Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure

by K. M. Weiland

  Little pinched lines still edged her eyes, but her bones must not be hurting her anymore because she twirled Molly all around the girls’ bedroom and hugged Aurelia. “We have won!” she said.

  That was something anyway. She deserved to be happy.

  The rest of the family went on ahead of him to the party, but Jael walked back to him.

  She set her hand on his shoulder. “What is wrong?”

  What he’d said to Hitch this morning was the first thing he could remember saying out loud in a long, long time. But he’d been right before: it was easier to keep still.

  His cheeks burned, and he shrugged.

  “Come to party.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “It is good thing to celebrate. We have fought, and we have won.”

  She had fought. She and Hitch. All he’d done was mess everything up.

  He pasted on a smile and darted one look at her to make sure she saw it. Then he slipped out from under her hand and wandered across the field.

  All over the place, people laughed and shouted. Practically everybody was here: Deputy Griff, the Berringer brothers, Col. Livingstone in his wheelchair with both legs in casts, and the few pilots that were left. The smell of a roasting beef haunch wafted to him, along with wood smoke and leftover gasoline fumes from the planes.

  What good would it do to see Hitch now? Probably Hitch hated him. Probably Hitch wished anybody but Walter was related to him. Walter kept his chin tucked and his eyes down.

  He had deserved to be yelled at earlier. He’d tried to be brave, but he should have done like Mama Nan and everybody else wanted him to do. He should have stayed home, done his chores, and let the grown-ups handle it. That’s what had finally captured Schturming after all anyway.

  Far beyond the dancing floor, the towering silhouette of the airship flickered in the firelight. Sheriff Campbell’s men had patched up the propeller and floated it out here, mostly so folks could see they really were safe again. Jael had said Sheriff Campbell was going to be personally guarding it all night, until they made sure Zlo didn’t have any plans.

  Hands in his pockets, Walter slipped past the crowded food tables—loaded with pies and fried chickens and big bowls of baked beans. His stomach growled again, and he tamped down on the feeling. No food for him tonight. No food and no party. But... maybe it’d be all right to have one look at Schturming up close.

  Aunt Aurelia, in her violet party dress, stood next to the table and balanced a greasy roast beef sandwich on her lace-gloved palm.

  She caught sight of him and turned all the way around. “Walter! They have pickles!” She kept turning. “Don’t you want any? Where are you going?” She looked from him to Schturming. “Don’t go out there.” Her voice rose. “It’s horrible.”

  He walked on.

  The pirates were all in jail. The ship was tied to the ground.

  Jael was right. The battle was over. So was the adventure.

  He left the boundary of the firelight. Darkness stretched out to meet him. With his navy blue party suit, matching socks up to the knees of his short pants, and his black hair, he probably blended right in. Nobody’d be able to see him now anymore than they could hear him speak.

  Maybe that was a secret power.

  Or maybe it was just dumb. He was a dumb little kid who only opened his mouth when he had bad things to say.

  Twenty feet away from Schturming, he stopped.

  Lanterns surrounded the ship at intervals, marking the positions of the men guarding it. Sheriff Campbell stood beside the open front doors, talking with one of the guards. He jingled something brass in his hand.

  In the dark, the moon gleamed against Schturming’s big balloon. She creaked against her tethers. But it was more like groaning than creaking, as if she was alive and sad because they’d caught her and tied her to the ground.

  Walter’s stomach turned over. It wasn’t her fault the bad men had stolen her and made her do bad things.

  Of course, unlike him, she wasn’t really alive. She couldn’t make her own decisions. She couldn’t try to be a hero. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he bit his lips together. Maybe you couldn’t try to be a hero. You just were, or you weren’t.

  He wasn’t, that was plumb clear.

  Ever since the bad day, when he’d nearly let Evvy and Annie drown, he’d been on the watch for a way to fix it all, a way to be a hero. And then Hitch Hitchcock—his very own uncle—had come, right out of the sky, and shown him how.

  This had been his big chance, all right. But it was plain as plain he never would be any sort of a hero. He’d grow up to be like Papa Byron, only even silenter. He’d stay on the ground and stand back and watch while other people did brave and amazing things. He’d maybe have a farm. But he wouldn’t have a dog.

  His mouth pulled harder, and he blinked back hot tears.

  Behind Walter, running footsteps tromped through the grass. A man blew right past him, not more than six feet away. He had a beard and wore a long coat down to his knees. He opened his mouth, and something glittered where his teeth should have been.

  Zlo. It was the pirate leader Zlo.

  But... it couldn’t be. He was locked up in jail.

  “Skoree, Seb!” Zlo bellowed. “Vremya prishlo!”

  Behind him ran dozens more men, some of them brandishing revolvers.

  They couldn’t have broken Zlo out of jail. Everybody’d said Sheriff Campbell had captured all of them.

  And yet here they were. Zlo must have left some of them off the ship when they’d been hiding by the Bluff. And they’d come back into town to rescue Zlo from jail?

  In the darkness ahead, things started thudding. Some of the lanterns winked out.

  Walter’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled his hands from his pockets.

  Zlo kept right on going, headed toward Sheriff Campbell. The sheriff barely had time to look up and around. The running shadow smashed into him and started bashing on him. Two seconds later, Zlo shot to his feet and lofted his hand above his head. The brass thing glinted between his fingers.

  Walter dropped to his knees, so even the white of his face would be hidden behind the grass. Now what was he supposed to do?

  Already, Zlo’s men were sawing loose the tethers and clambering aboard. Schturming floated a few feet up off the ground, held by only one tether at her front and one at her rear. The propellers started cranking.

  This was his chance! He got his feet up under him, hands still on the ground. He could make everything right. Run back, tell Hitch and the others. It’d all be okay again. Except for Taos, of course.

  He turned back toward the party.

  Behind him, a dog barked.

  His heart crammed itself so far up his windpipe it hurt. He whipped back around to look.

  A small light pierced the dark hole of the main doors. Men ran around, most of them hauling themselves aboard. Some of them carried heavy loads—maybe things they’d hidden on the ground before Hitch captured Schturming. One of the loads wriggled.

  If that was Taos, then Walter could make everything right again. And please, let it be Taos. Please, please, please.

  All he had to do was sneak up there. He was practically invisible. If he was fast, he could find Taos, set him free, then still have time to run back to tell Hitch and the others. It could work. Zlo and his men wouldn’t be able to see him, like they had earlier today. This time, Walter knew about them, but they didn’t know about him.

  He filled his lungs and tensed his calves, ready to run.

  Behind, more footsteps swooshed in the grass.

  “Walter? Waaaalter?”

  Aunt Aurelia. Oh no, no, no. His throat clamped around his heartbeat again. He darted a look back at her.

  She zigzagged in his general direction, both arms swinging, like she did when she was bored. “Waaaaalter, where are you?” She walked right past him, halfway to Schturming.

  He looked at the ship.

  The pirates had all gone still as a g
reen sky before a tornado.

  This was bad. He crouched lower. If she figured out what was going on, maybe she could run for help. But if she didn’t figure it out... who knew what Zlo would have his men do to her.

  Walter hissed at her and gave his hand a little wave. Go back, he wanted to shout. Go back to the party and tell everybody!

  She stopped and looked straight at him. “Oh. There you are. What are you doing?” When he didn’t respond, she raised her voice. “What—are—you—doing?” She walked toward him.

  He held his breath.

  The pirates seemed to hold their breaths too. For two seconds.

  Then Zlo ran right at Aunt Aurelia.

  No! Walter shot to his feet.

  Aunt Aurelia whipped around to face Zlo. “You! No—” She screamed.

  Zlo clapped one hand over her mouth and pinned her arms against her sides. He spun her around so he could scan the field.

  “Are you there again, boy?” he said.

  Walter’s feet grew roots. He stood, hands fisted at his sides. Just like this morning—just like that day at the creek with the twins—he couldn’t move.

  Zlo shrugged and turned back to the ship, dragging Aunt Aurelia with him.

  Not again. Not one more time could Zlo take something Walter loved because of Walter.

  A scream built up inside of his head, louder and louder. It was like his eardrums were popping from the inside out. Who cared about being a hero? Who cared about being brave? This was about something else.

  He opened his mouth and let the scream loose. He ran. His feet pounded the ground. He reached Zlo almost before the man could turn around to see him. Hot tears burst down his cheeks. All the air filtered out of his chest. But he kept right on screaming.

  “Chevo? Zatknis!”

  Walter dug his fingers into Zlo’s arm and hung on. He kicked Zlo’s leg, first with one foot, then with the other. Zlo lifted him clear off the ground, but he still kicked. His toes landed higher, leaving bone to thwack into the heavy meat of the thigh.

  Zlo snarled and shook him off, like a dog shaking off a rat. “Vozmite ego tozhe!”

  Hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed him. They hauled him away. Someone slapped him on the side of the head. Someone else held his mouth shut.

  Pain swirled in his head, and he blinked hard. His lungs heaved for air, but, on the inside, the scream ran on and on. He would kill these men! He would kill them all!

  In Zlo’s grip, Aunt Aurelia stared at him, eyes huge.

  Zlo looked up from Walter and surveyed the distant glitter of the party. Then he nodded to whoever held Walter. “Otpustite nas. It is time to go.”

  Thirty-Nine

  GOODBYES WEREN’T USUALLY worth bothering with. So usually, Hitch didn’t bother. But this time was different. He looked up from topping off the Jenny’s gas tank, by the light of Earl’s flashlight, and turned toward the glitter and the music of the celebratory party. That’s where Jael would be.

  “You sure you’re sure about this?” Earl asked. “Wouldn’t hurt nothing to stay another couple of days.”

  A few yards off, Livingstone worked on turning around his wicker wheelchair, so he could head back to the party himself. “But of course, he’s sure.” He flashed a grin. His top half was immaculate as always—from white Stetson to waxed mustachios—which put the contrast with his lower half somewhere between ridiculous and pitiful. Both legs stuck straight out, swathed in rock-solid plaster casts, his swollen toes poking from the ends.

  Livingstone seemed unaware of the disparity. “You did a most excellent job, my boy,” he said. “Our minor disagreements aside, I couldn’t have done it better myself in the end. I have true appreciation for your stepping in for me in the hour of my calamity.”

  Earl huffed.

  “I am truly proud,” Livingstone went on, “to welcome you”—he offered half a glance to Earl—“and your valuable associate to the Extravagant Flying Circus.”

  What Livingstone really meant was he was happy to snap up the hero of the day and any resultant publicity. But what difference did it make? It got Hitch and Earl a job, and now that the dirigible was solidly out of Livingstone’s grasp, it was a good job at that.

  So Hitch just nodded.

  Livingstone set both hands on the chair’s wheels and started pushing himself toward the party. “I thank you for traveling on ahead of me and ensuring the circus’s good name is upheld until my wounds allow me to rejoin you.” He cast one more look back at Hitch, his gaze shrewd. “We will, of course, discuss the specifics of your contract more closely in the future.”

  And no doubt that contract would have plenty of clever little clauses designed to keep Hitch firmly under Livingstone’s thumb. But that was a battle for another day. Lord knew, there’d certainly been enough battles for this one.

  “Sure thing,” Hitch said.

  He watched Livingstone go.

  The Jenny was already packed, fueled, and ready to head out. But before he could leave town, the one thing he absolutely had to do was tell Jael about the pendant. She’d probably be mad about it, but at least that’d make the goodbye part easier.

  He cleared his throat. “Reckon I’ll go say my goodbyes.”

  When Earl didn’t respond, he glanced over.

  Thanks to his own cast, Earl couldn’t cross his arms, but his whole posture sent out the same attitude of skepticism.

  “You sure you’re up to flying?” Hitch asked.

  “I’ll fly out of here with you. I always do, don’t I?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You want to stay?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  Hitch glared a little. “Then save both of us the time and just say what you do want to say.”

  Earl shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

  “Good.”

  “Except—what you’re doing here is runnin’. You know that, right?”

  Hitch stared at the party—at the happy swirl of simple country folks, dancing and singing and eating just because they had people to hold onto at the end of a fright.

  “I know it,” he said and started walking.

  He crossed the field and elbowed through the loud, swirling crowd. Every few steps, someone hallooed him and wanted to shake his hand and tell him what a brick he was and how the whole durn town was indebted to him. He smiled and nodded and pulled his hand free as quick as he could. Sure, tonight he was a hero. Tomorrow, he’d be the black sheep again.

  He reached the dancing platform and scanned the couples waltzing to “Goodbye Girls I’m Through.” On the far side, Griff danced with Jael. He was smiling at her—about the first and only smile Hitch had seen on his face since coming home.

  Hitch’s stomach jigged a little. If only...

  So many if onlys.

  He shoved aside the swirl of regret and crossed the platform to reach them.

  Griff turned, and Jael came into view.

  Somebody’d given her a dress, a sleeveless black lace affair that swirled below her knees. With her short hair crimped into waves, she looked as keen as any society belle—except still Jael. A society imp maybe.

  No wonder Griff was smiling at her. And Hitch was leaving her, doggone it. He’d come to say goodbye, tell her he’d pawned her pendant to Campbell, and then take off. His stomach jigged again. What kind of an idiot was he anyway?

  Jael saw him and started to smile. But then she faltered under his stare and blushed prettily.

  He groaned on the inside. Criminy, but she wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known. Beautiful and brave, stubborn as all get out, and savvy right down to the ground in spite of her occasional naïveté. If he had half a brain, he would have seen that from the start. But no, he’d done everything he could to make sure he could leave her behind as easily as he left everything else.

  Maybe he was losing his touch. Because this sure wasn’t feeling none too easy.

  Griff looked over his shoulder. His gaze met Hitch’s, and his smile hardene
d to stone. He murmured something to Jael and inclined his head to her in half a gallant bow. Then he released her hand and left her to Hitch without a backwards glance. That much ran in the family, evidently.

  Jael held out a hand. “Your brother is teaching me how you do this dance.”

  Hitch came forward to take her hand in his and pull her to him. He cleared his throat. “Last I knew, Griff was the one who needed somebody teaching him.”

  She floated in the circle of his arm, her steps light, if not quite correct. No wincing and no limping, just fluid grace with that vibrant energy that always seemed to be boiling right under the surface. She leaned her head back to smile up at him—and exposed that long, white sweep of her neck.

  He cleared his throat again. “How’d Griff come to be here? I thought Campbell had everybody pulling guard duty tonight.”

  She shrugged her bare shoulders. “He is pulling this duty. He is only taking what he is calling ‘break.’ Campbell and others are all with Schturming now.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  The music jingled along, and they danced a few more steps.

  He should tell her. Do it and get it over with. The confession only got a little harder every moment they danced like this, with the lace under his hand shifting against the small of her back.

  He opened his mouth. “I like the dress.”

  She grinned. “It is belonging to Lilla. Nan did not approve.”

  “Yeah, well, Nan wouldn’t.” His voice dropped a note or two, in spite of himself. “But I do.”

  They danced on. His tongue forgot how to talk. He watched her, and she watched back.

  Her smile faded. Her eyes deepened into that studying look once more, except this time she seemed to think she’d seen all there was to see.

  Another if only.

  The music stopped, and they stopped with it.

  Now or never. He took a breath. “Look. There’s something I have to tell you. Come for a walk?”

  He kept her hand in his and led her off the platform. They made their way back through the party, toward the Jenny. From the looks of it, Earl had gone off to say his own goodbyes.

  Jael wrapped her fingers tight around his hand, like she didn’t want him to let go any more than he did.