K. Weiland - Storming

But staying put wouldn’t be any better.

“When I stop moving,” he said, “that’s when I start feeling trapped. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I can’t live that way. I don’t understand how anybody stays put without feeling trapped.”

She shrugged, almost apologetically. “That I do not have knowledge of.”

She might not know. But somebody had to. People stayed put all the time. Folks might envy a gypsy pilot like him, but most of them would never want freedom bad enough to chase after it every single day. Somehow, most of them kept finding their freedom in the same place, day in and day out.

That was what he had to do. Somehow, some way, before he was too old and beat up, before he’d hurt every last person he knew, he had to figure out the secret. Otherwise, what else was he running away from but his own life?

Jael’s teeth chattered. “It is good you have family. I think they love you, even though they are angry with you. They will always love you. I think it is better to have someone to love you and be angry with you, than to have no one at all. Maybe I would not have fallen from Schturming if there had been family for me there. In Schturming , if you are nikto , you have not even any quarters to live in. You must go from cabin to cabin to get your food.”

“That’s… harsh.”

“Family, it is all there is, yes? That is worth this staying put for, I think.”

“Surely there can’t be many people up there without families.”

“No, and most of those who do not”—she raised both shoulders—“well, they are often taking their final fall on purpose. I was having much fortune, because Nestor gave me hidden space.” She crossed her arms over her chest and winced.

“Hurting again?” He tossed a glance at the low sky. No way to tell if Schturming was near right now. He looked back down. “Probably you’re stiff from being out in the rain all day.”

“M-mayb-be.”

He ducked back under the canvas, snagged the lantern and a green wool coat borrowed from Lilla. “Here.” He helped her put it on. “The rain’s mostly stopped for now. Let’s take a walk, loosen up those joints.”

She slipped her arm through his, shoulder pressed against his side. “I do not know about these things you are telling me—if your family is right that you did what you should not have. I think if you had to go, you had to go.”

“Sometimes you make choices and there isn’t a good answer either way.”

She hesitated. “When first I was knowing you, my thoughts said you were like I always was believing Groundsmen to be—what everyone else was saying you were. But that was before I had knowledge.” For an instant, her head leaned sideways, against his arm, the touch of it almost an absolution in itself. “I said before that you are man who is causing trouble. But you are also liking to be stopping it. You act like you do not like people to need you. But you like to help them. You have helped me. If I can, I would like to help you.”

The pit of his stomach warmed. She was just a tumbleweed who’d blown in. She didn’t owe him any loyalty. If anything, she’d be completely justified in kicking free of him for any number of reasons. For once in his life, his pride had been squashed enough he could admit that, at least to himself.

He tightened his elbow, squeezing her arm against his side. “Thanks.”

She stopped short, nearly yanking free.

He almost braced himself to be kicked again. “What?”

At their feet lay a severed wing—a red one with a rope looped through the canvas at one end.

Oh, gravy.

“Is that the marker you and Walter tied onto Schturming ?” he asked.

“Look!” she hissed.

He lofted the lantern.

Ahead, almost lost in the shadow of a wrecked plane, a bit of material fluttered.

“It is one of Zlo’s men!” Jael said.

The red flutter separated itself from the plane. The guy with the mop of hair and the dark goggles looked in their direction. Then he took off running.

Ground attack? That’s what this was? Hitch snatched his arm from Jael’s. Zlo had come back down to finish the job?

Hitch whipped his gaze skyward. “It is here. That’s why you’re hurting.” He swiveled. The lantern bobbled in his upraised hand, pushing light only a few yards into the fog.

On the ground, Zlo could have only two goals: kill people or destroy planes. Since there were far fewer planes than people—and because most people would cease to be a threat without the planes—it was a good bet which he had chosen.

Jael gasped. “Your Jenny.”

“You go back and make sure it’s all right. Find Earl and whoever else you can. Tell them to do whatever they have to do to protect any planes that still work.”

She nodded, then took off in a loping, limping run.

Somewhere in the darkness to the south, an eagle screamed.

Where the eagle was, Zlo would be. Hitch’s blood fired and he started running.

Sounds of cracking wood and ripping fabric reached his ears before his light showed a plane—or what was left of it. It was pitched forward on its nose. The tail hung free, like a broken bone. The wing fabric flapped in the wind. Zlo’s eagle perched on the upended fuselage.

Zlo kicked at the lower wing, once, twice, until it snapped. Then the bird squawked, and Zlo spun around to face Hitch.

Hitch slowed and immediately cussed himself for it. Keep going, use his speed and surprise to bowl Zlo over, that’s what he should do. Too late now. He approached slowly, lantern high, and circled around to get a clear angle at the guy.

Zlo bared his teeth, and the silver-capped ones in front glinted. “And so. The man who was so brave this morning.” He spread his arms and sidestepped out from the corner of the wing. “I thought maybe you were not so stupid as you look.” His tone was light, but his jaw tightened and something hot sparked in his eyes.

He was good and steamed, no question about it.

Hitch flashed a grin. “Liked my little trick with the cannon, did you?”

Zlo’s eyes looked about ready to pop from his head. Veins stood out in his temples. Then he smiled—which somehow only made him look more dangerous. “You think you are smart man, yes? You think you are brave. You are hero!”

“If you want to start handing out medals, I’ll be happy to accept ’em.” Hitch sidestepped some more, going as much forward as he did sideways. With any luck, Zlo wouldn’t notice. One more step, and then he’d charge—and pray God Zlo wasn’t packing anything.

Zlo clucked. “No medals for you. That would be mistake. Your town does not give medals to fools who endanger them, do they? Your _glavni_—your Sheriff Campbell—he will see to that I think.”

Hitch dropped the lantern and charged. His lowered shoulder caught Zlo beneath the breastbone, and they both went staggering. Zlo skidded underneath the plane’s wing, while Hitch plowed right into it. The weakened wing frame cracked beneath his weight and gave way.

Behind him, the lantern must have been rolling, because the light spun around in crazy circles. Tough to tell whether he was dizzy or the world was. He blinked hard and turned around.

Zlo loomed in front of him, a wing strut raised in both hands. His silver teeth flashed, this time in a snarl, and he swung the strut at Hitch’s head.

Hitch backpedaled, arms windmilling. His heel caught and he tripped. The end of the strut barely caught the top of his head. But it was enough.

He hit the ground. The back part of his brain was still running, mostly just with the general shock of being consciously unconscious, but his body refused to move. He was going to get whacked again, his brain knew that much.