by Steven Welch
But just after noon there it was.
The Eiffel Tower.
She had been afraid it was destroyed, that whatever had come to destroy the city had toppled her, but the tower was still in one piece, still proudly pointing to the heavens, still there.
The Girl’s Garden had never taken the girls to the tower. That would have been too much like fun, she supposed. On the weekends, though, when they were taken to the museums or other sights, she had seen the tower. So amazing, so tall, a perfect place from which to see the entire city.
That was her plan. Get to the top of the tower. From there, she would see forever, she would find help.
Elise stood for a moment in the shadow of an old market building, resting her legs. Walking in the sand was difficult, and her thighs burned.
Something near made a sound like the hiss of a bicycle tire being emptied.
Then it moved, just behind her, in the shadows.
Elise turned and saw a shadow, a shadow that moved, a shadow with many eyes and sharp teeth as long as your fingers.
“Run! For God’s sake, girl, run!”
An old woman dressed in a heavy brown coat was standing back down the avenue, screaming at Elise.
Elise was too scared to move.
“Run!”
The shadow slithered out of the darkness and scrabbled on all fours into the street, toward the screaming old woman. The sound attracted it, the call to run.
Elise watched in horror as the thing dashed to the woman like a spider on four legs chasing down a tasty bug. It happened so quickly. The woman tried to run, but the shadow thing was on her before she could turn.
Elise ran. She didn’t stop to watch what happened, she didn’t look behind, she ran as fast as she could and tried to block the horrible sounds out of her ears, the sound of the old woman being killed.
Run. Run. Run. She knew she was leaving tracks, and she was slow in the thick sand and weak from fear. This was that nightmare where something is chasing you and your feet are stuck in mud and you can’t move.
Into the alley, down the side street, less sand there, easier to run.
She dashed down a street to her left, then cut through an alley to the west, ducking and dodging and finding places where the sand was thin on the pavement.
There was a clattering sound above her. She looked up and there was a big shadow pacing her along the rooftop, along the gutters.
Elise ducked into another side street. This part of the Left Bank was older and rife with little paths, thank goodness. She looked up.
Still there. Whatever it was, it was following her, keeping pace, hunting her, making weird noises like spikes on steel and…a chirping sound?
She looked behind and there it was, the Shadow Man. It had found her.
It was red with sand. No, not sand. It was red, but that wasn’t sand. That was the old woman, or what was left of her, dripping from the Shadow Man.
Elise screamed and cursed and ran as hard as she could, but now her legs failed. Fear seeped into the muscles and paralyzed her.
She tripped and tumbled, got up and ran again, looked back. The Shadow Man was meters away.
This was it, oh crap, this was it.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy!”
Even in the moment it felt silly, like a baby, calling for daddy, but so scared, so scared, so stupid.
She fell, not feeling the pain as she hit the street. She rolled onto her back, ready to kick as hard as she could, ready to fight.
The Shadow Man stood over her and smiled, dripping with the old woman’s fresh blood.
Elise could see now that it wasn’t really a shadow. It was slimy and black like a snake or an eel, smooth and terribly thin.
The skinny hand reached out for her, for her face.
Elise kicked it and it moved back, startled but still reaching for her.
And then there came the strangest noise, the sound of an angry monkey.
The Shadow Man heard it too. It looked up just as the giant crab and the angry monkey dived from above and landed between it and Elise.
The monkey had fins and was covered with scales, and it was riding the colossal red crab like a cowboy rides a horse.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOT TODAY
THE CRAB RAISED pincers the size of coconuts and serrated with edges like a knife as if daring the Shadow Man to approach.
The monkey, if that’s what it was, pointed at the Shadow Man and howled.
They stood their ground between the Shadow Man, dripping with blood, and Elise lying helpless in the alley.
The dark figure moved to the right, trying to get around them, to get to Elise.
The monkey and the crab blocked it.
The crab was deep, dark red with undertones of blue, the fat shell covered in spikes and bumps, feelers waving above what must have been its face, eyes on stalks.
The ape, almost as tall as Elise, seemed more a creature of the sea than of the jungle. A light belly gave way to a dark brown back, all covered in wide scales, with fins like a fish that ran the length of its spine. When it roared, which it did constantly, a tall row of spines stood up from the scaly scalp.
The Shadow Man hissed and slapped the howling sea monkey with the back of a bloody hand. The blow sent the ape flying across the alley and hard into a wall.
It bounced and didn’t move.
The crab raised up on thick legs and attacked, sweeping claws back and forth, trying to strike.
The Shadow Man was too quick, and it reached for the crab with those thin fingers.
Snap.
The crab was quicker than Elise thought possible, and with the sound of carrots being chopped it brought up a huge claw and neatly lopped off several of the Shadow Man’s fingers.
A hiss turned into a thin, wet, scream.
Something heavy jumped over Elise as she rolled away from the fight. The monkey. It was awake, alive, and now it was shrieking and climbing onto the Shadow Man’s back, biting and striking with its fists.
The crab moved again between Elise and the Shadow Man.
It was protecting her?
The monkey and the black creature rolled and scraped in the dust of the alley, sending spatters of blood flying.
The Shadow Man got its hand around the monkey and lifted as the sea ape violently, madly, struck and tried to bite. The monkey was slammed against the wall.
An accordion sound, then a loud crack, and the sea ape went limp, its neck broken.
Elise couldn’t see the crab’s eyes, or its face if there was one she could understand, and the thing didn’t make a sound or even change colors, but she knew it was furious and hurt.
The crab was on the Shadow Man before Elise could take a breath.
Claws like twin scythes went to work, slicing and hacking.
The Shadow Man screamed again, but the scream stopped and then there was just the wet sound of the crab dismembering the thin, ebony demon that had killed its monkey friend.
Dark blood spray as if from a garden sprinkler and Elise felt it hit her face.
She stood, backing away, then running to the far end of the alley, trying to get as far away as possible.
She stopped to look back.
The crab was done with the Shadow Man.
It sidled to the dead sea monkey.
The long red feelers, like tentacles, reached out and seemed to sniff or touch or sense the sea monkey. This went on for a few moments as if the crab was trying to decide what might be wrong with its friend. Elise sensed an overwhelming sadness from the creature.
Then, those hideous pincers picked up the carcass of the dead ape with great care and draped it across the wide shell of a back.
“Thank you,” said Elise.
The thing didn’t look back at her. Elise couldn’t tell if it had even heard her voice, or that it would have understood.
The great crab moved away, leaving the dead Shadow Man lying still in the cool of the alley. Elise watched the crab leave, then
turned and walked back into the street.
What a strange world this was turning out to be, she thought, and wiped the blood from her face. There was a touch of warmth on her skin from the red glow of the sun.
She looked up into the sky.
Wait.
Is that a balloon?
*
The bag was bright blue and trimmed with gold that sparkled even from a distance. A basket big enough for perhaps two people dangled below the bag although it was difficult to judge as the balloon was so high.
The glorious blue hot air balloon floated above her, gliding to the west. She could hear the “pssshhhh” of the flame keeping it aloft. She could pick out a single figure that seemed to ride in the basket.
Don’t wave. Don’t yell. You don’t know who that is or what they might do to you.
Elise stepped back behind a sand dune and watched the balloon.
Ok. There were people here in this new Paris. There was the weird marionette man. There was the poor dead woman who had tried to warn her of the Shadow Man. Now there was someone piloting a blue hot air balloon.
Elise had seen horror and felt helpless overwhelming fear on that cold morning, but now, the sight of this incredible surprise, this wildly strange thing, lit the tiniest spark of hope in her heart.
She had been rescued by a giant crab, and by a howling sea monkey that had sacrificed its life in battle with a demon, and now she watched someone piloting a balloon a thousand feet above, someone that might help, that might tell her what had happened to the city.
Well, I’d better follow the balloon.
So she took off walking fast.
Where was it going? What if it was going to just drift off and away?
She quickened her pace, finding strength and energy in hope, staying alert to her surroundings but glancing up to track the balloon.
Wait. No way. It looked as if…
Maybe it was just a coincidence, but…
It sure looked as if the blue balloon was flying toward the Eiffel Tower.
CHAPTER TWELVE
OZWOLD
THE CIRCUS WOULD miss Ozwold.
I would miss him, too, although he was loud and rude and pulled on my feelers as a joke.
Ozwold was brave and good.
He was a good soldier and even better on the trapeze.
That’s how he will be remembered.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RENNY AND ROBERT
THERE WAS AN arcade.
Before the big indoor shopping malls or department stores, the people of Paris would shop along the arcades, covered passageways lined with shops of all kinds, vendors, merchants, cafes. You could buy your dinner ingredients, have a glass of wine, chat with your neighbors about whatever neighbors chatted about, you could even smoke a cigarette back in the old days when cigarettes were everywhere and nobody knew how bad they were for you.
The wreck of a car had been moved to the mouth of the arcade, along with wire and boards and debris. A wall. Somebody had walled off the entrance to the arcade.
Elise ducked low and tried to see into the arcade passage, lit as it was by the red sun glow that spilled in through the long, broken glass arcade ceiling.
She had no intention of stopping. The balloon was her main concern. But she thought she had heard a noise down the arcade, and the wall of debris was mysterious enough to catch her attention. Somebody had deliberately created the wall, so perhaps somebody was still there, down the passage, in the arcade.
What if they weren’t nice?
Crap. What to do?
She dashed back into the street and looked towards the tower.
The blue balloon was gliding to the second level of the tower, over a hundred meters above the Champs de Mar. She could no longer hear the muffled whoosh of the flame, and she couldn’t see who or what was piloting the thing. Even the bright blue of the balloon, in that distance, became a dingy brown through the red haze of the sky.
But it was targeting the tower.
She heard the noise again from beyond the wreckage wall, and this time it sounded like a voice. Or voices.
Just a peek.
Elise crouched low and went back to the mouth of the arcade.
She found a hole, a space just big enough for her if she removed her backpack. She dropped her bag into a little huddle of debris so it was concealed then slipped through the hole in the debris wall and into the arcade.
Shafts of dim light and old shops to her left and right. Voices in the distance, arguing. There were people here.
Elise walked toward the voices and as she approached their words became more clear. They were speaking in French, which made it difficult for her but not impossible. She was good at filling in the gaps of her understanding, and more often than not, she was right.
“Do you think the National Team is just around the corner, waiting for you to cheer like an idiot?”
“There must be a stadium and if there’s a stadium there’s a team. Wouldn’t have a stadium without a team.”
“You’re out of your mind. Who’s on the team? Dogs and old women?”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s local boys, maybe it’s a busload of Japanese tourists, maybe, yes, it’s dogs and old women. I don’t care. Do I look like I care who is on the team? I care that there is a team.”
“Japanese tourists were the first to die. Too busy taking pictures.”
“Bigot! Racist!”
Elise stood at the door of the little cafe. Tables were set outside, and these were clean of dust and decorated with plastic flowers. A golden glow came from candles inside of the cafe and two old men were revealed in the amber light, sitting at a table with a bottle of wine between them, half full glasses in front of them, cigarette smoke drifting up from a big black ash tray.
“Bonjour,” she said.
The two men stopped arguing. The thin one with fat eyebrows looked like he was going to jump out of his skin. The other, small and heavy with thick glasses and thicker lips, made a little gasp and stood.
A machete appeared in his hand, pulled, Elise supposed, from under the table.
“Mon Dieu. Une fille.”
Elise stepped back, ready to run.
“My name is Elise. Who are you? Parlez-Vouz Anglais?”
“Renny,” said the thin one, “it’s a little girl. What the hell?”
The small one with the machete waved the blade in the air, trying to be menacing but failing in the attempt.
“Who are we? Who are you?”
“I said my name is…”
“Yes, yes, yes. You said your name is whatever. Little girls have all been eaten, so don’t tell me you’re a little girl. You’re something awful in disguise and I’ll whack you.”
“I haven’t been eaten. Right?”
The thin one took a drag on his cigarette.
“She has a point. Maybe she’s from the Orsay.”
The one with the blade made a snort noise.
“There are four people in the Orsay and that was a year ago so now it might only be mad Justin and his imaginary friend. I say she’s one of those fiends pretending to be a little girl.”
“Sit down and drink your wine, you old queen. If she’s a murderous fiend, we’re dead already, so we might as well have a smoke and a talk.”
He pulled a chair over to the table and motioned for Elise to join them.
“I’d rather you put down the big knife. And I’m sorry, but can you speak English?”
“Put down the blade, you fool.”
The small, heavy one grunted and sat down, slipping the machete back under the table. He picked up the bottle and poured wine into a dirty glass.
“Fine. So this is death, come to meet us with weepy little eyes and blood on her face, making us speak English. A horror. Let’s toast to our demise and find out what our assassin has to say before she turns all monstrous and eats our livers.”
Elise watched them. She knew bullies and cruel people from her time at the Girl’s Gard
en, from Agnes and the teachers and that awful man who trimmed the hedges and made rude comments. These two were old, hopeless, and a bit dim but they were people and they didn’t seem to be cruel.
She sat down at the table and offered her hand.
“So, again, I’m Elise. Who are you and what happened here?”
The old men looked at each other with a comical “seriously?” expression.
The thin one spoke first. In English.
“I’m Robert. My fat friend who likes to think there’s a football tournament just round the corner is Renny.”
Renny lit a cigarette.
“We blocked off the arcade. We hide up there, on the first floor above the cafe. Safe enough.”
Renny blew smoke.
“Where have you been hiding and why is there blood on your face?” he asked.
“I wasn’t hiding. I was asleep. I woke up and Paris was gone. Gone and different. Something tried to kill me just now, and this is its blood.”
Four bushy eyebrows shot up at the same time.
“Impossible.”
“To death and violent little girls.” The two old men raised their glasses in a toast and drank their wine. Robert made a noise in the back of his throat and offered his glass to Elise. She shook her head no.
“Cigarette?” Robert held out a pack of smokes. Renny snorted.
“She’s ten.”
“What’s it going to do, kill her?”
“Twelve,” said Elise.
They both raised their hands in apology.
“You claim,” began Renny, “you don’t know what happened. That you woke up and Paris was gone.”
“Yes.”
“It’s been ten years, girl.”
“Elise. And that’s impossible.”
He pointed at the cafe wall to his right.
There were countless little scratches on the wood, single digits carved out in fours then crossed through with a heavy line.
It was a counting of the days, and it covered the wooden wall.
Robert ground his cigarette butt out in the ash tray.
“She’s mad, Renny,” he said in French.
Elise was silent because she could not argue the point.
