Storming

Thirty-Six

THE JENNY TORE between the low clouds. Hitch guided her wide around the backside of the Bluff and over the top once more. If luck could hold on a little bit longer, and Schturming was still near where Walter had spotted it, that might give him enough time to keep Zlo from kicking those honkin’ engines of his into high gear. That was the first thing that had to go right if this new plan had any chance of succeeding.

Below, two dozen motorcars roared up the mud-puddled road. Campbell and Griff drove two of them. Livingstone with his legs in casts, and Earl with his slung-up arm, had somehow gotten themselves crammed together in one of the backseats, even though they were so much deadweight on this mission.

In the Jenny’s rear cockpit, Hitch perched on the edge of his seat and danced on the rudder pedals to keep the plane straight. She kept trying to yaw left under the weight of the rope ladder hooked over her landing gear. Every second the ladder somehow stayed put was a second that made it a smidge easier to believe there might be enough miracles left in the world to make this actually work.

Because if it didn’t, they were going to be out of options for stopping Zlo. And even if, by some miracle, everyone managed to pull together long enough for this to work out—Campbell still got the air machine at the end of it.

Not exactly a win-win situation, but getting Schturming on the ground was better than nothing. If they could make that happen, at least Hitch could leave home knowing it wasn’t too much worse off than before he had come back on this misbegotten trip.

For whatever it was worth, at least there was a plan this time—thanks to Walter’s discovery.

A stab of regret punched up through the adrenaline. Little Walter with his wide, trusting eyes and his fearless smile. The only wrong thing that kid had done was to pick Hitch as his hero.

The Jenny tried to drop her wing again. In the front cockpit, Jael twisted around and shot Hitch a questioning look through her goggles. She hung onto the huge piles of rope coiled in her lap.

She’d insisted her bum joints wouldn’t keep her from doing what needed to be done here today. Plus, she “must be finding yakor.” At any rate, she was the only semi-whole person left who wasn’t mad at him and didn’t have it out for him.

He yanked his focus back where it belonged, steadied the plane, and gave Jael a terse nod.

They bounced in the turbulence over the jagged peak of the Bluff. The bare limestone at the top melted down into patches of faded grass and scrubby cedars. A few hundred more yards—a few more seconds—and they’d be over to the other side. Then the luck of this plan would either pan out or it wouldn’t.

“Be there.” He gritted his teeth against the rain-flecked wind. “Just be there.”

The Jenny swooped over the last ledge. The ground fell away and the wide-open sea of air rushed up to float the plane once more. Jael leaned over one side; Hitch leaned over the other.

He blinked hard, straining to see through his water-spotted goggles.

Rock, tree, rock, weeds, more weeds. Nothing that looked like a very large, very obvious dirigible.

And then—there.

Nestled in the corner of the Bluff, the vast, off-white envelope exploded into view.

His heart about exploded along with it.

Jael darted a look back and jerked her head toward it.

He spared a nod, and then dragged in all the air his lungs could hold.

Here went nothing. If this didn’t work the first time, it probably never would. He eased the Jenny’s nose down and dove, straight for _Schturming_’s propellers.

No time to go over the plan in his head. No time to make sure the cavalcade of motorcars were swinging around the end of the Bluff and bumping over the field into position. Hardly even time to think about what he was doing. They had to get in there and get in there fast. As soon as Zlo heard them coming, he’d rev those big propellers and the jig would be over.

Below, _Schturming_’s stern surged up fast. Jammed against the Bluff like it was, there was zero space to maneuver. Hitch slowed the Jenny as much as he dared, but the wingtip still reached the propellers a darn sight too soon.

One of Schturming_’s prop fins was busted clean in half. _That explained why Zlo hadn’t beat it out of here before now. Looked like that cannon misfire yesterday had done some good after all. The dirigible would probably still be able to move, but not nearly as fast.

In another minute, with any luck, it wouldn’t move at all.

As best he could, he angled toward the dirigible’s props with the ladder on the landing gear.

“Hang on!” he shouted, more for the Jenny’s benefit than Jael’s. If he miscalculated this, it either wouldn’t work—or his landing gear would get ripped clean off.

They zipped past the propeller.

He exhaled and craned his neck. The wheels were still there. So was the ladder.

He’d missed. To bring down the ship, they first had to knock out its engines. This was the only way to do that. And he’d missed.

On the walkway atop the envelope, a man stood and started shouting.

So much for the element of surprise. Hitch pulled up hard to keep from crashing against the ground.

The cannon sat on its track, down toward the bottom of the envelope, but it wasn’t moving. Maybe Zlo hadn’t had time to get the pulley system back together.

Jael looked at him again and twirled her finger in the air, like she’d seen Earl do.

He nodded. One more shot. Good Lord willing, there’d be time. He pulled back on the stick, and the Jenny shot straight up, all the way past Schturming, right to the point of stalling. Then, with a roar, he yawed the nose around into a hammerhead turn.

The sentry atop Schturming must have gotten word to the engine room. Slowly, slowly, the mismatched propellers started to turn. Even busted, they had enough power to inch the dirigible forward.

The Jenny swooped down once more. Hitch got her lined up with the propellers and pushed her in even closer. It’d be the landing gear or the ladder this time. One way or another, something was coming off and sticking to that thing.

In a whoosh, the dark bulk of the propellers shot past the plane. The Jenny’s whole frame shuddered. The stick twitched in his hand.

In front, Jael, who had been watching over her shoulder the whole time, broke out a wide grin. Her laugh was almost audible.

His heart pounded so hard he could barely see straight. He dared a look under the plane.

The wheels still hung in place, revolving in the airflow. At least whatever else happened, Earl wouldn’t kill him once he got back to the ground. He turned to look over his shoulder.

The dirigible’s propellers still turned. But with every turn, they pulled the sturdy rope ladder deeper into the gears. A few more revolutions and the whole thing would be stuck fast.

If he’d had any breath left, he would have laughed too. But that had been the easy part.

He faced forward and pulled the plane up for a low pass over the field.

The two dozen motorcars were careening across the prairie meadow, some of them bouncing dangerously high over the grass tussocks. Half of them rumbled right under _Schturming_’s bow. The other half got in close to the stern. Twelve of them—six from each end—stopped long enough to spin all the way around until they were facing away from the Bluff and the other dozen cars.

Jael looked back again and raised her eyebrows, questioningly.

He gave her a nod. “Your turn, kiddo.” Then he eased the plane around for another climb.

Jael tossed the end of one of the long ropes out of the cockpit and let it slip down off the lower wing. She fed it out and kept feeding it as the Jenny screamed back over _Schturming_’s choking props. By the time they reached the motorcars on the far side, Jael had come to the end of the first rope and tossed it out. It hung, beautifully, right over _Schturming_’s propeller shaft, both ends nearly touching the ground below.

He swung the Jenny around to make another pass. Jael waited until they were once again lined up over the propellers, then immediately started spilling the second rope.

Below, the men from the motorcars ran to collect the rope ends and secure them to their bumpers.

Jael dropped the tail end of the second rope, and more of the motorcar drivers raced to secure their ends.

Now to get the prow equally trussed.

Inside Schturming, barely visible in the crack between the bottom of the envelope and the top of the gondola, men scrambled, most of them headed aft toward where the propellers strained and groaned against the net.

The dark spot, where the cannon had been, had disappeared.

By the time the significance of that sank in, Hitch was already over the top of the envelope, headed for the bow.

The cannon appeared on the far side. It trundled up its track, headed straight for the Jenny. Two men clambered after it. They were taking no chances with their aim this time—or maybe the pulley system for moving it around still didn’t work. At any rate, as soon as they saw the plane, they started shouting. The cannon stopped. One man reared it up to point at the Jenny. The other man fired her.

Hitch pulled on the stick. The plane pitched up. In the corner of his vision, the cannon exploded, and a great black ball hurtled at them. Every muscle straining, he willed the plane higher. An inch—just a bare inch—was all he needed to escape the dad-blasted thing.

With a mind-numbing thud of displaced air, the ball hammered past. From the feel, it was just beneath the fuselage. The Jenny bobbled in his hand, but that was it.

He held his breath all the way up over the top of the Bluff, then turned around and swept back. If those mugs reloaded and started shooting at the drivers on the ground, this whole thing could get messier than mud in a bare second.

The first set of drivers had caught the ends of the two ropes over the propellers and were securing them to their automobiles. Some of the other men were hurriedly chaining car to car to create a better anchor.

But they were too slow.

_Schturming_’s tremendous buoyancy hoisted her skyward. She dragged the two foremost automobiles right off their front wheels. Another two seconds, and she’d be floating away with both the cars and their drivers.

The men—Griff chief among them to judge by his slouched fedora—scrambled among the cars, fastening the locks on the chains.

Schturming kept right on going. She hoisted the first set of cars completely off the ground and hauled the second set forward yard after yard. The front wheels of the second set of cars inched off the ground.

Then the full weight of the train of twelve motorcars caught up with the dirigible. They yanked her to a stop. She bobbed for a moment, suddenly looking ridiculously flimsy for all her great size. The rearmost autos started up their engines, followed by all the rest. They hit reverse and started pulling.

_Schturming_’s stern resisted for a moment, then slanted toward the ground. Her great bow tilted skyward, so that she hung diagonal in the cloudy sky.

That was Hitch’s cue—again.

Two more passes, two more ropes—and his and Jael’s part of the job would be finished.

They crossed in front of the high-ended front of the dirigible, and Jael dropped another rope to hang over the bowsprit projecting from the front of the ship. One more pass—one more drop—and that was it. Jael’s fourth and final rope zipped out of her gloved hand, the end flying.

She hung over the edge of her cockpit and watched it go—without a safety belt once again, durn her.

He circled for a final pass. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

Zlo’s men scrambled all over _Schturming_—up her cannon track, across the walkway on top, out over the side of the gondola with ropes tied around their waists. Every last one of them had a knife in hand and was sawing away at the thick ropes. Even if Campbell’s crew got her on the ground, they’d have to secure her right away to keep Zlo’s men from snapping the ropes and letting the ship drift skyward once more.

“C’mon!” Hitch shouted.

The team of cars assigned to the ship’s front end secured the ropes. They’d already had the benefit of the time necessary to chain themselves together. In an instant, they fired up their engines and hauled Schturming back to level. And now she was well and truly stuck.

The four trains of motorcars lined up, six to each end of the ropes, and pointed themselves in opposite directions. They revved in reverse, tires throwing up mud, swerving a little—but hauling away nonetheless.

Schturming started to droop. Inch by inch, minute by minute, then foot by foot, she sank.

At last, the earth rushed up to meet her. With a solid crunch audible even over the Jenny’s engine, she met the ground.

Hitch whooped and turned the Jenny around.

Now for the other tricky part. Zlo and his men were about as likely to give up the ship as Campbell was to play Santa Claus next Christmas.

Hitch put the plane down on the flat prairie—avoiding a few badger holes by the skin of his nose—then jumped out.

He jabbed a finger at Jael. “Stay there.”

She wouldn’t, of course, but he had to at least try. She wasn’t likely to cotton to whatever ended up happening with Zlo, Campbell, and the pendant.

He didn’t much cotton to it himself, but there it was anyway.

He firmed his mouth and ran through the tall, sparse grass to where Schturming lay hogtied, like a roped heifer. But she wasn’t wallowing or bellering. She lay still—even her props were still—save for the creak of her buoyancy straining against her anchors.

The men who had been manning the cannon and sawing away at the ropes had disappeared. Matter of fact, the whole thing looked mighty deserted all of a sudden.

Except for the drivers of the cars—and Earl and Livingstone—the rest of Campbell’s men had already piled out. Rifles and pistols in hand, they surrounded the downed ship and crept up to her.

Campbell looked over his shoulder at Hitch—then past Hitch for a second, which probably meant Jael was following after all. “Let’s go,” he said. “You got a gun?”

Hitch pulled his knife from the back of his boot. “This’ll do.”

They crept up to the main hangar doors, at the bow-end of the ship’s bottom level. At a nod from Campbell, a business-faced Griff—who seemed to not even notice Hitch’s presence—and three other men holstered their pistols and moved forward to haul the doors open.

The doors gave without a catch and rumbled open to reveal the dark cavern into which Hitch had crashed the Jenny during the first big storm. It was packed with supplies, but they had all been lashed to the walls and ceiling. Only a box or barrel here and there had fallen and spilled open during the tussle. Nobody showed his face.

Hitch’s back crawled. He flexed his grip on the knife.

Campbell nodded again to Griff.

“Wait,” Hitch said. “I’ll go.”

Griff stepped back and let him, without so much as a glance.

So that’s how it was going to be.

But not for long. Soon as Zlo was under lock and key, Hitch was gone. If Griff wanted to forget about him then, so be it. Hitch could do his own share of forgetting.

He inched up to the corner of the door and looked inside. The whole thing settled a little farther, listing to starboard, so the door hole was a good four feet off the ground. Timbers groaned. But still nothing man-sized appeared inside.

He hoisted himself up through the hole—and about got whacked in the face.