Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (46 page)

“That ain’t going to win you this fight.” Campbell unfolded himself from the stool and stood. “You think you came home, Hitch. But you’re on
my
ground. Don’t go raising no ruckus you can’t finish.”

Hitch kept coming. “You’re wrong. You don’t own this town, no matter how much you like to think people need you.”

“I own you, son. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Campbell had to be closing in on seventy, but he still looked like he could take a beating without buckling—and give it right back with twice the force.

He eyed Hitch. “You always were a fool, Hitch, but don’t do something you’re going to regret. You’re on my side on this one, even if maybe you can’t see it. You take one swing at me, and whether it connects or not, I’ll break you right in two, along with everyone you care about.”

From the moment Hitch had opened his eyes this morning, his fists had been itching for a fight. In Zlo’s stead, Campbell’d have to do. Yeah, Hitch would probably end up in as bad a shape as Campbell would. Yeah, Campbell would maybe take him apart afterward. But where did this end if not here?

Small footsteps clattered up the sidewalk outside.

Campbell looked past Hitch to the door. “Well, now, youngster.” He turned back to Hitch. The hardness in his eyes put the lie to his friendly tone. “I reckon that’s just in time.”

Hitch took one more step, everything in him urging him on. Get to Campbell. Crack his face open. Have done for good and all.

But the sound of the panting behind him made him look back.

Walter ran into the cafe and grabbed Hitch’s hand. His face was streaked red, from running or maybe from crying. He looked up at Hitch, eyes huge, the pupils little specks. His breath came so hard, he was practically wheezing. He yanked on Hitch, trying to pull him away.

Hitch attempted to free his arm. “You need to go home, kid.”

Walter shook his head and pulled harder.

Still watching Walter, Campbell jutted his chin at him. “I know some other folks who might
benefit
if you don’t get your head on straight. So what’ll it be?”

Hitch clenched his fists, the tendons in his arms straining hard enough to hurt.

And then he backed down. Because what else could he do?

“We’re going to finish this talk later,” he said. “
Sheriff
.”

“You keep blaming me, son. But you’re the one who got yourself into this.”

And that, right there, was the gospel truth.

Hitch let Walter drag him to the door.

Once they were on the sidewalk, he got his arm free and shrugged his leather jacket back up onto his shoulder. “I’m in no mood for games right now. You and I both know you’re not supposed to be around me anyway. So run home.”

Walter shook his head hard and grabbed again at Hitch’s arm. Hitch tried to shake him off, but Walter stuck out his hind end and dug in his heels.

“C’mon.” Hitch yanked his sleeve free. “If something’s the matter, go talk to your dad for a change. I got my own problems right now.” He took two steps, then stopped and looked back. “Where’s Taos? I thought he was with you last night.”

Tears welled in Walter’s eyes.

Uh-oh. This was bad. Something painful inside of him rolled over. That dog had been with him longer than Earl.

“What happened?” He walked back to face the boy. “Where is he?”

Walter stared at the sidewalk and shrugged.

“Just
tell
me.”

Walter darted his face back up, as if he’d been slapped.

Totally, entirely, absolutely the wrong thing to say. Hitch had almost forgot the kid couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—talk. He exhaled hard.

Walter opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. His lower lip trembled. “Zlo—took Taos.”

“
What
?” The word burst out before he really had time to think about it.

That snake Zlo had his
dog
.

And Walter had just said something.

Why was this happening now, with Hitch? This should be happening with Nan and Byron. They were the ones who had waited forever for Walter to start talking again. They’d know what to say, pat him on the back, make a big deal out of him.

Hitch’s head pounded pain all the way down his spine. “What happened?”

Walter sucked in a shaky breath. He wasn’t crying, but he was mighty close to it. “I—” His voice was tinny, unused.

Hitch was no good with kids, especially crying kids. “Come on now. Don’t cry. Just tell me what happened. Where’d you see Zlo?”

“Out—by—the—Bluff.” Every word was a gasp. “With his ship. It’s broken.”

Electricity zinged across Hitch’s skin. “The ship’s out by the Bluff?” He looked instinctively across town, even though the buildings blocked the view from here. He seized Walter’s shoulder. “You’re sure?”

“But they... saw me.”

A deep growl welled in Hitch’s throat. This was a lead, a solid lead. The first in days. If he could get out there in time, he could finish what he’d started the other day: bring the ship down and get his people and himself out of here before Campbell could rain down any more threats. And then he could put this whole big mess behind him. Coming home had been a mistake. He wouldn’t make it again.

But only if he could get out to the Bluff in time.

He released Walter. “I got to go.”

Shoulders slumped, the boy looked up at Hitch. His tears finally slid free. “I’m sorry about Taos.” Then he turned and ran.

Hitch barely held back a groan as he watched him go.

He’d been too rough on the kid. He’d spoken too harshly, been too impatient. After all, Walter
had
come to fess up. And Zlo’s taking Taos probably hadn’t been Walter’s fault to begin with.

He should go after him and tell him it was all right.

It
wasn’t
all right. But what else were you supposed to tell a kid who was breaking his heart over a dog?

Except he couldn’t, not right now.
Schturming
came first.

Thirty-Six

THE JENNY TORE between the low clouds. Hitch guided her wide around the backside of the Bluff and over the top once more. If luck could hold on a little bit longer, and
Schturming
was still near where Walter had spotted it, that might give him enough time to keep Zlo from kicking those honkin’ engines of his into high gear. That was the first thing that had to go right if this new plan had any chance of succeeding.

Below, two dozen motorcars roared up the mud-puddled road. Campbell and Griff drove two of them. Livingstone with his legs in casts, and Earl with his slung-up arm, had somehow gotten themselves crammed together in one of the backseats, even though they were so much deadweight on this mission.

In the Jenny’s rear cockpit, Hitch perched on the edge of his seat and danced on the rudder pedals to keep the plane straight. She kept trying to yaw left under the weight of the rope ladder hooked over her landing gear. Every second the ladder somehow stayed put was a second that made it a smidge easier to believe there might be enough miracles left in the world to make this actually work.

Because if it didn’t, they were going to be out of options for stopping Zlo. And even if, by some miracle, everyone managed to pull together long enough for this to work out—Campbell still got the air machine at the end of it.

Not exactly a win-win situation, but getting
Schturming
on the ground was better than nothing. If they could make that happen, at least Hitch could leave home knowing it wasn’t too much worse off than before he had come back on this misbegotten trip.

For whatever it was worth, at least there was
a plan this time—thanks to Walter’s discovery.

A stab of regret punched up through the adrenaline. Little Walter with his wide, trusting eyes and his fearless smile. The only wrong thing that kid had done was to pick Hitch as his hero.

The Jenny tried to drop her wing again. In the front cockpit, Jael twisted around and shot Hitch a questioning look through her goggles. She hung onto the huge piles of rope coiled in her lap.

She’d insisted her bum joints wouldn’t keep her from doing what needed to be done here today. Plus, she “must be finding
yakor
.” At any rate, she was the only semi-whole person left who wasn’t mad at him and didn’t have it out for him.

He yanked his focus back where it belonged, steadied the plane, and gave Jael a terse nod.

They bounced in the turbulence over the jagged peak of the Bluff. The bare limestone at the top melted down into patches of faded grass and scrubby cedars. A few hundred more yards—a few more seconds—and they’d be over to the other side. Then the luck of this plan would either pan out or it wouldn’t.

“Be there.” He gritted his teeth against the rain-flecked wind. “Just be there.”

The Jenny swooped over the last ledge. The ground fell away and the wide-open sea of air rushed up to float the plane once more. Jael leaned over one side; Hitch leaned over the other.

He blinked hard, straining to see through his water-spotted goggles.

Rock, tree, rock, weeds, more weeds. Nothing that looked like a very large, very obvious dirigible.

And then—
there
.

Nestled in the corner of the Bluff, the vast, off-white envelope exploded into view.

His heart about exploded along with it.

Jael darted a look back and jerked her head toward it.

He spared a nod, and then dragged in all the air his lungs could hold.

Here went nothing. If this didn’t work the first time, it probably never would. He eased the Jenny’s nose down and dove, straight for
Schturming
’s propellers.

No time to go over the plan in his head. No time to make sure the cavalcade of motorcars were swinging around the end of the Bluff and bumping over the field into position. Hardly even time to think about what he was doing. They had to get in there and get in there fast. As soon as Zlo heard them coming, he’d rev those big propellers and the jig would be over.

Below,
Schturming
’s stern surged up fast. Jammed against the Bluff like it was, there was zero space to maneuver. Hitch slowed the Jenny as much as he dared, but the wingtip still reached the propellers a darn sight too soon.

One of
Schturming
’s prop fins was busted clean in half.
That
explained why Zlo hadn’t beat it out of here before now. Looked like that cannon misfire yesterday had done some good after all. The dirigible would probably still be able to move, but not nearly as fast.

In another minute, with any luck, it wouldn’t move at all.

As best he could, he angled toward the dirigible’s props with the ladder on the landing gear.

“Hang on!” he shouted, more for the Jenny’s benefit than Jael’s. If he miscalculated this, it either wouldn’t work—or his landing gear would get ripped clean off.

They zipped past the propeller.

He exhaled and craned his neck. The wheels were still there. So was the ladder.

He’d missed. To bring down the ship, they first had to knock out its engines. This was the only way to do that. And he’d missed.

On the walkway atop the envelope, a man stood and started shouting.

So much for the element of surprise. Hitch pulled up hard to keep from crashing against the ground.

The cannon sat on its track, down toward the bottom of the envelope, but it wasn’t moving. Maybe Zlo hadn’t had time to get the pulley system back together.

Jael looked at him again and twirled her finger in the air, like she’d seen Earl do.

He nodded. One more shot. Good Lord willing, there’d be time. He pulled back on the stick, and the Jenny shot straight up, all the way past
Schturming
, right to the point of stalling. Then, with a roar, he yawed the nose around into a hammerhead turn.

The sentry atop
Schturming
must have gotten word to the engine room. Slowly, slowly, the mismatched propellers started to turn. Even busted, they had enough power to inch the dirigible forward.

The Jenny swooped down once more. Hitch got her lined up with the propellers and pushed her in even closer. It’d be the landing gear or the ladder this time. One way or another,
something
was coming off and sticking to that thing.

In a whoosh, the dark bulk of the propellers shot past the plane. The Jenny’s whole frame shuddered. The stick twitched in his hand.

In front, Jael, who had been watching over her shoulder the whole time, broke out a wide grin. Her laugh was almost audible.

His heart pounded so hard he could barely see straight. He dared a look under the plane.