K. Weiland - Storming

If things had gone the way he—and Griff and Nan—had wanted them to, he’d be on his way out of the state right now. He’d have left without even knowing.

That wasn’t even close to being all his fault. They’d had no right to keep this from him. They’d misjudged him every step of the way, never even tried to understand where he’d been coming from, what kind of wrath he’d been trying to stay clear of.

But they were right about one thing: he had been that close to leaving his family one more time. Dear God. Just like he’d done before. He’d given it all up without a second thought, because it was hard, because he was afraid, selfish, too downright blind stupid to see.

He raised his head and let it fall back against the wall. Pain splashed through his skull.

And now it was too late.

He thumped his head against the wall again—and again.

*

Hitch must have slept, because after what seemed an ageless wandering through gray and frantic dreams, he woke up and peeled open his sticky eyelids. He was still hunched against the wall. Cramped muscles held his spine in a curve. He raised an arm, and pain jagged through his shoulders. He let the arm fall.

The rain still pounded on the roof; it had pounded all the way through his nightmares. A trickle of light spilled down the corridor and cast a man’s shadow slantways across the cell’s floor.

Hitch looked up and up, until he found the craggy face, shadowed under a fedora, a toothpick in the corner of the mouth.

Campbell. Come to twist the knife, no doubt.

Anger heated Hitch’s stomach. He let the heat growl up into his throat. But he stayed slouched against the wall. No more games. Campbell always won those.

This wasn’t a game anymore anyway. Somewhere along the line—maybe as long ago as the beginning—this had become a war.

Campbell pulled the toothpick from his mouth. He looked old, the lines around his eyes strained, as if he hadn’t slept all night. But his jaw was granite.

“I reckon you know why you’re here,” he said.

“Because you let Zlo take your town right back from you. Can’t hardly lock yourself up, can you?”

If possible, the set of Campbell’s jaw got harder. “You’d best not climb on a high horse. There ain’t a sheriff in this country’d say you’re a model citizen.”

“What do you call a model citizen?”

“A man who abides by the rules.”

“You mean your rules.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Hitch shoved himself away from the wall. Pain slashed through his cramped back, and he stifled a wince. “What do you want?”

Campbell tapped the toothpick against the crossbar. He rasped a whisper, even though few of the men in the surrounding cells spoke English. “I want you to know that if you finish telling your brother what you started to last night, it makes no matter to me.”

“What?”

“Who do you think the judges around here are going to believe?” But a flicker in his eye said he wasn’t as sure as all that. Maybe.

Hitch stood up from the bunk and took a couple steps toward the bars. “You don’t really think I’m going to sit in here and take the rap?”

“I don’t see that you have a choice.” Campbell investigated the chewed tip of his toothpick. “But you could earn one.”

“How’s that?”

“I still got a job opening for an enterprising flyer. I’ll get you out of jail. Give you back your wings.”

“You don’t say?” Hitch took another step toward the bars. Less than a foot separated him from Campbell. “From threats to bribes. Seems like maybe you haven’t got this town as sewn up as you’d like me to think. If that’s the case, I don’t need your help to get out of here, do I?”

“Either you stay locked up in jail for the rest of your life—or you get one chance to go back out there.” Campbell pointed down the corridor, toward the door. “Under the sky and in the wind, with your plane in one hand and your life in the other. Leave town, fly anywhere in this country. That’s what you want. We both know it. Locked up here in a jail cell, sitting in one place every day for the rest of your life, that ain’t your style.”

Freedom. Sweat itched in Hitch’s palms. He could be back in the air and out of this mess in the space of one word. That’s what Campbell was offering.

No. That’s what Campbell wanted him to think he was offering. That road was a whole lot of familiar by this point. That road had led him here.

“You think I’d leave?” His throat tightened around the words. “Now that I know about Walter?”

“The boy’s dead. It’s a shame, but there it is.”

“No.” He rubbed his hands against his pants. “They haven’t found him yet, and until they do, he’s not dead and I’m not leaving.”

Campbell narrowed his eyes. “You make the call to stay in here, and I guarantee you’re going to stay for the rest of your sorry life.”

Hitch let out another laugh, just to taunt him. It was about the only weapon he had right now. “If I get out of here, the first thing I’m going to do is find my son. The second thing I’m going to do—the second thing is to come back here and find you.”

The crags of Campbell’s face went rock hard. He lowered the toothpick. “Now, that’d be a mistake.”

“I didn’t do it a long time ago. That was the mistake.”

Campbell’s mouth worked. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and bellowed over his shoulder, “Milton, bring the keys!”

A young deputy hurried down the corridor.

Campbell stepped back. “Let him out.”

Hitch frowned. “What?”

“They’re burying your sister-in-law today—before the rain turns the ground too soft.” Campbell glowered. “Reckon you ought to be there, see a little of your handiwork, don’t you think? And maybe the citizens ought to see what I do to folks who don’t play by the rules.”

Aurelia. His stomach panged. He’d almost forgotten she was gone. All the words drained out of him.

Deputy Milton opened the door and cuffed his wrists.

At the door, Campbell stopped Hitch, one broad hand against his chest. “Enjoy your outing.” His whisper sounded like gravel underfoot. “And you be thinking about all this. Else it’ll be the last time you’ll see the sky for a long, long while.”

*

The wooden coffin bumped into the bottom of the grave with a splash audible even twenty feet back, where Hitch stood with his deputy guard.

Campbell had sent Jael out too, just for the spectacle of it, no doubt. She stood another twenty feet away from Hitch, still in her now-ragged party dress. She hunched her shoulders against the rain. Her bare feet moved restlessly in the mud, like it hurt her to stay still.

Rain poured down on them out of a sky thick with clouds. All the graveyards around here were built on high ground, since the water level was only three feet under in most places. But the way this rain was bucketing down, it wouldn’t be long before even the hilltops were flooded.

Behind Hitch, motorcars packed the road, chugging out of the valley. Folks were leaving in droves. They were under siege for real now, and this time there was no one left to stop Zlo.

Overhead, a few patched-up planes flew low, staying beneath the overcast. They were headed out as fast as they could fly.

Yesterday, he would have been flying with them.

For all the good his staying was doing anyone now. His gut tightened, and he flexed his wrists against his manacles.

He had to get out of here. The only way to help Walter, or Jael—or anyone—was to get in a plane and fly. Finding Zlo again was a chance in a million, but the only way to win this was to somehow take the fight to him .