few days — or weeks. This is the only lead we’ve got right now, and I’m not taking any chances.”

With that, Rex departed. The tiger ambled after him, making a point to stop and snarl at Spartacus before it stepped out. The poor butler clenched his chest, and as he tried to lower his heart rate, he could hear Rex’s voice emanating from the hall.

“And don’t forget to feed the cat while I’m gone!”

Dearest James,

Words cannot express my excitement for our rendezvous next month. I know we were just together yesterday, but already it feels as if it’s been years since I last saw your face. Besides, I haven’t been gorilla hunting in years! Everything is set for the expedition — I’ll meet you at a hostel outside of Kisangani. After my plane lands in Bangoka, I plan on stopping by the local bazaar. If I’m not at the room when you arrive, I’m sure you’ll find me there.

Yours Truly,

Helena Bradford

P.S. – I was in Papua a couple weeks ago and found the most beautiful mask for your collection. It wasn’t easy getting it past the natives, but I know the perfect spot for it on your wall!

Having spent several hours staring blankly out the window of the plane, Rex was consumed by his usual paranoia. He wasn’t afraid of flying; in fact he rather enjoyed it. Crashing, on the other hand, he believed would be significantly less pleasurable. He had been calm during takeoff just as much as he had been when boarding the plane. It wasn’t until he had been off the ground for twenty minutes that boredom directed his gaze through the small window to his right, which revealed to him a strip of duct tape strapped around the wing, the end flapping violently in the wind. That was the moment that reminded him who was flying the plane.

Archibald Henderson was once, though very briefly, an esteemed member of the United States Air Force. Archie often boasted of his ancestry, namely his ever-so-great grandfather, the longest-serving Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, who served on the USS Constitution during her victories in the War of 1812. Whether they were actually related has yet to be proven, but at any rate, they irrefutably shared the same name.

While Archie’s fame rivaled that of his supposed great-great-great-grandfather, his reputation lacked prestige. In twenty-seven years of service to his country, he was able to break a dozen records — all of which involved the demolition of aircraft. Of course, he would always point out to his colleagues that only eight of them were actual crashes. His crowning achievement commenced in the air when he ran out of fuel and attempted to return to base, a decision that led to the destruction of eleven aircraft and ended Archie’s hapless yet beloved career in the military.

Rex had heard the story many times. Though it always made him laugh when he had two feet firmly planted on the ground, it never failed to thrust him into hysteria when he was trapped in the air with Archie in the cockpit.