K. Weiland - Storming

SURVIVAL RIGHT NOW depended on how many feet were between Hitch and the ground. There were a lot of other factors, but that was the only important one. Provided he had enough room to recover from the Jenny’s spin and pull her into a glide, he could land her deadstick. Even that hayfield would look like a good landing strip right now.

He wrestled with the stick and the rudder pedals, fighting the stubborn Jenny—shorn of the Hisso’s power—back to level. The storm had slacked off considerably. The wind was headed in just one direction, the clouds had lightened to gray, and the rain was barely spitting.

He eased the plane into a shallow dive and prayed for the clouds to clear before he reached the ground. God must have been listening, because the clouds broke apart a good two hundred feet above dirt. The hayfield wasn’t anywhere in sight. He’d lost all his bearings up there, and who knew how long he’d been unconscious, although it didn’t feel like it could have been more than a minute.

He swiveled his head all around, leaning over both sides of the cockpit. Without the engine running, all he could hear was the wind whistling past, thrumming the wing wires into that eerie song they sometimes sang. Thunder rumbled, but it was away off in the distance.

The broad swell of Scotts Bluff—the crag that gave the town its name—scored the horizon behind him. Town had to be just a dozen miles or so to the north. If it wasn’t for the lingering clouds, he would have been able to see it.

A road, empty of traffic and wide enough to accommodate the Jenny, appeared to his right. He guided her over and held his breath as she glided lower and lower. He got her lined up just in time, dropped her to the ground, and let her roll to a dusty stop.

Ignoring the drum of pain in his forehead, he hopped out to check the engine over. The fuel line needed fixing. After that whole adventure, he was happy that was all it was. His legs wobbled a bit, and the ground felt funny underfoot—like it always did after a crazy stunt.

Nobody could tell him he wasn’t lucky. He closed his eyes long enough to huff an exhale. Then he shook the jitters from his hands and got the fuel line straightened out. That done, he gave the propeller a couple heaves, and took off once more.

The hayfield was empty, except for the scorched hayrick, so he circled back to town and landed the Jenny on a backstreet. Scattered tree limbs and broken glass lay everywhere. The storm had hit hard, but the damage seemed to be mostly the result of the wind. No hail, at least.

He left the Jenny and started jogging. He’d seen a hospital on Main Street—a smart-looking three-story building that was brand new or close to. If there was any kind of good news about Jael, that’s where they would have taken her. His stomach cramped. He should never have let her climb on his wings. He should never have flown close enough to that hayrick to let her even think about jumping off.

Unless… had she really pulled that lightning bolt toward her?

Why? To protect him?

That definitely made him feel better.

What had happened out there? What had he crashed into up in the storm? For that matter, where had the storm come from? And where had it gone?

As he reached the hospital, he scanned the sky. The clouds were already scattering. Blue peeked around their ragged corners.

Inside the crowded waiting area at the front, people packed the few chairs along the walls. More stood, supporting friends and relatives. There was crying and shouting. A harried nurse in a white cap manned the front desk. She seemed to be spending most of her time scribbling and shaking her head.

The place didn’t look set up to hold more than a couple dozen patients, and judging by the glimpse through the door into the open ward beyond, three times that many already jammed the ground floor. Nebraskans were used to summer storms. But this one had upset everybody more than usual.

He leaned over two people to catch the nurse’s eye. “Jael!” he raised his voice above the hubbub. “I’m looking for a girl named Jael! She was hit by lightning.” Or close to it, at any rate.

The nurse gave him a harassed shake of her head.

He filled his lungs to try again.

To his left, a dog barked.

He turned.

On the far side of the ward, in the open doorway of what looked to be a single-patient room, Taos sat beside the dark-haired kid who’d come by yesterday for a ride. Nan and Aurelia loomed behind him. And behind them, sitting on the edge of a bed, was Jael.

She gave him the tiniest crook of a smile.

Thank the Lord for miracles. The breath he’d gathered left his lungs in a whoof.

He pushed through the crowd and weaved his way through the ward to her room. “You’re alive… Shoot, kiddo, give me a heart attack next time, why don’t you?”

She slumped, both hands braced against the mattress edge. Dark circles deepened her eyes. Her bobbed hair, light brown before, was streaked with silver.

Other than that, she looked downright scenic.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “ Now am fine.” She jutted her chin at something in the big room. “I have acquainted your brother. They are saying he brought me to this place.”

Hitch glanced back.

Griff, his deputy’s badge glinting against his shoulder, was working the crowd, trying to calm the folks down. He caught Hitch’s eye, held it for five full seconds, then turned away. He looked beat. Who could blame him? He’d probably been up all night with the murder. And now here he was again, hard at it.

“And then I once more acquainted your friends from store.” Jael nodded to Nan and Aurelia. She lowered her gaze and smiled. “And Volltair.”

The little boy—he was about eight or so, with wide ears and a nose full of freckles—looked back and forth between Jael and Hitch. His eyes were big and excited. He kept one hand on Taos’s head.

Nan reached for Walter’s shoulder. She stared at Hitch, practically dragging his gaze back up to hers. “This is unbelievable. It’s amazing she survived.”

Hitch shifted his weight and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, thanks for looking out for her.”

“I do what needs doing, Hitch Hitchcock.”

“I know you do,” he said. “You always did.”

Her cheeks flushed, and for that one second, she looked, inexplicably, like she might burst into tears. She pushed Walter forward. “Come along.” She beckoned for Aurelia. “We need to go check what’s happened to the farm.”

Aurelia patted Jael’s cheek. She sighed. “I’m so sorry you don’t have to stay in the hospital. I was going to buy you a violet nightgown.” She looked at Hitch and tilted her head from one side to the other, considering. “I know something. But of course you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I might.”

“Another storm is coming. I know. I was told. And if there is one storm, there will be two.” She inclined her head, like a queen after a pronouncement.

He touched her shoulder. “That’s true as true. I believe you, Aurelia.”

She blinked benevolently, then wafted out after Nan and the boy.

Hitch closed the door and turned back to Jael. “This is nuts. You know that, right?” He felt like he was going to explode right out of his skin. His forehead pounded where he’d hit it against the cockpit rim. The whirl of his thoughts, most of them ending in question marks, didn’t help one bit. “Everything that’s gone on today—everything that’s gone on since you about fell on my plane the other night—that stuff does not happen. All right?”

She pointed to his forehead and opened her mouth in what might have been concern.