Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (39 page)

He turned onto the road, headed toward the lake, and gave the car the gun. “You’re the first person I know who’s stayed around to tell me how it felt after getting that close to a lightning strike. Maybe that’s just how it goes.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so.” She handed him a biscuit. “It is like you said yesterday. The weather makes people’s bones to hurt. Well,
Schturming
causes weather, yes?”

He bit past the flour powdered on top and into the fluffy—if cold—insides of the biscuit. “And when are you figuring on getting to the plan part?
Schturming
’s making weather all over the place today.”

“But I am not talking about
weather
, I am talking about
dawsedometer
. When it is near, I hurt. And since it is inside of
Schturming
, that is how we find it.”

“That is... interesting, if it’s true. Kind of like barometric pressure—which this
dawsedometer
thing probably warps like crazy.”

She made a confused face.

“Barometric pressure. I guess you’d say it’s part of what makes weather. At any rate, it can make people’s joints hurt.” He chewed his biscuit. “But even if that’s true, what’s it get us? You just want to drive around until you start hurting?”

She raised both eyebrows, mouth cocked. “You have better idea?”

“Not really.”

“Then we drive.” She settled back in her seat and pulled out another biscuit. “You will find it. You have luck.”

“You can’t trust luck.”

She looked over at him. Her face was clear except for two serious little lines between her eyes. “I trust
you
.”

“Well...” He dug around for the right thing to say.

What did he want to say anyway? He
had
wanted her to trust him. He’d wanted her to like him, almost right from the start. Well, now she liked him and trusted him—and he’d gone and kissed her, and who knew exactly how she felt about that now that she’d cooled down. At any rate, she wasn’t too burnt up about it, from the looks of things.

He cast her a sidelong glance. “You do know you shouldn’t count on me too much, right?”

“This ‘count on’—what is that?”

“It means... depend on, to be sure of something.”

“You are not sure of yourself?”

“Oh, I’m sure. It’s just that what I’m sure of isn’t always what other people
want
me to be sure of.”

“You are very worried about disappointing people.”

Most of the time, there weren’t any people in his life
to
disappoint. It was only since coming home that the Groundsworld—as she called it—had started reaching out for him with its expectations and responsibilities.

He guided the car around a puddle. The left front tire hit the rut anyway and bounced hard.

“I’m not worried,” he said. “There’s things I’ve done—mostly long ago, before I left home—that I’m not proud of. I wish they could’ve turned out different. But the truth is, even if I had ’em to do again, they’d happen the same way. I am what I am, and I can’t help it when people expect me to be something else.”

She chewed on that for a minute. “You think you are still same person you were—before you left all this time ago?”

“Sure. People don’t change.” He gave her half a grin, trying to make it a joke. “It’s a common myth.”

She ate her biscuit slowly, watching him. Then she licked the crumbs off her fingers and shook her head. “People change. But it is slow. It is not that they decide tomorrow they will have differences. It is that they decide every day, for many days. Or maybe they do not decide—and it happens anyway, without them even having knowledge of it.” She spread her hands. “It is not change. It is what you call... um...”

“Evolution?”

“Maybe. I do not know this word.”

He steadied the steering wheel over a series of ruts. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. He wasn’t entirely the person he had been nine years ago. Back then, he’d been as sure as shoeshine that running away was the only right choice. But now, a niggle of doubt surfaced.

What would have happened had he stayed? Maybe Campbell would have backed down sooner than risk his crooked dealings being revealed in open court. Maybe he
wouldn’t
have gone after the Hitchcock farm like he’d threatened. Even if Campbell had held fast, maybe Hitch spending a few years in prison would have done less to hurt the people he cared about. Maybe Celia wouldn’t have gotten sick and died.

He might have a family now. A little stability. A few bucks in his pockets. Would that have been such a bad thing?

His chest tightened. And leave the air? Let gravity chain him to the ground?

He shook his head. “People don’t change. They want to, but they can’t.”

Jael drew in a pained little gasp.

He looked over at her. “Nothing personal.”

“No...” She sucked in another breath, past her teeth. She sat up, rigid in her bouncing seat, both fists clenched in her lap. Her skin had gone tight over her face. Her eyes were wide, her forehead lined. “I am having pain again.”

“What?” He hit the brakes hard, and the jalopy nearly swerved off the road. He leaned his head back and scanned the sky.

Nothing but clouds.

She leaned forward, wincing. “Move slowly.”

He let up on the brake. “If you’re right about this, you’ll deserve Livingstone’s prize all to yourself.”

They crept down the road—four hundred yards, five hundred, then a mile. He alternated his gaze between the road ahead and the hazy sky that stretched out across the lake on one side and the unplanted fields of gray-green sagebrush on the other.

When you came right down to it, this was ridiculous. It was like looking for a mosquito smashed onto the Jenny’s top wing. Maybe you’d find it if you looked long enough, but, even then, it’d be nothing but a fluke.

Jael snatched at his sleeve and pulled his arm, nearly turning the car into the barrow pit. “Wait!”

“Hey! Let up. You want to wreck us?”

Still hanging onto his arm, she dragged herself across the seat toward him. Her eyes strained for the sky. “Ssh! Engine—turn it off!”

He killed the engine and followed her gaze.

Even without sunlight, he still had to squint against the gray of the sky. “I don’t see anything.”

She leaned halfway over the top of him and pointed. “There.”

He followed her finger.

High above, skating along the bottom of the clouds, something flickered. Halfway across the field, a speck about the size of his thumbnail blinked against the clouds. He squinted harder. He should never have given Walter his field glasses.

“It’s probably a buzzard.”

She gave her head a sharp shake. “No.”

It flashed red and swung around. It didn’t look like a bird circling. More like something swinging.

It was the wing.

He thumped the steering wheel. “Hot dog, girl! I do believe you’re right. Let’s get you out of here and find me a plane!”

They careened back into camp to find Earl overseeing as Matthew and J.W. screwed the new propeller into place. Hitch skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. In Nebraska, it somehow managed to be dusty even after it rained. He shut off the engine and started to climb out.

Jael grabbed his sleeve and leaned across the seat. “Hitch. I think Zlo would be having desire for airplane. He would want it for protection and attack, yes?”

Hitch didn’t have to think about that for more than a second. “Of course, he would. Who’s gonna be satisfied with a dirigible when you can have a plane too?”

“He would chase after you, I think.” Her eyes sparked with the same excitement that was running all through his body. “If you were only plane he is having sight of—you could lead him to . . .” She gestured with both hands, trying to find the word.

He didn’t need her to say it. “Ambush.”

She grinned and nodded. “I would make you take me, but I can hardly walk when I am in nearness to it.”

He winked at her and squeezed her shoulder. “You’re already a genius. No need to be a hero too.” He slid all the way out and slammed the door. Then he gave caution a good heave into the wind and leaned back over the door, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “You deserve a kiss, but I have to tell you, I don’t want to get myself smacked again.”

Her eyes flashed wide for a second. Then something that
might
have been a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth.

He turned away before she could respond—either way—and jogged off.

Livingstone had wandered over to observe the Berringers’ work.

Hitch hesitated. If he told Livingstone about this, the man would want in on the hunt. But if every plane in his troupe went roaring out there right now, they’d lose any chance of surprise. Zlo would just rev those big engines—and that big cannon—and disappear again.

Better to leave now without saying anything, and let Earl fill Livingstone in after, so he could get the rest of the pilots ready when Hitch brought
Schturming
to them.

Hitch angled around to stay out of Livingstone’s line of sight and stopped beside Earl, his back to the plane.

“Finally decided to get up, did you?” Earl said.

“I apologize right now for all the times I groused about you being an early riser.”

Earl looked at him suspiciously. “How’s that?”

“We found
Schturming
.”

Earl’s eyebrows sprang upwards. “That crazy wing idea worked?”

“Sure did. The plane ready to go?”

“She’ll hold together, I reckon.” Earl cradled his splinted arm and winced. “Where is it anyway?”

“Keep your voice down.” Hitch shot a glance over his shoulder.

Livingstone was already looking their way.

He turned back. “If I’m going to do this right, I need to do it by myself. I’m faster that way and a whole lot less likely to get noticed too soon. I’m going to try to sucker
Schturming
into following me. Ten minutes after I’m in the air, you tell Livingstone to head out and meet me at the Bluff. I’ll lure it there, and if he’s got enough pilots waiting for it, we can maybe maneuver it into crashing against the crags.”

“You have thought this thing through, right?”

“Of course.”

Earl glared at him. “Of course you have.” His arm must be bothering him. He always got extra cranky when he wasn’t feeling well. “And in all your thinking it through, I’m sure you spent a nice amount of time remembering that if you get this plane shot out of the sky again, all our plans are going to go up in smoke. You lose with Zlo, you lose with Livingstone, you lose with Campbell. And even if they don’t scalp you amongst the three of ’em, you’ll still be stuck here for a good long time. Now, are you telling me you’re sure sticking your neck out for this little hick town is what you want to do?”

If he thought about it, he probably wouldn’t be so sure. So he didn’t think about it. “I’m sure.”

Earl’s grunt didn’t sound too surprised. “Right. Just so we’re clear.” He jutted his chin. “Watch your tail.”

“What?” Hitch turned in time to see Livingstone approach.

The man had a gleam in his eye. “Did I have the good fortune to hear you have accomplished the impossible in discovering our quarry for us?”

“Look, it’s just a one-man mission to start with. Earl will tell you about it.” He eased past Livingstone. “We send any more planes than mine out there, and we could end up with a sack full of nothing.” He pointed at Matthew. “You want to give that propeller a heave when I tell you?”

Livingstone stepped a few paces away and snapped his fingers at one of the kids hanging around the planes. “Rally the pilots. Tell them I want them in the air in five minutes. We’ve found the sky beast.”

Hitch turned on him. “You send twenty planes screaming out there, and Zlo’ll see us coming a mile off.”

“Piffle.” Livingstone turned away, headed for his own plane. “You overestimate yourself, as usual. You’ll need help, and we must stick together.”

“And it’ll look better in the papers, I suppose?”

“Now you’re catching the vision, old boy.” Livingstone gestured to Earl as he passed. “Since that arm unfortunately keeps you from any useful assistance, why don’t you drive on down to the farmhouse and telephone the gentlemen of the press at the
Star-Herald
and the
Courier
?”

Earl watched him go, mouth open. Then he looked at Hitch. “I know we’re supposed to be nice to him. I know I
told
you to be nice to him. But I hope you win all his publicity away from him, just for the principle of it.”

“I’ll settle for beating him to that field. If I can get enough of a head start on him to get
Schturming
to think I’m the only one, it might still work.” Hitch clambered into the rear cockpit. “Let’s go!” he shouted—and Matthew spun the engine to life.