K. Weiland - Storming

The bird. Maksim. Would Zlo have left him behind?

A blast of wind clouted the ship, and the wheel whirled to starboard. The whole ship banked.

If Schturming flipped too far over, that certainly couldn’t be good. And if she decided to tilt bow-ward, the Jenny was likely to fall right out of the bay and take Walter and Taos with her.

Hitch looked around once more, then stepped all the way up into the wheelhouse.

He made it two strides toward the wheel.

From behind, an arm closed around him. Hot air whooshed against the back of his neck, and a sticky blade creased his throat.

He thrust himself backward and threw his arms wide, trying to break the bear hug. His torn shoulder flared pain. No good.

The hot breath panted harder. “ Ti vonuchaya zhaba , you are crashing my ship! For that, I will kill you twice.”

Hitch hammered his good elbow back and found ribs.

Zlo woofed an exhale. His grip loosened.

Hitch thrust his elbow back again and twisted, both to lever more power into the blow and to squirm free.

Even as Zlo lost his balance and spun away backwards, he stabbed Hitch.

The tip of the blade bit into the buttoned-up front of Hitch’s jacket. It tore through leather, past his shirt, and sliced a thin line of fire all the way across his stomach.

Instinctively, he doubled over and clamped his arm over it. Just as fast, he yanked the arm away to get a look. Underneath his torn clothes, blood seeped out of a long gash. Not too deep. Mostly, the blade had just chewed through skin. It hadn’t punctured past muscle into the important stuff. But that didn’t stop his heart from revving.

He looked up and glared. “Stop stabbin’ me!”

Zlo had tripped face first into the stairwell railing and opened up his nosebleed again. He came up snorting blood and shaking his head, probably to clear his vision.

The ship lurched, stern down this time. More lightning gathered in the clouds outside, flickering ominously. Thunder bellowed, so loud Hitch could practically feel it against his skin.

Zlo fell back and skidded down the floor—right to Hitch.

Hitch caught one of Zlo’s arms and spun him around. He hammered his fist into Zlo’s nose. Bone, blood, and cartilage squished around like a crawdad under a boot. Probably, the nose had busted back when Hitch had kicked him in the face. But like Earl was always telling him, it paid to make sure a job got done right.

This man pitched women off his deck into the night, kidnapped little boys, and whipped dogs. So help him God, Hitch didn’t need a knife to finish this filth. He’d do it with his bare hand.

He hit Zlo again—and again.

Zlo swayed back and forth and barely kept his feet. His eyes rolled around wildly. He opened his mouth and burbled out a desperate yowl.

“Yeah, scream.” Hitch clenched his teeth. “Maybe God’ll hear you.”

With a screech and a flurry of wings, the eagle dove across the room, straight for Hitch’s face.

He shot his arm up just in time. The talons skipped off his forearm, and the bird gouged at him with its beak.

Using both hands, Zlo wrenched Hitch’s grip loose from his shirt.

Hitch punched Maksim square in the body.

With a squawk, the bird hit the deck, wings spread.

Zlo staggered backwards. Blood slicked his lips and chin, and his eye sockets were already starting to swell. He held the knife out one-handed, wobbling it all over the place. “You are fool.” With his other hand, he scrabbled inside his vest.

Hitch eyed the knife. “Probably.” The dawsedometer thrummed up through the soles of his feet. It was fainter now, but Jael still hadn’t gotten it quite turned off.

“I never had argument with you.” With every word, blood spattered from Zlo’s mouth. “You are like me—like all of us here in Schturming . You fly. The sky belongs to you. You could have flown away from all of this. I would have let you go.”

“You weren’t what kept me here.”

The ship lurched crazily again. It rolled to starboard, and the floor under Hitch’s feet turned into a steep incline skidding him toward Zlo.

With a yell, Zlo yanked Jael’s pendant from inside his vest. He turned for the window, for the lightning.

The crazy idiot. What was he trying to do? Pull in the lightning? Yes, of course, he was. Just as Jael had done: Zlo would pull in the lightning. But it wouldn’t hit him. However it was the yakor worked, it would protect Zlo while Hitch got fried.

Adrenaline surged. Hitch managed to yank his bad arm up high enough to just barely smack away Zlo’s knife. With his other hand, he grabbed at the pendant. He pitched himself forward, and his weight hit Zlo full in the body. They slid down the floor, straight for the windows.

He buried his face in the crook of Zlo’s collar, and then they plowed through the glass. If nothing else, maybe the pendant would protect both of them. Cold wind slashed his hair. Rain and specks of ice splattered the back of his neck. Then just as suddenly, the ship rocked the other way.

The balcony railing smashed against Zlo’s legs. He toppled over backwards.

Hitch hung onto the pendant.

It ripped from Zlo’s hand, and with a shriek, Zlo plummeted over the railing.

Hitch barely let go of Zlo in time. He slammed into the railing himself and caught it with both hands. His elbows locked, straining to keep his weight back long enough.

Within the blue-black cloud, the glow of the lightning swelled. All around him, the air turned to electricity. The hairs on his neck and arms stood on end. The smell of the blood on his arms turned to burnt copper.

He loosed a yell from his own throat and hurled the pendant out into the storm. He hit the deck, hands over his head.

With a great clap, the lightning burst out. From the corner of his eye, he could see its blinding flash spear straight toward the pendant.

Beneath it, Zlo pinwheeled, screaming, into the darkness. The lightning ricocheted off the pendant in an umbrella of energy, shot toward Zlo, and cracked into him.

No more scream.

Beneath Hitch’s feet, the floor finished straightening out. Still on his knees, he tilted back from the railing and rammed into the windowsill behind him. His whole body was shaking like it was in an earthquake. Everything smelled like burnt rain, but he was alive. He made himself turn around.

He’d done it. Zlo was dead. They’d won.

Behind him, warning sirens shrieked. The ship bucked and started to dive.

Death by gutting was no longer a threat. Time to focus on death by fireball.

He scrambled over the jagged glass in the window frame and ran for the wheel.

The view through the bow window showed the clouds breaking up. A faraway rim of scarlet lined the horizon and glinted against the raindrops spotting the glass.

He gripped the wheel and tried to steady it. The ship fought him, and she had a whole lot more weight to argue with than the Jenny’d ever had. The biceps of his good arm swelled with the strain. His wounded arm hung heavy and numb, pretty near useless.

He leaned to the other side, trying to see the ground. “C’mon, give me a reference point.”

Another skein of clouds melted away. Lights gleamed through the murk below. City lights.

“Oh, gravy.”

Schturming was headed straight toward town, and she was maybe only a thousand feet in the air.

No matter which direction he pointed her, she’d never completely clear the town in time to prevent casualties. And as for getting her back up, it was a good bet the crew hadn’t paused to fix the gas stoppage before they’d all so thoughtfully evacuated.

The best anybody could do now was to pilot her where she’d do the least damage.