K. Weiland - Storming

Hitch kept running.

Beside him, Jael grunted pain with every stride.

He circled her waist with his arm and half-dragged her after him.

“Stop!” Campbell shouted. “You stop where you stand, or I’ll put you all in the ground!”

He probably would too.

“Sheriff!” That was Griff’s voice.

Just shy of the door, Hitch skidded to a stop, and looked over his shoulder.

Campbell had stopped too. He stood only about twenty feet off, his revolver in his hand.

Up the hallway behind him, Griff ran after them. He held out a placating hand. “Just wait. They need to go. This is our only chance—”

“You’re part of this, Deputy?” Campbell swung around and smashed his big fist square into Griff’s nose.

Griff staggered back and crashed into the wall. He exhaled hard. Blood spluttered from his face.

“No!” Hitch started back.

Jael snagged his sleeve. “We have to be going! Griff wants us to go!”

Campbell filled his hand with Griff’s shirtfront and glared down the hallway at Hitch. “You stay, you hear me? Or your brother gets everything in your place. You want to live with that on your conscience for the rest of your life?”

Hitch tugged free of Jael’s grip.

Griff shook his head. He left his arms hanging slack at his sides, not fighting. More blood drenched his face, already flooding his shirt. But his blue eyes stared straight into Hitch’s.

Frustration welled up in Hitch’s belly. It roared up out of his mouth.

Leave, and who knew what’d happen to his brother? Stay, and he’d lose his son for sure. It was the devil’s own choice, but there was only one answer at this point. Griff knew it. Hitch knew it.

Still roaring, he turned and ran out through the door after Jael.

In the street, J.W. pumped the crank on the front of his jalopy. The engine rattled and coughed to life, and he ran around to the passenger side to throw open the doors. They all piled inside.

A gunshot cracked through the night.

Hitch shoved Jael’s head down and ducked himself. In the driver’s seat, Matthew hit the gas, and the jalopy careened away. Another shot exploded and pinged against a back fender.

Hitch looked up.

Silhouetted in the courthouse’s columned doorway, Campbell cracked off his revolver. The muzzle flashed yellow through the rain, but the shot must have gone wide. He shot again—and again—until the jalopy lurched around the corner.

“This ain’t good,” Hitch said through clenched teeth. He let up on the back of Jael’s head, so she could straighten. “Griff shouldn’t have helped with this. We should have grabbed another deputy.”

Matthew hunched over the wheel, peering through his spectacles. The roof was up, and the wavering headlights lit the road only dimly. “He wanted to be a part of it. That was his call.”

Hitch flopped back against the hard seat. All right, little brother . But this time, God help him, he was coming back. He had to take on Zlo if only so he’d live long enough to come back and beat Campbell into a pulp.

“Here.” J.W. passed a bundle back over the seat to Jael. “Clothes. We done the best we could. Britches, boots, and a coat.”

“Those are just the correct things.” She slumped down on the seat. “Now, I will have all of you look at road.”

They all turned studiously forward.

That didn’t keep Hitch’s ears from hearing her grunts—and something that came right close to being a whimper—as she wriggled into the breeches.

He dared a glance over and found her buttoning the pants underneath the skirt of her party dress. “You sure you’re okay?”

In the dark, her face was only a pale blur. “It is hurting. Worse than before. But that is good, yes? Means I will find Schturming for you.”

Maybe. If she didn’t pass out first. If she was hurting this bad now, it was only going to get worse the closer they got to Schturming . He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

She squeezed back.

“All right, you two.” J.W. hauled another bundle off the floorboards and into his lap. This one clattered. “Now for the good stuff. Can’t have you going into enemy territory unarmed and defenseless.” He looked in Jael’s direction. “Know anything about using a gun, missy?”

“Only Enforcement Brigada are allowed.”

He grunted. “Well, then. Maybe a knife for you. I know you can handle that just fine.”

She took the knife and leaned forward to slit the dress’s skirt from hem to hips. She cut it all the way around her waist, until all that was left was the top part, like a shirt. Then she shrugged into the leather jacket J.W. had given her.

Matthew stomped on the brakes. “Here we are then.”

Rain plinked against the little rear window behind Hitch.

Ahead, in the faint glare of the headlights, the Jenny’s red skin glinted through a crack in the tarp that covered it. Earl stepped around in front and waved his good arm. He and the Berringers had parked the plane right in the middle of an abandoned road. It’d give Hitch a straight takeoff into the wind—which was about the best that could be hoped for at the moment.

J.W. handed Hitch a pistol. “You always favored a .45, as I remember.”

Hitch pocketed it in his jacket. “That’ll do.”

Here they went, then. This was for real. A tremble of adrenaline passed through him.

He looked over at Jael. “You ready for this?”

“Yes.” The sharp little exhale before the word said she was nervous. The soft, firm way she spoke the word itself said she was ready.

“Then let’s go.” He popped the door and pushed it open.

Matthew leaned back over the seat. “Hitch.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to remember something.” He looked at Hitch over the top of his specs. “I know you’re doing this ’cause of your boy—and that’s fine. But this ain’t only about him. You got yourself a whole valley of farmers that are going to be in pretty bad shape if you can’t do nothing to help them.”

Hitch made his tight throat swallow and his stiff neck nod. “I know it. I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll have lots of folks saying their prayers for you.”

“Wish they’d started that about fifteen years earlier.”

Matthew let out a small grin. “Maybe they did.” He cocked his head toward the plane. “Now get on.”

“Right.” Hitch slammed the door after him and ran to the plane.

Jael was already bundled up in the front cockpit. Her white face peered out at him.

J.W. stood ready at the propeller.

Earl met Hitch halfway and handed over his helmet. “You ready for this?”

“No.”

“Did tonight really have to be the first time in your life you admit that?”

Hitch pulled his helmet over his ears and buckled the strap snug under his chin. He looked into the black swirl of the night sky. “First time for everything, right?”

THE WIND TOSSED the Jenny around like she was a handful of dice in an all-in craps game. Which she was, actually. Hitch braced his hands against the heaving stick. His fingers had gone numb after the first fifteen minutes. He was only hanging on now because his fingers were too cold to unfurl.

Rain, hard as gravel, peppered him from all directions. The wind snarled and cursed in his ears, drowning out even the roar of the engine. The only thing letting him know the Hisso was still running was the thrum rattling up through the stick and the seat of his pants. That was pretty numb too, come to think of it.

The Jenny was trying her heart out, no question. But she couldn’t take much more of this, even if he could keep his fingers curled around the stick. Sooner or later, the turbulence would break the airplane—or he’d just plumb lose track of which dark blot was the sky and which was the ground.