by Steven Welch
“When I die, if indeed I do, I will not be buried here,” Jules said.
“Why not?”
“It is so cold in here. Lifeless. My corpse would appreciate the warm touch of earth, I think.”
The trio sat quietly for a long time, Jules and Elise on a bench and the crab at the feet of the girl.
“What was it?”
“A sea monkey, I suppose,” said Jules.
“There’s no such thing.”
Jules was silent for a moment.
“No, I did not think so. But here we are.”
“I wonder if it had a name,” said Elise.
She reached down and touched the shell of the giant crab.
“You need a name. But it needs to be a good one. I haven’t thought of one yet, but I will.”
After a time, Jules stood and said, “You need to go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EXILE
AND THAT’S HOW Elise found herself back out on the streets of dead Paris.
She was so nervous and scared that her stomach hurt. Angry too, and perhaps mostly that, mostly furious.
Jules escorted her and the crab to the promenade at the foot of the Musee national de la Marine. It was early morning and the winds blowing across the Trocadero were dying down, but it was still cold.
He gave her a bright blue jacket that almost fit. It was a garment of many pockets and thick lining, warm and water-proof. He had replaced her little, worn backpack with a sturdy bit of gear that could hold more and was just as lightweight. It had been stuffed with as much food and water as she could carry. Little bits of survival gear was in there too, matches and fishing line and pills that were supposed to help if she became sick.
She wore goggles that would keep the sand from her eyes, and her old handkerchief was now a nylon mountaineering mask. A flashlight helmet that was a little too big for her protected Elise’s head. She had her machete, but she also carried a steel dive knife on a strap at her thigh. There was a sturdy metal watch on her wrist that gave time, direction, and much more.
He had offered one of the guns but she had said no. They scared her.
Jules pointed to the south.
“There is nothing to the north but wasteland. Everything there is gone. East and west are like what you’ve seen. South, it looks like south might be better. I cannot say. Perhaps you should go there.”
Elise didn’t say anything. She just started walking, and the crab followed.
Jules watched them go.
He stood for a long time in the cold breeze of the morning. He watched until Elise and her strange companion had disappeared from view. And then, he dropped to his knees and his shoulders lurched as he cried, the kind of overwhelming and uncontrollable sobbing you might have as a child when it feels as if the world was out to destroy you.
This crying went on for some time before he stood and returned to the museum and then into the hall.
*
She followed the compass on her watch south into the 16th arrondissement along Rue Benjamin Franklin. She kept to the side of the avenue and ducked into side streets at every other turn.
The red sandstorm winds were light. Dunes were piled everywhere, and she realized that she should probably watch for tracks. The sand was smooth like fresh snow.
The buildings along the avenue were damaged like the rest of the city. Crumbling facades, stone burned black, windows shattered.
The winds built through the day and into the afternoon. Elise made good time, but to where she had no idea. The sun began to drop over the horizon so she and the crab worked their way into the battered black wreck of a car and tucked down into the floorboards, hidden from the world.
Night fell. She slept in fits. She nibbled on her food and sipped water.
Day came, and she went on the move again. South.
This became her routine for three days. Her legs were tired at first, but she was building strength. She was careful with her food and drink and made sure to stay in the shadows. She gave bits of food to the crab as well, but he didn’t seem interested. What would he eat, she wondered.
There were no strange surprises, no life at all, just sand and concrete and dead trees and cold.
How a twelve year old could make it through that wasteland might be a mystery to some, to those who have no children or have no experience with their unexpected strength and their capacity to adapt. Of course, she wasn’t alone, and when your sidekick is a crab the size of a German Shepherd with claws like scythes then you find more courage than you might otherwise.
But still, kids are tough.
She passed by the scorched and dead Parc St. Perine and on towards the Boulevard Peripherique, the ring road that had circled the great city. The city was less congested here, less a maze of destruction and more open.
Something moved behind a large hole in a street facing wall, something brown and quick.
Elise ducked behind the wreck of a car. The crab stayed with her and settled into a low sand dune, a trick that made him almost disappear.
Yes, something was moving in the darkness of the building across the street. Several somethings. She heard voices.
Men dressed in dirty brown shrouds stepped out of the building and into the light. There were five of them and they were wearing dark sheets that wrapped and covered them head to foot, like she had seen some of the Arab people wear on her trips into the city.
The men carried large bags. What were they doing? Stealing?
Elise thought about that for an instant. It’s not really stealing if there’s no one alive, right? Scavenging? Yes, that was the word. They were scavenging.
The five stayed tight together and walked south, looking this way and that.
The man in front and the man in back were carrying clubs and axes.
Elise didn’t like the look of the men. They looked dangerous. She started to wish that she had taken Jules up on his offer of the gun.
She stayed quiet and still until the men disappeared from view.
“I think we should take a different path, don’t you?” she asked the crab.
Elise carefully moved off down a parallel road that ran south and she kept a sharp watch for the men. They might have been helpful, but something about them didn’t look right. Something about those men frightened her.
Hours passed. Elise walked slowly, cautiously, staying in the shadows.
So many old homes, so many empty shops. In one burnt out storefront she spotted an unopened bottle of beer. She grabbed it and slid it into her new backpack. Her Dad had let her take a sip of beer once and she hated it, but any kind of liquid might be useful in this new world. Dad would have approved, she thought.
Voices screamed and shouted nearby. To her right, from where those men had gone.
Elise froze.
Stay right here, she thought. Do not go over there. That doesn’t sound good, not at all.
Curiosity is a tough thing to beat.
She ran down a side street and towards the Rue de Civry. Towards the shouts.
Elise turned a corner that let out to the wide boulevard Murat.
There was a giant creature floating just above the street, purple, blue, and red and in some places as clear as glass. Hundreds of thin tentacles writhed from beneath its bell shaped body. It was an enormous, flying jellyfish, a man-of-war the size of a car.
Elise felt her blood frost over in her veins. She was so terrified that she couldn’t breath. The crab nestled down into the sand and was completely hidden.
Two of the men were wrapped up in the creature’s tentacles. They weren’t moving, and they were being pulled up to the body of the thing. The other three men were dancing around the jelly, trying to strike it with rocks and debris, shouting at it as if doing so would force it to release their friends.
One of the men had a long metal rod, and he threw it like a javelin. It bounced off the jelly’s glistening skin. A tentacle no thicker than a rose stem shot out and wrapped around the man’s
neck.
He screamed and seized up as if his entire body had been shot through with poison. The jelly pulled him into the nest of its other arms and began to rise.
So this was what Robert and Renny had told her about, this horrific jellyfish that killed and floated away.
The remaining two men ran off screaming, dropping their bags as they went.
The massive Air Jelly lifted higher and higher until it was above the rooftops, a grotesque hot air balloon that carried the dead bodies of three men.
“Sick, right? Now turn around slow.”
The voice made Elise jump. She turned.
Three filthy kids, maybe her age, maybe a bit younger, stood just behind her. They each had chunks of wood that were imbedded with razor blades.
Elise placed her hand hard on the sand that covered the crab, her way of trying to tell it to stay down.
She stood and raised her hands in the air.
The boy in the middle was taller and looked tougher than the other two. His dark face was covered in black grease and he was dressed in torn old leather and denim.
He poked the razor club at Elise. He spoke in French.
“Give us all your stuff or we’ll slice you till you’re dead.”
Elise didn’t move. The boy’s voice was trembling.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“We’ll cut you. I swear it.”
“She’s so clean, Hemmi,” said one of the others, “how did she get so clean?”
Silence for a beat while they stared at each other.
“Right. How’d you get so clean?”
Elise didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t going to tell them about the Hall of Les Scaphandriers. So she said nothing.
“Do you speak English? My French is crap,” she said.
“Give us your things,” the tall dark one said in English with a thick accent.
Elise wasn’t going to do that, and she didn’t want the crab to hurt them or get hurt trying. She wanted this entire situation to go in a different direction, but she wasn’t sure how to get there. They were kids, like her, so there must be grown-ups. Maybe there’s some help.
“I’m Elise. Were those men, those men who got killed by that thing, were they your friends?”
“Hell no. They’d kill us if they saw us. Probably eat us too. They’re the worst round here. Friends? Hell no.”
“Well, there’s only two left to worry about now. Why were you following them?”
“More where that came from. We call them Sheets, but I don’t know their proper name. They run the neighborhood and stay at PSG. We follow the bastards ‘cause they know where to scavenge stuff. We go in after them and sometimes find some things. Mostly not. Now shut up and give us your bag.”
“You didn’t tell me your name.”
“What are you, stupid?” The tall one, the one the other had called Hemmi, lifted the razor club as if to swing it at Elise.
The crab rose from the sand and its massive claws came up as well. Elise took a step between the crab and the boys.
She dropped her hand back, motioning to the crab “stay” like you would a dog.
The boys moved back, eyes wide at the sight of the huge creature.
“What the hell is that?”
“He won’t hurt you if you’ll just leave us alone.”
“Hell, that’s food, that’s what that is.” Hemmi took a step forward.
“Stop. He’ll kill you. I’ve seen him do it. He will absolutely kill you.”
Hemmi hesitated.
Elise moved back, and the crab went with her.
“Wait.” Hemmi lowered his razor club.
“You on your own? Just you and that thing?”
The crab’s eye stalks waved back and forth.
Elise nodded “yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Damn. You ought to be dead. How do you do it?”
“I’m not by myself. I’ve got him, and he protects me.”
“Yeah, but where did you come from?”
“My name is Elise and that’s all you need to know. Now, who are you?”
“I’m Hemmi and this here’s Zola and Flaubert. You want to come back to The Nursery with us, you can.”
Elise looked closely at the three. Yes, they were her age, perhaps younger, but it was hard to tell through all the dirt and ragged clothing. Hemmi was black, with dark brown eyes and unruly hair. Zola was a small blonde boy who looked like he hadn’t eaten in forever. Flaubert, now that Elise was looking hard, was a girl. She was thin and pale under the crust of filth and she had no hair peaking out from under the baseball cap. Shaved head? Maybe. She was a girl, though, and that made Elise feel a little more comfortable with them, with the thought of going along.
“The Nursery? What’s that?”
“It’s where we live. Come on, ain’t got much time out here.”
He was right. The wind was picking up and the crimson wall of the night storm was building in the distance.
She would need a place for the night, and maybe this would do.
“Okay.”
*
Rats in a maze. That’s what it felt like to Elise. She followed and Hemmi led as they dashed and scrambled through the dark hallways of deserted buildings, into alleys and then again into forgotten storefronts and back into side streets, meandering and reversing direction. At first she tried to keep track on her compass but quickly gave up. Hemmi and the other two seemed to know exactly where they were going.
They spilled out of an alley into a broad plaza and ran towards a tall, fat building of broken glass that had obviously once been taller. The top of the structure was gone as if something had removed it with a scythe. There were mountains of rubble all around, debris of steel and shattered glass.
The storm was on them now and the sun was almost down. The wind pelted them with sand and the spark flies were starting. A vicious bolt of lightning struck a metal pole near them and they ducked. Elise’s ears rang and her skin tingled.
They ran.
A fire damaged sign out front read “Hospital.”
Hemmi stopped Elise and pointed to the crab.
“That thing. It’s one of them, ain’t it?”
“He’s ok. Really.”
“If it makes a wrong move I’ll kill it.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
“I can do that,” he said and turned toward the building.
Elise and the crab followed.
They entered through broken glass doors of the old Emergency Entrance underneath a big red cross.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CURIOUS?
JULES VALIANCE SAT in a soft leather chair facing a video monitor on a brick wall in the Hall of Les Scaphandriers, his face lit by the glow of the screen and by the burning cigarette in his lips.
He thought about one word.
“Curious?”
That word, written in every language known and unknown, languages dead a thousand years, that word glowing in elegant filigree script everywhere and on everything ten years ago in the cathedral at the bottom of the sea.
The last room before the end of the world.
“Curious?”
That simple word.
He hadn’t been certain that the solar batteries of the place would be enough to bring the video screen to life, and so he’d ignored it for a day or two.
He couldn’t help himself, of course. He never could, and that was the problem, obviously. So, by killing the lights and other contraptions he found that there was enough power to turn on the screen and play a video.
There was no sound, and that didn’t matter. This was unedited footage, the helmet cams of the team as they descended.
They explored. That’s what they did. They explored, no matter what, no matter the risk, because humanity was meant to explore.
Les Scaphandriers had been formed, some say by Jules Verne himself, as a secret arm of the French Navy, a s
mall team of scientists, naval officers, and adventurers who were assigned the task of exploring the unknown 70% of the planet. They sought new life in a mysterious world hidden from the eyes of mankind, they fought clandestine battles against organizations that would bring down the country, they studied and mapped and celebrated their brilliance for a hundred years. They were unknown to the public, heralded by only themselves and a few souls fortunate enough to call them friends. Celebrities, mostly, chefs and actresses and writers and musicians. They were the secret party, the hidden celebration, just another impossible thing in a fantastic world.
They explored, no matter the cost, and usually with plenty of wine at their side.
So that bright morning ten years ago they had descended in their spectacular Aquaboggin into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean toward a strange blue glow that the U.S. Navy had discovered by chance in the Bay of Biscay. It was a bright blue object shining up from the ocean floor in seven thousand feet of water and there was no logical explanation for the thing.
They were the last and best of Les Scaphandriers, jammed tightly with their gear into their unparalleled submersible, descending to explore what might be a strange volcano, a rift in the earth, a Russian mistake. Who knew? They had wine and smokes and elaborate gadgets. They had science and patriotism and ego, so what else would they need?
The video switched between helmet cams and would be hard to follow for someone who hadn’t been there that morning.
There was the interior of the sub. Fast forward. There was Lt. LeBuche, laughing and joking with the estimable and inscrutable Guyanese malacologist Three John. Zuzu, the beautiful but deadly. Private Splatter and his fiery red hair. The Asian elder North McAllister. So many good sailors. Fast forward.
The glow through the porthole of the sub, a bright cobalt in the blackness of the abyss, growing larger until it filled the screen.
Fast forward.
The glow is revealed. Light pouring out from blue and golden towers. A structure of light and metal at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. A cathedral.
