Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure - Plot & Excerpts
Not because he wanted to, but because it was easier than staying there and having everybody pay attention to him. He stared across the field. Seemed like the whole town had driven out to the pilots’ camp to celebrate. Bonfires spotted the darkness, framing a square floor of wooden planks hammered together for dancing. The town band was pumping out “Rose of Washington Square,” with the drum and the trumpet pretty much drowning all the other instruments. Half a dozen long tables had been set up on the far side of the dance floor, and every lady in sight seemed to be carrying something to set on it. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, except for a hunk of cheese he’d taken when he stole out of the house before breakfast. But out of all the punishments he deserved right now, being hungry was the least little bit of it. The pinched feelings inside of him squeezed harder. He stood next to the automobile, arms slack at his sides. The rest of the family straightened their clothes—with lots of scolding from Mama Nan—and headed toward the party.
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