Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure

by K. M. Weiland

  On the wing, Jael had gotten her feet under her. She crouched, one arm still hooked over the cockpit, the other pulling at Aurelia. She moved her mouth. She was talking, trying to calm Aurelia no doubt.

  But if Aurelia heard any of it, she was too fear-crazed to listen. Hanging half off the wing, she kicked both legs and flailed with her free arm. She hit Jael, she hit the wing, she hit the fuselage. She was slipping.

  “No!” Hitch shouted. What they’d just done in catching her was a miracle. They couldn’t lose her now. “Aurelia, don’t you do this!”

  He looked around. Find a relatively flat place to land. Aurelia might break her legs, hanging off the wing like that. But it’d be a sight better than breaking her neck. Ahead, the pale dust of a road blinked faintly in the darkness. That’d do. It’d have to do. He pointed the Jenny in its direction.

  As the plane turned, Aurelia’s scream cut through the wind. For the second time, her hand yanked free of Jael’s.

  She fell.

  Hitch froze.

  Aurelia tumbled backwards. Her violet dress spread around her like broken wings. Her white face blinked in the darkness. Her eyes stared straight at him, her mouth open and round.

  And then the Jenny sped on past. Darkness engulfed everything.

  Aurelia... gone.

  For an instant, his mind was a vast empty space that held only those two words.

  In front of him, Jael crouched on the wing. The night swallowed her black dress, leaving nothing but the dim outline of her arms and legs and face. She didn’t move.

  He looked up. The night sky stretched, punctuated only by icy stars. No Schturming. No Walter. A scream of pain and rage built in his chest. But he kept his mouth shut and trapped the power of it deep inside. He couldn’t let it out. If he did, it would tear him apart.

  He breathed in, a huge breath, until his lungs felt as if they would burst.

  He waited until Jael collapsed back into the forward cockpit.

  Then he raised the Jenny’s nose to the sky and climbed. He wouldn’t find the ship. And, even if he did, the chances of Walter remaining safe that long were next to hopeless. By now, the boy would have fallen too.

  There would be no going back from this night. But he had to try. He’d fly until the engine choked from lack of fuel. Then he’d land, refuel, and fly again.

  God help them all.

  Forty-One

  THE AIRFIELD BLAZED in the darkness, but not with the warm lights of home. It was closer to looking like the mouth of hell.

  The Jenny had been running on fumes for the last couple of miles. Wind howled behind her, a storm coming in fast and hard. Her engine finally cut out right above the field, and Hitch brought her in for a deadstick landing.

  His arms felt like they had hundred-pound weights dragging at them. His chest and his abdomen ached, and his feet tingled with the cold. For hours, he’d circled higher and higher—and seen nothing but stars. And half of those were probably from straining his eyes so hard.

  The Jenny dropped her tail to the ground and skidded to a stop. For an instant, the buzz in his ears filled his head with a noisy silence. Then that faded out too, leaving only the noise.

  People swarmed everywhere. Most of them headed straight for the plane.

  He sat and watched.

  In the front cockpit, Jael bowed her head into her hand.

  While they’d been up in the air, at least there’d been a small kind of hope. Maybe—miraculously—they’d find Walter. Maybe—miraculously—Aurelia would have survived her fall. Maybe it’d all been a dream.

  But as always, the dreams had to stay in the sky. On the ground, there were only cold, hard truths.

  He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and pried his fingers off the stick.

  “Hitch!”

  The voice floated through his brain, and he turned woodenly.

  Earl fronted the swarming crowd. He ran like a sprinter, his splinted arm banging against his chest with every stride. His ball cap blew off, and in the glare of the bonfires, his eyes looked wild.

  “Get that thing back in the air, you idiot!” he shouted. “They’re coming for you!”

  The words managed to penetrate Hitch’s brain, but that was about all they did. “What?”

  Jael looked up, then stood up. “Hitch—”

  Then he saw it too.

  Campbell, a bandage around his forehead, stalked at the head of the mob. His face was constricted with rage—and also something else: guilt, and maybe fear. The man was on the hunt for a scapegoat, plain and simple.

  Griff paced behind him, eyebrows drawn hard in concern.

  The crowd caught up with Earl and engulfed him.

  Campbell shoved Earl aside and jammed a finger at Hitch. “Arrest this man!”

  “Arrest for what?” Jael demanded.

  Hitch swung down stiffly out of the cockpit. “What is this?” If he was going to have to face down Campbell—tonight of all nights—then he was sure going to do it with both feet under him. A few sharp raindrops slashed at his face.

  The crowd reached the plane, stopped for a second, then surged all the way around. It was mostly men, and every single one of them seemed to be white-faced and red-eyed. They hollered and shoved. Fists got shaken in his face. Someone grabbed at his sleeve, and he had to shrug away. It looked a whole lot like a lynching mob.

  The fading adrenaline kicked in again. The black rage started rising out of his chest, into his throat.

  He looked at Griff and fought to keep his voice level. “I’m under arrest for what?”

  Griff hesitated, opened his mouth, then shook his head.

  Whatever it was, he didn’t look like he entirely agreed with it. That was a good sign. Probably.

  “Well?” Hitch said.

  Rick pushed forward to stand behind Campbell. Lilla hurried in behind him, biting her lip.

  “You think we don’t know what you’ve done?” Rick said. “You were in on this with Zlo from the very beginning! You helped him escape!”

  Whatever Hitch had been expecting, that wasn’t it. “Are you kidding me?” The rage climbed a little higher. He spread his hands. “Why would I do that? That’s crazy!”

  Jael clambered down from the cockpit. “That is most crazy!” Her face was set like stone, except for a half-dozen red spots flushing her cheeks. She was practically shaking. “Hitch has been fighting against Zlo from beginning!”

  “Is that so?” Rick pushed closer, almost nose to nose with her. He only had maybe three inches on her in her bare feet. “Then why does he consort with one of Zlo’s own people!” He spun around to face the crowd and jabbed a finger at Jael. “She’s one of them!” His voice turned shrill. “She’s a spy! She and Hitch have been working together to help Zlo from the very beginning!”

  She hurled herself at him. “Dostatochno!”

  Campbell caught her and clamped both her wrists in one of his hands.

  She yelped and whirled on him, her short hair flying into her face. Another second, and she’d start kicking him.

  “Jael,” Hitch snapped, low and quiet. “Hold off.” He turned back to Rick. “You really going to do this? Just because your pride couldn’t take the truth?”

  Rick lifted his chin and glared. “Who’s the liar now, huh? People died because of you. Even your own sister-in-law. Did you know that?”

  The last bit of hope choked out of him. He jerked forward a step, then turned to look at Griff instead of Rick. “She’s dead? You found her?”

  Griff barely nodded.

  “Walter?”

  Griff hesitated, then shook his head. “We didn’t find him. We looked all around where we found Aurelia, for miles in every direction.”

  “But you can be sure his death’s on your head too,” Rick said.

  Lilla grabbed his arm. “Stop it! How can you say that?”

  Rick tried to push her aside. “Because it’s the truth. Stay out of what you don’t know anything about.”

  �
��I know what it’s about—and it isn’t the truth!”

  He glared at her. “Just shut that big, stupid mouth in that big, empty head of yours.”

  Her jaw dropped. She narrowed her eyes. “You. You insufferable... insufferable person!” She turned to face the crowd and stood on her tiptoes. “He’s lying! He’s always lying! Hitch didn’t do anything!”

  Campbell growled. “Get her out of here.”

  With a scowl, Rick snagged her sleeve and dragged her away.

  She started beating on him with both hands. “You want to know how stupid I really am? I was going to marry you, that’s how stupid!”

  “C’mon.” Campbell looked at Griff. “Get it done. Arrest him.”

  Griff hesitated again, his mouth half open, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t yet know what it was. He looked at Campbell. “We haven’t got a lick of proof.”

  “C’mon, son!” Campbell said. “It’s plainer than the noses on our faces. He’s got a criminal record as long as your arm.”

  Griff frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why do you think he left you all in such a hurry back when? I had him dead to rights for thieving and smuggling.”

  Disbelief flickered across Griff’s face.

  So maybe he hadn’t written Hitch off completely—yet.

  Griff stared at Campbell. “Then why didn’t you arrest him as soon as he showed up in town?”

  “I ain’t one to stir up old troubles. But he was at it again within the week. Bootlegging.”

  The rage exploded inside Hitch. He moved toward Campbell. “You think I’m going to stand here and let you say this? Not this time. I’ll kill you where you stand before I let you do this to me again!”

  Griff slapped a hand against Hitch’s chest and pushed him back. “Shut up and let me handle this.” He looked Hitch in the eye. “Tell me the truth, for once. Did you do any of what he’s saying?”

  “No!” Jael said. “These are halves of truths!”

  “Then you did do it,” Griff said.

  “I did not let Zlo out tonight,” Hitch insisted. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Were you bootlegging like he said?”

  Hitch hesitated. Too late now. He exhaled. “Yes.” If there was ever a time to tell the truth about his involvement with Campbell, this was it. “But you got to understand.”

  “Then you tell me why.” Griff breathed hard. “Tell me why, Hitch. Make me believe you.”

  Campbell’s mouth went flat and dangerous. He jerked Jael closer. His eyes bored into Hitch, their message clear.

  Against the far sky, chain lightning slashed the darkness.

  Jael caught Hitch’s eye and gave her head a sharp shake. Don’t do this for me, she seemed to say.

  And she was right. He couldn’t. Not this time. The truth had to come out sooner or later.

  He turned to Griff and stepped back. “You want to arrest somebody here, you arrest Campbell, you hear me?”

  “Don’t be a raving idiot,” Campbell said.

  Griff shook his head. “Do this right for once, Hitch. If you’re not guilty, it’ll all work itself out.”

  Hitch took another step back. “I’m doubting that.” This was about to end up in another fight, and this time it’d be a whole lot more serious than yesterday’s spat. He tensed.

  Then, on the edge of the crowd, a woman wailed. People looked back. A path opened up.

  Nan staggered through it and flung herself at Hitch. Her face was slick with tears. She was sobbing so hard she was wheezing.

  “I don’t understand! I don’t—understand. How could you let this happen? Aurelia’s dead.” She leaned against his chest, like she wanted to be held.

  Instinctively, he brought his arms up around her.

  With one fist, she beat feebly against his shoulder. “And Walter—to Walter of all people, how could you let this happen? Hitch!”

  His heart twisted. “Nan...” He looked up, over her head, and saw Campbell.

  A new light entered the sheriff’s eyes. He cocked his head. “Well. Miz Carpenter, maybe you got only yourself to blame. Maybe if you’d told him how things really stand, he’d’ve taken better care.”

  Hitch set his hands on Nan’s shoulders and pushed her back. He kept his gaze on Campbell. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Campbell said, “I don’t think they ever got around to telling you the truth, now did they?”

  His heartbeat started to pound in his ears. “What truth?” He looked down at Nan. “What’s he talking about?”

  The deluge finally reached them. Open lanterns winked out.

  Under his hands, Nan’s whole body trembled. “Walter’s not my son. He’s Celia’s—and yours.”

  And just like that, Hitch’s world imploded. The wide vault of the sky seemed to lean down upon him and crush him with its cold, vast weight.

  He had a son.

  And tonight, he’d lost his son.

  Forty-Two

  ALL AROUND WALTER, cold wind wailed. He lay as still as he could on the wooden shelf that had stopped his fall. He kept his eyes shut. If he didn’t move, he couldn’t fall. And he didn’t want to fall. Never, never again. A sob clogged his throat, but he forced it back.

  How long had he been lying here? He eased his eyelids open. Darkness pressed in all around—except up top, where the white of the balloon loomed. Surely it had to be about time for the night to be over. He slanted his gaze to the side, trying to see the horizon. But, no, it was still dark.

  He clamped his eyes closed again and strained his ears for the thousandth time. But no putter of the Jenny’s engine broke through the wind and the thunder of Schturming’s propellers. It was too dark. It had been too long. Hitch wouldn’t be able to find him, not now. Maybe he and Jael had crashed too. The whimper worked its way up.

  Nobody was going to save him. It didn’t make any kind of sense that they would. He had to be smart now. And brave.

  So the first sensible question was: How far was he from the edge? He spread his fingers against the wood on which he lay. Inch by inch, he crawled his fingers away from his body.

  After only about seven inches, they dropped right over the edge.

  All the air left his lungs. He yanked his hand back. That’s how close he’d been. All this time! Seven inches more and he’d have fallen straight to the ground, instead of catching himself here.

  After Aunt Aurelia fell and Jael and Hitch had dived after her, Walter had kept clinging to the rope. But it slipped and slipped—until it wasn’t just slipping, it was plunging. He’d skidded down the side of the balloon, clawing at the taut fabric. There had to be something, anything, to grab onto. But there was nothing... until the balloon disappeared and both his outstretched hands slapped into something hard.

  He’d jammed to a stop. Everything hurt. For a second, he’d just hung there. Maybe Hitch would come back. Maybe he’d catch him, like they were catching Aunt Aurelia.

  But, no, that was stupid. His arms trembled. He’d fall before they could make it back. He’d have to save himself. So he’d hauled himself over the edge and rolled to a stop. He lay there in the space between the balloon and the ship. The darkness was too thick to see what was on the inside edge of the ledge. Maybe another drop. He’d just have to wait for Hitch to come back.

  But it was getting about as clear as Molly’s looking glass that Hitch wasn’t going to be able to come back anytime soon.

  Walter spread the fingers on his other hand and inched them out—and out and out, until he stretched his arm all the way away from his body. The wooden ledge on that side extended as far as he could reach. At least he wasn’t going to roll over in that direction and fall clean off the face of the ship.

  He eased himself over onto his shoulder, then his stomach. Pains shot through his arms and legs—especially his arms—but he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees anyway. Then he started crawling.

  After a few minutes, lights shone up a
head. To his right, a square hole—dark, but a lighter shade of dark—appeared. Voices echoed out of it.

  If people were in there, then it’d have to lead to a safe place where nobody could fall. But if the people in there saw him, they’d probably throw him right back out. His arms trembled, and he bit his lip. Maybe just a look. He could always crawl back out.

  He reached the few feet up to the hole and touched a strip of cold metal on its floor. He moved his hand to the other side of the hole and found another strip just like it. The strips were both wider on the top and grooved in the middle, kind of like railroad tracks.

  The cannon! This was how they got the cannon in and out of the ship.

  He stood up all the way and reached above his head until his hand bumped the top of the tunnel. It was maybe only four feet high. Not hardly big enough for anybody but him to fit in.

  Once inside, he slid down the tunnel on his belly—as slow as a snake, and hopefully as silent.

  Ahead, the orange light flickered, like it was off to the side of the tunnel somehow, maybe not inside of it at all. Around a slight bend, the light glared, full-strength. It lit up a huge, dark shape smack in the middle of the tunnel.

  His heart jumped, and he stopped short.

  The cannon. It was only the cannon. Good sweet angels.

  For a second, he closed his eyes. Then he made his arms drag his body forward a little more.

  The big ol’ metal tube, on its wooden wheels, loomed over his head. It filled up almost all of the tunnel, facing away from him. But maybe he could crawl over the wheels first, then duck down under the cannon to get past.

  In the tunnel’s right wall, a trap door hung open from the hinges at its bottom. That was where the light was coming from. Shadows moved across the opening.

  He leaned against the wall and peeked an eye around the corner.

  Inside a huge room, giant pistons pumped up and down. The wind blew the sweet smell of warm grease and the sharp smell of cold rain against his face. In the middle of the room stood a big tarp-covered something, about the size of Mama Nan’s bureau—the one she never let him and the twins climb on.