Gabriel winked at Blake before disappearing. Tommy made a gagging noise.
“Did you need my attention, or are you just missing Phin?”
Tommy’s scandalized look might be worth freezing his balls off.
The soldiers weren’t gone for long before Gabriel came back for them. Even after all these months without electricity, it was still strange to step into a building and not be immediately relieved. The cold had saturated into the gloomy interior, pressing in like the walls themselves had frozen solid. Blake’s breath plumed a stark white, and he blew out his open mouth, watching the vapor linger in the windless interior.
Broken glass littered the front foyer. It had shattered all the way to the front desk against the wall. Leaflets and an email sign-in sheet were still laid out, looking as crisp and clean as they had the last time someone locked up for the last time.
To the right was a narrow hallway. Signage proclaimed restrooms and possibly some storage closets. They turned left, passed a turnoff for a small gift shop. The shop was lined with glass walls, and Blake could see clothing, mugs, magnets, keychains, and what looked like an ammo can full of brass bullets. No doubt Phin would be all over that.
The main museum was built into an airplane hangar. The space was massive, the ceiling extended high above, and the back wall farther than Blake could see in the dark. Reconstruction had been minimal, with only the basics done to make it a commercial space. The spirit of military utilitarianism was strong as the thin carpet from the foyer turned to cold concrete.
It was hard to see. The only light in the room came from vertical skylights cut into the ceiling. Leaves and other debris had accumulated in the corners, distorting what little wintery light they had into strange patterns.
“Wow,” Tommy said, blowing on his hands. “It smells like gas and tires.”
Judd inhaled loudly. “The smell of freedom.”
Victoria shook her head, punching Judd on the shoulder. Somehow it was done fondly, and Judd trailed after her like a lovesick puppy.
“What we’re looking for is back here.” Gabriel clicked on a flashlight. The beam was weaker than the LEDs they’d grown used to, but the old-school battery-operated flashlight was still kicking. They followed the beam into the center of the museum.
Walkways were designated with tank treads painted onto the concrete. Exhibits were lined up along the walls and sporadically through the center of the room, blocked off with stanchions and rope.
A series of tanks took up most of the eastern wall. They loomed large, even in the dark. Blake leaned forward to read the informational placard.
“Areallof these tanks a Patton?”
Gabriel stepped up beside him. “Yeah. He was kind of a big deal.”
Blake rolled his eyes. “I know who he is. I’m asking why they’re all M46 Patton, M47 Patton, blah, blah. They look exactly the same.”
Wrinkling his nose, Gabriel blew out a breath. “They’re not all the same,” he said, scandalized. “Pattons are a series of tanks manufactured from the fifties all the way to the nineties. They…aren’t the same.”
Blake turned to stare up at him. “Oh, my god. You’re a tank nerd.”
His ears pinkened, and Gabriel ducked his nose into his jacket. Thick hanks of dark hair fell into his eyes. They were dark gray in this light. Like a chameleon changing to match its environment. “I mean—they’re cool! They crush stuff and were a huge advancement in warfare?—”
“Nerd.”
Gabriel chuckled. “You’re literally reading a book with a half-naked Scottish Highlander on the cover.”
“Just for that, you don’t get to try page sixty-seven with me.”
Blake turned on his heel. He could feel Gabriel’s stare on his back and knew for a fact—they would be trying out page sixty-seven. And every other page.
Just as soon as he could take his pants off without his dick turning into an icicle.
Right in the middle of the massive hangar was a Bell UH-1 Iroquois. The very first ‘Huey’. It was a workhorse designed to work hard and be put away wet. Its dark green body and dual rotors made it one of the most recognized helicopters today. Even still, coated in a thin layer of dust, Blake could hear the signaturethump thumpof the blades as they displaced air.
It almost drowned out the first twangs ofFortunate Son.
This particular Huey was in rough condition. Rust pitted the cockpit, and the side doors were missing, leaving the cargo area open. Maybe taken off so visitors could get a better look at the inside. ‘ARMY’ was painted on the tail in big, white block letters.
Judd whistled as he took in the helicopter. “It’s like a flying tin can with a lawnmower engine.”
“Exactly,” Tommy said, eyes bright as he dropped his backpack at his feet. The thump echoed around the hangar. He pulled a thick book from the recesses, the cloth binding falling loose as he flipped through thin pages full of engine diagrams.
