K. Weiland - Storming

Campbell’s green sedan had flipped all the way over and flattened the picket fence. The fire must have gotten to it. Campbell’s big house and Campbell’s big car—all in one fell swoop. Not bad for a day’s work. But it wouldn’t mean a thing if they couldn’t get Campbell himself.

Hitch gathered his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to hurl himself against Campbell—and probably break his other arm in the process.

Like the rest of them, Campbell had jerked around at the sound of the explosion. Already, he was turning back. His eyes found Griff. The revolver rose.

From behind Campbell, a board from his own house smacked him right in the back of the head. A look of utter surprise dropped his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up, and he thudded to his knees. He stayed upright for one second longer, then toppled sideways into the mud.

Behind him, Jael held the board cocked over one shoulder, ready for another go. Right in front of all the town’s ladies, she spat at Campbell’s body. “ Eto pravosudie .” Then she raised her fierce gaze to Hitch. The set of her mouth looked extremely satisfied.

Hitch’s breath fizzled from his body, and he gave her a grateful nod.

Griff turned to the crowd. “C’mon, let’s have four men to carry him to a car!” He turned his head, not quite looking at Hitch. “Campbell’s right. I’m going to have to put you under arrest too. If I ask you to come along, will you do it?”

The adrenaline filtered out of Hitch. Everything started to hurt. He cradled his bad arm against his stomach. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

Jael frowned. “What is this? Wait—” She clenched the board harder.

Hitch touched her arm. “It’s all right. Take care of Walter. Make sure he gets back to Nan.”

She knit her eyebrows hard. “Hitch—”

He found he could smile, in spite of everything—or maybe because of everything. “It’s all right, kiddo.”

He turned to follow Griff.

Townspeople rushed on every side. The thirty-member volunteer fire department had arrived. People with buckets started to form lines, all the way down the street to Campbell’s home. Maybe they’d even put out the fire before it could spread to any other houses.

He squinted upward. The clouds were drawing up higher into the sky. Here and there, a rim of gold edged a crack, and, on the brink of the horizon, the warm, red line of the summer sunrise reached out for him.

AFTER TWO WEEKS cooped up in that dad-blasted cell, waiting on a hearing, the sun felt mighty good. Hitch stepped out of the courthouse into the late August heat. Under a sky of perfect blue, the waning morning stretched as far as he could see, golden and dusty. Two weeks was plenty of time for Nebraska soil to suck up even a cataclysmic storm’s moisture.

He paused on the steps to roll his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then he slung his jacket over his stitched-up shoulder. It was still stiff, but the doc said it’d mend fine in another couple of weeks.

He looked down the street on one side, then the other. Automobiles rumbled and honked along. Farmers in overalls and straw hats strolled the sidewalks, alongside women with their handbags over their arms and their shopping lists in hand.

Everything looked back to normal: back to boring farm-town life. And it all looked about as beautiful as anything he’d ever seen. It was good to be home. If he had said that when he’d first flown in here, nearly a month ago, he might have been lying. But right now, it was the gospel truth.

Of course, a little part of that might be the fact he was free to walk out here into the sun, rather than stay locked up in jail for the good Lord knew how long. His insides jittered at the thought of it, and he started down the steps.

Campbell was still stuck in there, eating jail food, railing about burying everybody in sight, and waiting for a trial that was sure to put him away for a good long while. Folks Hitch hadn’t even known about were coming out of the woodwork, wanting to testify against him for everything from doctoring finances to extortion to criminal connections with his bootlegging buddies in Cheyenne and beyond.

Hitch got off easy. The judge let him go due to “considerations.” After all, he had more or less saved the valley. And he had confessed and ratted on Campbell. Plus, it appeared the new sheriff had put in a surprisingly good word on his account.

A black Chevrolet, the top folded back, puttered up to the curb.

From under his fedora’s brim, Griff peered up at him. “You’re out then?” Against his suspenders, his new badge glinted.

Hitch sauntered down the steps. “Looks like.”

Griff wet his lip. “Want a ride to camp?”

He lowered himself into the car and slammed the door. “Thanks.”

Griff checked traffic and pulled into the street. He watched the road.

Hitch only pretended to watch it. Mostly, he watched his brother out of the corner of his eye.

What were you supposed to say in a situation like this? Seemed like the two of them had made up, more or less. But it’d be nice to know for sure. He couldn’t just come out and ask, even though the answer mattered now more than ever, what with his new plans.

They passed the cleared lot where Campbell’s house had once stood. The captured residents of Schturming had been released after their own hearings had proven they’d more or less been Zlo’s hostages. Now, they rooted amongst the charred rubble, salvaging whatever they could of their belongings.

“Lot of folks without homes,” Hitch said. “What happens to them now?”

“The town’s doing what they can for them. Some of them want to stay, buy farms. Some of them want to rebuild their ship.”

“And the town’s going to let them?”

Griff shrugged. “They were cleared. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re not the only ones around here who try to build one of those things.” He glanced sideways at Hitch. “Might be we’ll have a whole fleet of them before we’re done.”

“No weather machine though?”

“No, that went up in the fire. Reckon we’ll leave the weather to God. For now at least.”

“Sounds good to me.”

As they left the city limits, Griff cleared his throat. “So… what now?”

Hitch shrugged. “I don’t have it all worked out. But I do know there’s some things I’ve got to do yet. First thing is finding a job hereabouts.”

Griff kept his eyes on the folded-down windshield. “Nothing glamorous around here. Right now, the only available jobs are on the farms or in the sugar-beet factory. You realize that?”

“I realize it. But I reckon we both know that’s what needs to happen. At this point, staying and working a lousy job is a small price to pay. You were right.” He waited until Griff looked him full in the face. “It would be a mighty poor idea to drag that kid all over the country in a plane—no matter how much we might both love it at first.” He made himself say the words he’d been thinking ever since it had looked like there might be a chance he’d get out of Schturming alive. “It’s time for me to stop roaming. Time to root. If I’m ever going to have a chance at a family, this is it.”

Griff watched him for a second, seeming to digest the words. Then he faced the road again. He might even have dipped his chin in a small nod. “What’s the second thing?”

Hitch laughed. “Don’t you reckon that’s enough for now?”

As a matter of fact, the second thing was somehow talking Jael into sticking around too. She had nowhere left to go, and she’d been wanting to stay before. But things had changed. Asking her to reconsider was another set of words he’d had stuck in his throat ever since _Schturming_’s crash.