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.
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.”
Forty-Eight
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.