Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure

by K. M. Weiland

  “And snarl the line?” Matthew said.

  Jael left her line where it was.

  Figured. There Hitch was driving all over the county, worrying his head off about her. And here she was, relaxed as you please, fishing with these two old buzzards. He got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as he could.

  That stopped their talking, although the trees kept them from seeing him.

  He stalked down the bridge, swung over the slanted railing at the end, and skidded through the dry leaves to reach the creek bank.

  He pushed aside a low branch. “You had me worried half to death. I been looking all over for you.”

  She watched her cork intently.

  He missed a step, splashed one booted foot into the water, then climbed back up the muddy bank.

  “You trying to scare all the fish away?” J.W. asked.

  “Sorry.” He made his way down the bank to peer around Matthew at Jael.

  She still didn’t look at him. Yup, still mad. Or maybe, with any luck, just embarrassed.

  Come to that, he was starting to feel a little embarrassed himself.

  “You could have at least told me where you were going,” he said.

  “Are you serious?” J.W. raised his fine bamboo pole and reeled in the line. “You’ve got her back up. Even an old man’s eyes can see that.”

  Matthew glanced sideways from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. “In my experience, ladies always appreciate an apology.”

  J.W. snorted and recast his line. “And he’s had heaps of experience.”

  Hitch shifted his weight. He cleared his throat.

  Matthew gave him an encouraging nod.

  “All right.” He walked around Matthew, slogging in the water again, so he could stand in front of Jael. “I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a long look, then raised her chin and went back to staring at the creek. Her mouth was pressed tight, but a muscle in her cheek twitched in what might have been amusement.

  Okay, so she wanted her pound of flesh. Fine.

  He took a breath. “I’m really sorry. For making you mad... and for the rest of it.”

  “What rest of it?” J.W. asked.

  He kept looking at her. “For the... kiss. Which you obviously didn’t want.”

  Matthew tsked. “What’s this?”

  “She kicked me first and slapped me after, so don’t feel too sorry for her.”

  “Seems like maybe she ought to slap you again,” J.W. said.

  Jael stole a tiny glance at Hitch. Her jaw was still tight, but a twinkle had surfaced in her eyes.

  He took another step up the bank toward her. “Will you come back? We—Earl and me—we need your help.”

  The twinkle spread, and the barest hint of a smile peeked out. She thrust her pole into his hand and turned to Matthew. “Thank you for fishing. Maybe I will be catching something next time.”

  Matthew smiled. “Never you mind, young’n. Come back any time.”

  “That’s right,” J.W. said. “And anytime you want us to thrash this or any other young buck, you say the word.”

  Hitch kept his mouth shut on that one. If Matthew and J.W. ever decided to work together, they probably could thrash him.

  She turned back to Hitch. “Yes. I will come.”

  That was it? Just like that? Maybe Earl was right and she had been mad just for the show of it.

  She waved to J.W. and started up the bank toward the bridge.

  Hitch stared after her for a second, then looked from J.W. to Matthew and handed over the rod. “See you.”

  “Mind yourself, son,” Matthew said.

  “I know, I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But it surprised me as much as it did her.”

  Matthew harrumphed. “Might be it surprised you more’n it did her.”

  Hitch followed Jael back to the bridge and helped her into the car. After cranking the engine, he climbed in and backed up until the automobile was off the bridge and he could swing it around toward the airfield.

  Sunset streaked the sky pink and purple, and the twilight crept in from the edges of the horizon, trailing violet darkness. Jael sat straight in her seat, only raising her hand every now and then to brush back her windswept hair. The silence stretched.

  He glanced at her four or five times. What he should do was apologize again and spell it all out. The kiss hadn’t meant a thing; it was a joke as much as anything, a fool trick he should have known better than to play on a girl like her. But the words stuck.

  She looked at him sideways. “I have been having thoughts.” She spoke softly, her voice barely audible above the engine and the tires on the road. “About yakor.” She tapped her chest.

  “The pendant? I saw you gave it to Earl. He didn’t have any idea how to make it work after all.”

  “I am not having full knowledge for how it works either. But you are not wrong. It is connected to Schturming, in a way.” She shifted to face him fully. “We should try it. It is... key, too. It can get us into Schturming, through any door.”

  The tires thumped over the ruts.

  He shook his head. “When I said that, the last thing I was thinking about was putting you in the way of another lightning strike.” Speaking of which, she’d hardly limped all day. “How’re the joints?”

  “Better. I have hardly any bad feelings.”

  “That’s something anyway, with the show tomorrow.”

  As bad as she’d been hobbling yesterday, it seemed miraculously fast for her to have healed up that quick. If he hadn’t been a blockhead and she hadn’t been so touchy, they might have been able to get in some practice time this afternoon.

  He took the turn into the airfield and stopped the car in the gateway. He turned to her, one arm draped over the wheel. “I have a job I have to do this evening. I gotta fly some stuff over the state line to Cheyenne. It’s only about an hour’s flight each way, so I can finish it up tonight easy. And I was thinking, if you want to come along with the pendant, maybe we can see if Zlo decides to show up.”

  “I will do it.”

  “You sure?”

  She raised a shoulder. “There is no storm now.”

  Twenty-Two

  THERE MAY NOT have been a storm when they left Scottsbluff, but by the time they finished unloading the crate at the Cheyenne airport, where it would supposedly wait to be picked up by the governor’s people, the wind had started to blow pinpricks of rain.

  Hitch pulled Jael’s elbow. “This ain’t good. We need to get out of here before the turbulence gets too bad.”

  Halfway back to the plane, something else gusted over. Maybe only fifty feet off the ground, it thundered above their heads like a train with a wide-open throttle. The waning moon, still fat and looking like a smashed headlight, blinked into darkness for five full seconds. A huge shadow blanketed the ground.

  Hitch stopped short and craned his head. “What the sam hill was that?”

  She clutched at his sleeve. “Eto bil Schturming! It worked! The yakor has been working.”

  “How can you tell?” Dumb question.

  She took off running toward the plane. “Come! We can catch it!”

  His heart sped up and he broke into a jog. “We need to push the plane around!” There was plenty of field in every direction, and he needed to take off with his nose to the wind if he didn’t want the Jenny bucking into a ground loop.

  Jael shoved hard, then clambered into the front cockpit while he heaved the propeller.

  They took off into the wind, then circled around. With the wind at her tail, the Jenny and her Hisso engine careened through the air.

  This was crazy, of course. More than crazy: plumb crazy. He leaned forward and squinted, trying to see through the darkness. Night flying was dangerous enough even when you had the whole sky to yourself. If that thing was still out there, they were likely to plow right into it before he even so much as saw it.

  In front of him, the dark blob of Jael’s head swiveled above the ri
m of the cockpit. The wing over her head blocked the sky from her view, but she leaned forward, neck craned.

  He kept his own head rotating. The Hisso roared in front of him, and the wind slapped his head, front and back.

  Fat chance of hearing the thing. It was either see it or nothing.

  They flew for a good ten minutes.

  In the dark, ten minutes was more’n enough to get lost in. He stopped craning his neck and dug his flashlight and compass out of his jacket pocket.

  Below, the headlight of a train snaked through the hazy darkness. That at least meant they were close on target. The tracks would take him almost all the way back to the airfield.

  He pocketed the compass and pointed the flashlight’s beam skyward. Darkness swallowed the weak light a couple feet above his head. He clicked off the light and tucked it under his thigh.

  To the right of the Jenny’s nose, a great wall of white rose through the darkness.

  A cloud.

  But this wasn’t like any cloud he’d ever seen. It was too dense, and in the darkness it was too white. Over the sound of the Jenny’s engine, the thwack-thwack-thwack of a huge propeller thundered.

  Oh, gravy. He hauled back on the stick and kicked the rudder pedal.

  The Jenny roared into a climbing turn. The wind and the sound of something else—the thrum of tight canvas maybe?—tore through his hearing.

  His airspeed was quicker than this thing, but it was climbing faster. He would run into it before he could get above it. Either that, or stall out trying.

  He stepped on the rudder pedal and forced the Jenny sideways in a sloppy wingover. The good Lord willing, Jael’d had sense enough to buckle her safety belt.

  By the time he leveled the plane back out, now heading in the opposite direction, Jael had shot up in her seat. If she’d had her belt on before, she sure didn’t now. She turned around and leaned over the turtleback between their cockpits. The moon splashed her face. She opened her mouth wide, hollering something he couldn’t hear.

  He shook his head.

  Frustration crinkled her face before the shadows engulfed it once more.

  And then she was at it again—crawling out of the cockpit and leaning across the turtleback, her face jutting over his windshield. Her voice drifted to him, wordless.

  “Get back, you little fool!” He leaned forward to be heard and ended up bonking his forehead against hers. “Get back, you hear me!”

  “Turn around!” The wind strained her scream to a shrill whisper. “Fly underneath!” She raised one hand from its grip on the windshield. Brass glinted between her fingers: the pendant.

  She obviously had something in mind. Something that hopefully didn’t involve lightning—or her trying to climb on board that thing. But whatever else Jael was, she wasn’t stupid. If she wanted to try something, he’d give her credit enough to try it.

  He nodded. “All right!”

  She slithered into her seat, and he eased the Jenny back around. The wind buffeted them from the right, and they slideslipped a good twenty yards or more. But the air was dry. No more rain, at least.

  Two hundred feet below, the North Platte River glinted in the patchy moonlight. At least they had plenty of room to maneuver without ramming into the ground. The trick was not to hit anything up here in the sky. Just to be safe, he took the Jenny down fifty feet more before opening the throttle.

  The plane chewed through a mile or two, and then the clouds opened and the moon lit up the night. Ahead, the huge not-cloud exploded into view. As big as a thunderhead—maybe a couple hundred feet long and almost as high—it coasted through the night sky.

  Jael whipped around to look back at him, her face glaring white in the moonlight. She brandished both arms, waving toward the beast in the sky. Her mouth moved. Telling him to get under it again, no doubt.

  If that’s what the lady wanted, then that’s what the lady would get.

  He dropped the Jenny into an angled dive and swooped under the not-cloud. Jael motioned with her hand: lower.

  He increased the dive. Just in time too. Right above his top wing, something whooshed past. Too dark to see much, but it was easily as tall as J.W.’s house. His heart hammered his ribcage.

  He straightened out the Jenny and then risked a look up at—nothing. But something was up there, because his vision had gone black as oil. No moon, no stars.

  In the dark, Schturming was featureless.

  Motion flickered in front of him. Jael was standing up. Still facing forward, she scootched rearwards to sit on the turtleback.

  He groaned. This girl was going to kill herself one day, that was all there was to it.

  She reached up to feel for the cutaway in the top of the wing, then levered one leg back until her foot was on the turtleback. Ever so slowly, she raised the other leg, then pushed herself up to stand.

  He held both his breath and the plane as steady as he could.

  Only her white blouse was visible in the dark.

  He eased the plane down another couple feet. The last thing he needed was that black expanse up there taking her head off.

  She lifted an arm, and, in her hand, the tiniest wink of brass showed the pendant.

  She’d said one of the things the pendant functioned as was a kind of master key—but what sort of door was she thinking she could reach from here?

  Her whole body flinched. And then she shrieked, the sound audible even above the double engine roar.

  She’d touched the thing? His heart tumbled over itself. Schturming and the Jenny were matching speeds, which should have kept her from losing any fingers, but should haves didn’t always work like they were supposed to. He ducked down another ten feet.

  She stretched her arm all the way up, reaching for the sky, for Schturming, for something. Then as the plane dropped away, she started scrabbling for a grip farther up the top wing. She stood on tiptoe and then raised one foot from the turtleback.

  He released the stick long enough to lean forward and snag her waistband. Before she could haul herself up onto the wing, he pulled her back and dumped her in the front cockpit.

  “And for the love of Mike, stay there!” he shouted into the wind.

  Whether she heard him or not, she huddled in the cockpit.

  He poured on the coal, ducking low to follow the river until he could locate the railroad tracks again.

  Behind, the not-cloud drifted higher and higher into the sky. Then it winked out in the darkness.

  He landed back at the airfield, navigating by the light of the campfires. That kind of landing was always tricky, but he managed this one without as much as a bobble. His heart was pounding so hard it felt about ready to crack ribs. He cut the engine and swung a leg out of the cockpit before the propeller stopped puttering. When his feet hit the ground, his knees went all airy and tried to bend under him. He gripped the cracked leather pad that edged his cockpit and filled his lungs as full as they would go three times.

  Then he stepped up onto the wing and practically dragged Jael out of the cockpit.

  “Do you have to go and scare the living wits out of me every time I take you up? What on God’s green earth was that thing? I about plowed into it twice! You and me and Jenny, we could be lying in a hundred pieces between here and Cheyenne right now!”

  The firelight turned her face into a grim map of hollows and ridges. She was gasping harder than he was. “Yakor... I have lost yakor.”

  “What?”

  She cradled her right hand against her stomach. A dark streak ran down the front of her blouse.

  He reached for her hand. “Did you get hurt?”

  On the far side of the fire, Earl propped himself on an elbow. “Now what?” Sleep clogged his voice. “If it’s revenuers, I’m going back to sleep, and you’re on your own ’til morning.”

  Blood covered the back of Jael’s hand.

  Visions of torn-off fingers skidded through Hitch’s brain. “Get up and find some bandages.”

  Earl reared u
p a little farther on his elbow. “What’s the matter?”

  Hitch finished counting: all the fingers were there, even down to the fingernails. “She’s bleeding.”

  Earl threw back his bedroll and scrambled to pull on his shoes and hook his suspenders over his short-sleeved undershirt.

  Hitch guided Jael to sit beside the fire. Beneath his hand, her arm trembled.

  “I... it pulled from my hand. I was holding it, and then it was becoming caught on something. The chain... it caught on bottom of korabl. There was door there—door in... floor. I could have been unlocking it, I could have...” She slumped on top of an upturned galvanized bucket. “I have lost yakor.”

  “I’m sorry. Anyway, it must not work the way we thought it did. No lightning, at any rate.” And thank God for that, considering how things had turned out.

  He dug out his own bedroll and crouched beside her to drape it over her shoulders. He had to guide her good hand—such as it was, since it was the one he’d bandaged the other day—around to hold the blanket shut against her throat.

  Then he reached for her other hand and tilted it to the firelight. Blood streaked all the way down her fingers, but there wasn’t as much of it as he’d first feared. Most of it seemed to be coming from her knuckles. With any luck, they’d just be scraped.

  “Can you flex that for me?”

  The hand stayed limp in his, so he bent her fingers under. She didn’t so much as flinch. Then he prodded at each of the knuckles. She winced, but the bones all felt solid enough.

  He breathed out. “Just a scratch, I think. What happened?”

  Earl returned with an armful of ripped linen. “Had to get our supplies back from Lilla. She took them all with her when she jumped ship.” He dumped the load at Hitch’s feet and squatted to squint into Jael’s face. “You look plenty shook up, girlie. What you need is a snort.” He looked at Hitch. “Don’t suppose you saved one of those bottles of Campbell’s, did you?”