K. Weiland - Storming

His mouth pulled harder, and he blinked back hot tears.

Behind Walter, running footsteps tromped through the grass. A man blew right past him, not more than six feet away. He had a beard and wore a long coat down to his knees. He opened his mouth, and something glittered where his teeth should have been.

Zlo. It was the pirate leader Zlo.

But… it couldn’t be. He was locked up in jail.

“ Skoree , Seb!” Zlo bellowed. “ Vremya prishlo !”

Behind him ran dozens more men, some of them brandishing revolvers.

They couldn’t have broken Zlo out of jail. Everybody’d said Sheriff Campbell had captured all of them.

And yet here they were. Zlo must have left some of them off the ship when they’d been hiding by the Bluff. And they’d come back into town to rescue Zlo from jail?

In the darkness ahead, things started thudding. Some of the lanterns winked out.

Walter’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled his hands from his pockets.

Zlo kept right on going, headed toward Sheriff Campbell. The sheriff barely had time to look up and around. The running shadow smashed into him and started bashing on him. Two seconds later, Zlo shot to his feet and lofted his hand above his head. The brass thing glinted between his fingers.

Walter dropped to his knees, so even the white of his face would be hidden behind the grass. Now what was he supposed to do?

Already, Zlo’s men were sawing loose the tethers and clambering aboard. Schturming floated a few feet up off the ground, held by only one tether at her front and one at her rear. The propellers started cranking.

This was his chance! He got his feet up under him, hands still on the ground. He could make everything right. Run back, tell Hitch and the others. It’d all be okay again. Except for Taos, of course.

He turned back toward the party.

Behind him, a dog barked.

His heart crammed itself so far up his windpipe it hurt. He whipped back around to look.

A small light pierced the dark hole of the main doors. Men ran around, most of them hauling themselves aboard. Some of them carried heavy loads—maybe things they’d hidden on the ground before Hitch captured Schturming . One of the loads wriggled.

If that was Taos, then Walter could make everything right again. And please, let it be Taos. Please, please, please.

All he had to do was sneak up there. He was practically invisible. If he was fast, he could find Taos, set him free, then still have time to run back to tell Hitch and the others. It could work. Zlo and his men wouldn’t be able to see him, like they had earlier today. This time, Walter knew about them, but they didn’t know about him.

He filled his lungs and tensed his calves, ready to run.

Behind, more footsteps swooshed in the grass.

“Walter? Waaaalter?”

Aunt Aurelia. Oh no, no, no. His throat clamped around his heartbeat again. He darted a look back at her.

She zigzagged in his general direction, both arms swinging, like she did when she was bored. “Waaaaalter, where are you?” She walked right past him, halfway to Schturming .

He looked at the ship.

The pirates had all gone still as a green sky before a tornado.

This was bad. He crouched lower. If she figured out what was going on, maybe she could run for help. But if she didn’t figure it out… who knew what Zlo would have his men do to her.

Walter hissed at her and gave his hand a little wave. Go back , he wanted to shout. Go back to the party and tell everybody!

She stopped and looked straight at him. “Oh. There you are. What are you doing?” When he didn’t respond, she raised her voice. “What—are—you—doing?” She walked toward him.

He held his breath.

The pirates seemed to hold their breaths too. For two seconds.

Then Zlo ran right at Aunt Aurelia.

No! Walter shot to his feet.

Aunt Aurelia whipped around to face Zlo. “You! No—” She screamed.

Zlo clapped one hand over her mouth and pinned her arms against her sides. He spun her around so he could scan the field.

“Are you there again, boy?” he said.

Walter’s feet grew roots. He stood, hands fisted at his sides. Just like this morning—just like that day at the creek with the twins—he couldn’t move.

Zlo shrugged and turned back to the ship, dragging Aunt Aurelia with him.

Not again. Not one more time could Zlo take something Walter loved because of Walter.

A scream built up inside of his head, louder and louder. It was like his eardrums were popping from the inside out. Who cared about being a hero? Who cared about being brave? This was about something else.

He opened his mouth and let the scream loose. He ran. His feet pounded the ground. He reached Zlo almost before the man could turn around to see him. Hot tears burst down his cheeks. All the air filtered out of his chest. But he kept right on screaming.

“ Chevo ? Zatknis !”

Walter dug his fingers into Zlo’s arm and hung on. He kicked Zlo’s leg, first with one foot, then with the other. Zlo lifted him clear off the ground, but he still kicked. His toes landed higher, leaving bone to thwack into the heavy meat of the thigh.

Zlo snarled and shook him off, like a dog shaking off a rat. “ Vozmite ego tozhe !”

Hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed him. They hauled him away. Someone slapped him on the side of the head. Someone else held his mouth shut.

Pain swirled in his head, and he blinked hard. His lungs heaved for air, but, on the inside, the scream ran on and on. He would kill these men! He would kill them all!

In Zlo’s grip, Aunt Aurelia stared at him, eyes huge.

Zlo looked up from Walter and surveyed the distant glitter of the party. Then he nodded to whoever held Walter. “ Otpustite nas . It is time to go.”

GOODBYES WEREN’T USUALLY worth bothering with. So usually, Hitch didn’t bother. But this time was different. He looked up from topping off the Jenny’s gas tank, by the light of Earl’s flashlight, and turned toward the glitter and the music of the celebratory party. That’s where Jael would be.

“You sure you’re sure about this?” Earl asked. “Wouldn’t hurt nothing to stay another couple of days.”

A few yards off, Livingstone worked on turning around his wicker wheelchair, so he could head back to the party himself. “But of course, he’s sure.” He flashed a grin. His top half was immaculate as always—from white Stetson to waxed mustachios—which put the contrast with his lower half somewhere between ridiculous and pitiful. Both legs stuck straight out, swathed in rock-solid plaster casts, his swollen toes poking from the ends.

Livingstone seemed unaware of the disparity. “You did a most excellent job, my boy,” he said. “Our minor disagreements aside, I couldn’t have done it better myself in the end. I have true appreciation for your stepping in for me in the hour of my calamity.”

Earl huffed.

“I am truly proud,” Livingstone went on, “to welcome you”—he offered half a glance to Earl—“and your valuable associate to the Extravagant Flying Circus.”

What Livingstone really meant was he was happy to snap up the hero of the day and any resultant publicity. But what difference did it make? It got Hitch and Earl a job, and now that the dirigible was solidly out of Livingstone’s grasp, it was a good job at that.

So Hitch just nodded.

Livingstone set both hands on the chair’s wheels and started pushing himself toward the party. “I thank you for traveling on ahead of me and ensuring the circus’s good name is upheld until my wounds allow me to rejoin you.” He cast one more look back at Hitch, his gaze shrewd. “We will, of course, discuss the specifics of your contract more closely in the future.”