K. Weiland - Storming

Sure appeared that anybody was him.

He looked around for the speaking pipe. It hung off the ceiling, about a foot from his mouth. He filled his lungs. “Jael!” Please let her hear him. He shouted her name again. Then once more. “Jae—”

“Hitch!” Her voice, tinny through the pipe, echoed back. “We are crashing! What is happening? Where is Zlo?”

“Zlo’s dead, so never mind him. And you’re right, we are crashing. I need you to climb in the Jenny with Walter and take him out of here. You got that?”

“What? No! We cannot fly. You are only one who can pilot!” Her exhale whuffed through the pipe. “I am not leaving you, Hitch. Do not be crazy, not now!”

“Jael, this ship will crash. You have to get Walter out of here. If I’m going to do this, then I need to know the two of you are safe. He can fly the Jenny, I know he can. It’s not that hard, and he’s a natural. You’ll just have to handle the rudder for him.”

“He is little boy!”

“He can do it. Help him. You’ve got a better chance of surviving in the plane than you will up here!”

“Hitch—” Her voice caught.

He could almost see her expression, halfway between crying and wanting to punch him in the face.

“You need to live,” she said. “You wanted to start again. You wanted to be there for Walter. You cannot do that if you are dead.”

“I am starting again.” He looked out the window, his one good hand planted on the wheel. “This is my start.”

THE WIND BLARING through the big double doors in front of the Jenny made it hard for Walter to hear what Jael was yelling into the pipe telephone thing. But he caught the last part—about wanting Hitch to stay alive.

Her face twisted all up, and her eyes got big and scared. Whatever Hitch had told her, it must not have been him agreeing with her.

Hitch had told Walter to stay in the plane. But he couldn’t now. He just couldn’t. He grabbed the edge of the cockpit and scrambled over the side. They weren’t going to leave Hitch, not ever. Hitch had come all this way to rescue him, even after what had happened to Taos. Hitch was his friend, and he—he— Heat burned in his throat, and he gulped it down.

Jael ran back across the big room. The floor was mostly steady under their feet now, and, ever since she’d shut off the weather machine, she was walking better.

In the front cockpit, Taos propped his front paws against the rim and started barking.

Jael caught Walter and stopped him, a hand on each of his shoulders. “We have to go! We have to go!”

“No!” He planted his feet and pushed on her wrists. “We can’t leave Hitch!”

“We have to.” She tried to turn him around to face the plane. “We are going to crash if we do not!”

“But then he’ll crash! I don’t want him to crash. We can’t let him!”

“Walter.” She caught his chin. Deep lines creased her forehead. The silver specks in her eyes practically threw sparks. “Hitch is man of much bravery. He has to do this, and we—” Her voice faltered, and she firmed her jaw. “We must be letting him.”

He kept shaking his head, but his stomach went all hard and cold. His stomach knew she was right. It was just that his heart didn’t want to believe it.

She guided him toward the Jenny. “He wants you to fly us out of here.”

That stopped him short again. His two lungs felt like wings, fluttering away in his chest. “But I can’t—”

They reached the plane, and she helped him into the rear cockpit’s cracked leather seat. She paused, one hand on the rim. “He says you can do it. He says you are natural.”

Hitch had said that ? Walter stared.

“So take breaths. Make yourself to calm down inside and remember all he has told you. You can do great things, Walter. And this is great thing.”

He didn’t believe he could do this. But if Hitch did—and Jael did—then that’d have to be enough. Little trembles rolled through his muscles. He’d do it for them. He clenched his fists to make the trembling stop. He’d do it for Hitch.

Jael untied the Jenny’s wheels and tailskid, then ran around to the propeller. “Tell me what to do!”

He took the breaths, like she’d told him to, and squinted at the control panel. First, the fuel had to be on. Then the magneto switches had to be off—or was it on? Sweat prickled his skin all over. Off—it was off.

He swallowed hard and scootched around to sit on his bent legs, so he’d be able to see the top of Jael’s head over the cockpit rim. “Okay!”

She cycled the propeller. Then she swung it again—and again.

Wait. Now the magneto switch had to be turned on. He leaned forward. His fingers were so slick with sweat he had to grab the switch twice before he could hang onto it. He flipped it.

She swung the prop again. With a snort, the engine blatted to life.

The floor slanted again. This time, the Jenny started inching straight for the doors. The engine started to fade out, like it was going to quit altogether.

No, no! He scanned the instrument panel. Now what? What had Hitch done now? The trembles came back and rumbled all the way through him.

Jael started running back to him. “Open throttle! Only small bit!”

She reached the rear cockpit and swung herself up and over. She dropped into the seat and scooted under him, so he was sitting on her lap.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Put your feet on the pedals!”

She circled his waist with her arms and clamped both of them in with the safety belt.

Thanks to the slant of the floor and the Jenny’s own engine thrust, the plane was soon speeding toward the opening. The propeller passed through the doorway, then the wheels, and then—they were airborne.

His head spun. His hands froze on the stick.

The nose pointed toward the ground. The patchwork of buildings and roads was still far away, but it seemed close at the same time—so much closer than it should be.

“Take breaths, take breaths!” Jael hollered right in his ear. “The nose must come up!”

Right. The nose. He hauled back on the stick.

Please work! He wasn’t a pilot. He was only a little boy.

But the magic worked for him just like it had for Hitch.

Slowly, the Jenny pitched up. She was almost level. She was level. She was flying!

Walter whooped, and Jael laughed. In the front cockpit, Taos raised his head and barked.

Only little spits of rain spotted the windshield. The wind must be stopping too, because the Jenny wasn’t bouncing around like Schturming had been earlier.

“Bring her lower!” Jael shouted. “Be slow!”

He pushed the stick forward, just a bit. The Jenny bobbed down right away, like she’d been reading his mind all along.

Below, people packed the streets. They carried lanterns and torches—and guns and pitchforks. Their faces looked like little white dots as they peered upwards.

“Search for street that is empty!” Jael shouted.

He nodded.

Two streets over would have to do. He showed Jael how to use the rudder pedals.

“Are you knowing how to land?” she asked.

He shrugged.

Her hands tightened over his on the stick. “_Gospod pomogi nam._”

That sounded like a prayer, so he said one too. Please let me land. And please don’t let Hitch crash .

They guided the Jenny in. The plane glided—one hundred feet off the ground, then fifty, then maybe only ten.

Jael was hollering again. The engine sputtered.