Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure

by K. M. Weiland

  Campbell stepped back. “Let him out.”

  Hitch frowned. “What?”

  “They’re burying your sister-in-law today—before the rain turns the ground too soft.” Campbell glowered. “Reckon you ought to be there, see a little of your handiwork, don’t you think? And maybe the citizens ought to see what I do to folks who don’t play by the rules.”

  Aurelia. His stomach panged. He’d almost forgotten she was gone. All the words drained out of him.

  Deputy Milton opened the door and cuffed his wrists.

  At the door, Campbell stopped Hitch, one broad hand against his chest. “Enjoy your outing.” His whisper sounded like gravel underfoot. “And you be thinking about all this. Else it’ll be the last time you’ll see the sky for a long, long while.”

  ***

  The wooden coffin bumped into the bottom of the grave with a splash audible even twenty feet back, where Hitch stood with his deputy guard.

  Campbell had sent Jael out too, just for the spectacle of it, no doubt. She stood another twenty feet away from Hitch, still in her now-ragged party dress. She hunched her shoulders against the rain. Her bare feet moved restlessly in the mud, like it hurt her to stay still.

  Rain poured down on them out of a sky thick with clouds. All the graveyards around here were built on high ground, since the water level was only three feet under in most places. But the way this rain was bucketing down, it wouldn’t be long before even the hilltops were flooded.

  Behind Hitch, motorcars packed the road, chugging out of the valley. Folks were leaving in droves. They were under siege for real now, and this time there was no one left to stop Zlo.

  Overhead, a few patched-up planes flew low, staying beneath the overcast. They were headed out as fast as they could fly.

  Yesterday, he would have been flying with them.

  For all the good his staying was doing anyone now. His gut tightened, and he flexed his wrists against his manacles.

  He had to get out of here. The only way to help Walter, or Jael—or anyone—was to get in a plane and fly. Finding Zlo again was a chance in a million, but the only way to win this was to somehow take the fight to him.

  The preacher was saying words now—fast words probably, since every minute the grave was open was another pail of water on top of the coffin. Nan and her family stood around the hole, slickers belted over their black clothes. They bowed their heads and hung onto each other.

  Nan kept glancing up at him. Probably, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut last night.

  He looked around. One crooked row of headstones away from him, his father’s name was visible on a granite stone: Robert Hitchcock, 1864-1915. Beside him would be Hitch’s mother. Elsie Griffith Hitchcock, 1869-1900. Beside her: Celia Smith Hitchcock, 1890-1912.

  Why folks wanted to come out and stand over their loved ones’ graves and talk to them had never made any kind of sense. The spirits were long flown. The bodies were gone to corruption. Might as well speak into the stars, for all practicality’s sake.

  But standing here, with the rain dripping down the back of his coat collar and plastering his trousers around his knees, the urge hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes.

  He stared at his father’s headstone—the one he hadn’t been here to help plant.

  This time he was going to see things made right—for them, for Walter and Jael, for Griff and Nan, for himself. They had his word on it. Somehow, God willing, he would find a way. Let Zlo flood the valley. Let Campbell lock him away. Let days and months and years pass. Didn’t matter. Everything that had happened—everything that had been done—everything he had done—it did not end here today.

  Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned back.

  Nan walked through the mud, straight toward him. Her eyes were dark pits in her pale face. She’d clamped her mouth in a hard line, but tear tracks still scarletted her cheeks. Wet wisps of hair escaped the black kerchief tied under her chin. She stopped in front of him.

  He braced himself. “Nan. I’m sorry. Aurelia didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry for whatever part I played in her getting caught up in it last night. Her and”—he made himself hold her gaze—“Walter.”

  She pulled her mouth a little to the side and nodded. Then she looked at Deputy Milton. “Would you give me a few minutes’ speech with my brother-in-law?”

  Milton touched the brim of his hat. “I don’t know about that, ma’am. Sheriff Campbell didn’t think it was right to have him talking to—”

  “My sister has just died. He’s family. I need to talk to him. I know the sheriff wouldn’t deny me that right now.”

  “Well... Of course, ma’am.” Milton backed off about ten feet, out of hearing.

  Nan glanced down the row of headstones, toward Celia’s, then back at Hitch. “I... I don’t think she even knew she was carrying Walter yet, when you left. She’d surely have told you, if only to try to get you to stay.”

  Nan was giving him an explanation, as easy as that? He’d half-expected to have to pry it out of her.

  “Why didn’t she write me afterwards?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. To punish you, I suppose. She took sick not long after Walter was born. She was gone before we even thought about death being a possibility.” She stared at the ground. “Even I didn’t take her serious. She was always complaining about something being wrong with her health. You know how she was.”

  Yeah, he knew. But his heart still twisted.

  “After she was gone, you still weren’t back.” She took a deep breath and raised her head. “So Byron and I took in the boy. He was just a baby, so he never knew the difference. Even Molly was too young to really understand he wasn’t her brother.”

  The flash of anger burned again. They’d had no right to rob Hitch of eight years of his son’s life. Maybe, as things had turned out, all of his son’s life.

  She met his gaze, slowly. Tears welled. “I am sorry, Hitch.”

  “It’s done now.” He swallowed. Griff had been right. “It wasn’t the right decision, but I can’t say it was the wrong one either.”

  The corner of her mouth trembled. She bit her lip. “I—I judged you right harshly all these years. But it wasn’t all your fault.” Her eyes grew huge, luminous with more tears. The tears finally welled over, streaking down her cheeks. “It was mine too. You weren’t here, but I was. I saw her every day, and I should have known. I should have known—when you had no way of knowing—that something was wrong, that she was dying.”

  He shifted in the mud. “That was not your fault. That wasn’t truly anybody’s fault. It was just something that happens.”

  “I tried to be a good mother to Walter, for her sake.”

  “You were a good mother.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to love him like he was one of my own. But I looked at him, and I didn’t see Celia.” She closed her eyes. “I saw you.” She opened them again. “That’s why he doesn’t talk, you know.”

  Ah, that. He’d wanted to know, of course. But before now, he’d never had a right to ask. He waited.

  She stared down at where she’d clenched her hands together. “He hasn’t talked since he was five. My twins—they were just babies then, just barely walking—and he’d taken them down to the creek. They fell in—Evvy nearly drowned.” She looked up. “I was scared out of my mind, and I said things to him. Things I didn’t mean. Things I really meant to say to you.” Her mouth pulled down, her chin trembling harder than ever. “And he never talked again.”

  “Nan...”

  “I’ve hated you all these years. Maybe it was so I wouldn’t have to hate myself.”

  He stepped toward her and raised his manacled hands, wanting to comfort her somehow. “God knows we all make mistakes. But you did things for him I never could. That much is gospel truth, and we both know it.”

  She licked her lips, trying to keep back the tears. “You asked me to forgive you before. Well.” For the first time since he’d come
back, the look she gave him was an honest one, open all the way down to the bottom of her soul. “If there’s any way you could go up there and find Walter, bring him back—” One more tear spilled over and mingled with the raindrops. “Then I will forgive you. And what’s more, I will beg your forgiveness.”

  He reached out with his cuffed hands and snagged her fingers. “You get me free, and I’ll find a way. I promise you.”

  Milton’s footsteps started slogging toward them.

  Time to go then.

  He kept hold of her hand. “Tonight.”

  She nodded. “Tonight.”

  Milton reached them. “Sorry, ma’am. But I really do got to take him back now.”

  “I understand.” She pulled her hand free. “Goodbye, Hitch.”

  “Goodbye, Nan.” He watched her leave. His throat tightened, but for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he was able to draw a full, cold breath into his lungs.

  Milton took his elbow and turned him toward the car.

  Another batch of planes roared overhead. The sound reverberated in his chest, and the old longing stirred. He could still fly away. Tell Campbell yes, get out, and never come back. Once he was gone, Campbell’d never find him.

  On the other hand, if he stayed, and especially if this escape tonight worked, Campbell would prosecute him to the full extent he was capable. Like enough, Hitch would spend the rest of his life in jail.

  That’s what logic said.

  But when you came right down to it, he’d never lived much of his life by logic.

  Forty-Four

  THE COMMOTION IN the jailhouse erupted about nine o’clock.

  Hitch stopped pacing his cell.

  It was hard to hear past the din of the rain pounding on the roof. But that thud had sounded a whole lot like a body hitting the floor.

  Something clanged. Another thud.

  A whisper shrilled through the empty corridor: “Dagnabbit! Did you have to drop him right on my big toe?”

  “Never mind that. Now, son, just you move along. We don’t want no trouble.”

  Hitch dodged into the far corner of his cell, where he’d have the best angle of sight down the corridor.

  Three men appeared through the far doorway. The two in back, clad in overalls and straw hats, wore red bandannas over their noses and hefted shotguns.

  The Berringer brothers. Of course. Who else was Nan going to recruit?

  Hitch almost grinned.

  They prodded Griff along in front of them.

  “Now, git on.” J.W. poked at Griff with his shotgun barrel. It wasn’t cocked. “You think a jailbreak’s supposed to take all night?”

  Griff held up both hands. The key ring dangled from one thumb. His teeth were clenched hard, but his expression was more forbearing than upset.

  Matthew clamped a hand on Griff’s shoulder and looked back at J.W. “Hush your mouth. You want to wake the whole blamed place?”

  “Me wake the whole blamed place? What about you knocking them fellers out and letting them smack into the floor? If you’d given me some warning, I’d’ve caught ’em and nobody would’ve heard a thing.”

  “What did you think I was going to do? Stand there and wait until they turned around and recognized us in these silly disguises?”

  “These disguises are a common-sense precaution, and you know it.”

  “They’re silly. Ain’t going to fool nobody.” Matthew rattled Griff’s shoulder. “Fool you, son?”

  Griff cleared his throat. “That... might depend on who’s asking.”

  “See?”

  J.W. snorted. “What’s silly is this whole idea of a truce between you and me. I’d be in and out and have this job finished all by myself by now.”

  “Surely.” Matthew didn’t sound sure. He looked at Griff. “Now where’s your brother?”

  Hitch kept his mouth shut. Matthew and J.W. were already making so much noise, it was a miracle nobody had heard what was going on. The Schturming refugees in the other cells just stared slack-jawed and muttered amongst themselves.

  Griff led the Berringers to Hitch’s cell and looked Hitch straight in the eye as he stuck the key in the lock.

  Hitch gave him a nod. No doubt Griff had his own reasons for letting him out. Whatever they were, the results were a heap better than all the fighting and stonewalling they’d been doing ever since he’d got back.

  Hitch looked at Matthew. “Thought you’d never get here.”

  J.W. crooked his elbow around his shotgun. “Can’t hardly do a jailbreak in broad daylight.”

  “Hush,” Matthew said. “Now, Hitch Hitchcock, you stop your wisecracking and listen to me. This whole thing’s rash, and I hope you know it. But it’s the only chance most of us got—including you. So if you’re brave enough to take that contraption of yours up tonight, God bless you. Your mechanic’s got it fueled and ready for takeoff, right outside of town. He’s been keeping it dry under tarps all this time.”

  Griff opened the door.

  Hitch grabbed his leather jacket off the bunk and stepped into the corridor. “What about Jael?”

  “Hmm.” J.W. scratched his nose above his bandanna. “Where do they keep lady prisoners anyway?”

  Griff headed down the corridor without needing even a single prod from Matthew. “This way.”

  The cell Griff led them to was empty and dark.

  Griff frowned. “She’s supposed to be here.” He unlocked the latch and stepped inside the cell.

  “This a trick?” Matthew said.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when something streaked down from the corner and hit Griff in the head. He toppled forward onto his knees.

  Hitch lunged to catch him. “What—?”

  With a grunt, Jael fell out of the ceiling. She landed in a crouch, next to the short log she must have somehow snagged and smuggled in under her skirt when they’d been at the graveyard that afternoon.

  Hitch caught her bare arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” He looked from her to the ceiling. “How’d you get up there?”

  She scrunched her face in a wince and straightened up. “I climbed.”

  “And wedged yourself up there?” The girl was a consarned monkey.

  Matthew pushed past Hitch to help a bleary Griff back to his knees. “What’d you hit this poor boy for?”

  “Don’t you know a rescue when you see one?” J.W. said.

  “This is rescue?” She looked at Hitch, then down at Griff. “Oh.” Then, sympathetically: “Oh.” She knelt and gently patted Griff’s cheeks.

  Hitch scrubbed his hand through his hair. “How come I didn’t get all this nursing whenever you hit me?”

  “You were not rescuing.”

  “Yes, I was... some of the times.”

  She slanted him a glance that looked downright reproachful.

  “Yeah, well, anyway. I’m about to beat it. Breaking jail’s a crime in itself, so if Campbell catches up to me, it’ll mean about twice as much trouble as before. You can come on out if you want, and the Berringers or somebody will take care of you.” He glanced at Matthew for a nod of confirmation. “But you just might be better off staying here. It’s your choice.”

  She stood and faced him. “You are going after Schturming. In this weather?”

  “Yes, to find Walter and stop Zlo.”

  “I will go with you.”

  “No.” The word came out fast. He took a breath and slowed himself down. “I don’t want you up there tonight. Flying in weather like this is... well, it ain’t recommended. I could crash as easy as not, and that’d be the end of it.”

  “You will never be finding Schturming without me. Now that Zlo has changed the dawsedometer to on again, I can feel where it is. You cannot.”

  “Jael—” How to say this? And in front of Griff and the Berringers too.

  He’d been a fool last night, for a lot of reasons. One of those reasons was how close he’d come to walking away from her.

  But now everyt
hing was different. He was either going to die tonight or end up in prison for an awful long time. Whatever chance he had of making things the way he wanted them to be with her was long gone.

  He needed her to be safe. But he needed to find Walter too. She was right about his chances of locating the dirigible without her. But... He shivered. What if it got her killed too?

  He reached to hold her shoulders at arm’s length. “I don’t want you to do this.”

  She raised both eyebrows. Her eyes were deep and steady. “But you have need of me to. So do not be wasting your time telling me this.”

  His heart flip-flopped—partly because she’d said yes and partly because... she’d said yes. God help them.

  “Thank you.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  She reached for his hand and took a limping step. “Let us go.”

  He paused to help Griff up. “I don’t know if you did this ’cause the Berringers strong-armed you or—”

  Groggily, Griff looked him in the eye. “Good luck, Hitch.”

  It wasn’t precisely a reconciliation, but it was enough for tonight.

  “Hustle yourself,” Matthew said.

  Hitch gave his brother a nod, then pulled away.

  They made it all the way down to the ground floor and started looking for the exit. Then they turned the wrong corner—and ran straight into Campbell coming out of his office.

  The sheriff stopped shuffling papers and gaped. “What—”

  So much for the clean getaway.

  Hitch wheeled around, hauling Jael with him.

  “This way!” J.W. hollered from the far end of the hall.

  Ahead, double doors glinted.

  Behind, Campbell started shouting orders. His heavy footsteps pounded the hallway.

  Hitch kept running.

  Beside him, Jael grunted pain with every stride.

  He circled her waist with his arm and half-dragged her after him.

  “Stop!” Campbell shouted. “You stop where you stand, or I’ll put you all in the ground!”

  He probably would too.

  “Sheriff!” That was Griff’s voice.

  Just shy of the door, Hitch skidded to a stop, and looked over his shoulder.

  Campbell had stopped too. He stood only about twenty feet off, his revolver in his hand.