Free Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure by K.M. Weiland Page B

to.
    He sighed. “You’re turning into a whole lot of trouble, you know that?”
    She shook her head, not understanding.
    If he was going to get her out of here, he needed a plane. If he was going to get Livingstone’s attention, he also needed a plane. And the only plane around right now was painted red, white, and blue.
    “Give me the knife.”
    She clenched it harder, her eyes boring into his, as if trying to get at the core of him. Then just like that, she let it go. It clanked to the sidewalk.
    “All right.” He left the knife where it was and let her up from the wall, keeping hold of one of her wrists. “I’ve got an idea. It’s crazy, but it might work out for both of us.”
    It might work out if Livingstone was as big a sportsman as Hitch remembered him being—and if the ploy drew in the crowds like he thought it would—and if he didn’t get arrested first.
    He pulled her off the curb. “Stay close!”
    They ran across two roads, dodging honking automobiles, and sprinted down the sidewalk to where Col. Livingstone had landed his plane. The man himself was standing a few yards off, pontificating to the gathered crowd. Nobody paid too much attention when Hitch snuck himself and Jael right on by. He loaded her into the front cockpit, started up the engine, and hopped in back.
    Then people started paying attention.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Eight
    HOW COULD HE have thought this was a good idea? In the rather impressive list of bad ideas—or at least semi -bad ideas—Hitch had come up with over the years, this one would have to be written in the history books with red ink.
    In less than the time it had taken him to taxi this heap of Livingstone’s down that empty street, he had probably ruined any chance of even being in the competition, much less getting a job with Livingstone. His stomach turned all queasy and rolled over on itself.
    He flew low over town, headed north toward the impromptu airfield. Half a dozen motorcars careened through the streets, giving chase. In the lead car, a man in a white suit brandished his Stetson. Hard to tell from here, but he looked a little red in the face.
    A crowd was following him. That much, at least, was going right. Now Hitch just had to make Livingstone see it that way.
    He turned forward again.
    In the Jenny’s front cockpit, Jael rode like she was born to it. She sat up straight, neck craned to see the ground below, the tails of her red kerchief snapping in the wind.
    He banked hard right just to see what she’d do.
    She dropped a hip and rode the turn out like she’d known it was coming. Didn’t so much as grab the cockpit rim. She seemed to catch sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head and actually smiled at him. Whatever had scared her on the ground didn’t seem to bother her much up here.
    He grinned back.
    The sky was like that. Up here, problems slipped away. People couldn’t make demands when you were in a plane. Even if they were riding with you, you wouldn’t be able to hear them. Once you spun that propeller and launched into the blue, fears and worries disappeared. Up here, everything was solid and fluid at the same time. Life was the buzz of the stick turning your hand numb. You held it, you controlled it. It was yours to keep or lose.
    The only thing that even came close to experiencing that for yourself was sharing it with someone else for the first time.
    Far ahead, the rows of parked planes glittered, mirage-like, in the sun. He banked again and dove low to cross the cornfields. From up here, they looked like a sea of green swirling in his prop wash.
    A dark spot he’d taken for a blackbird suddenly flashed white: a small face looking skyward. A dark-headed kid in overalls saw the plane and jumped up and down, waving both arms. He started running, swiping the corn aside to keep up with the plane.
    Hitch laughed and dove lower to give the boy a thrill.
    In the front cockpit, Jael stood up. She leaned out, one