Elise and The Butcher of Dreams

by Steven Welch

  Elise crouched under a sheltering rock and roughly sketched the jelly as it glided high overhead. The ball of the thing was probably three meters across and alive with a glow that illuminated their translucent interior. Tentacles many meters long trailed below, some as slender as her finger, so thin as to be barely visible, while others were thicker and lined with long flags of skin.

  She noted the location, date, and time of the sighting. Her notebook for this trip was already fat with observations about the deserts of Jordan, about Petra, and the flora and fauna she discovered there. Elise had many other notebooks, some at her flat in Aqaba, most in Paris. The observations began as homework and had become an obsession. She had no illusions about her notes being of value to others. She enjoyed the work of it, the tactile and mental focus, the knowledge gained.

  The more she knew the stronger she was.

  Her inspiration was the great 19th Century scientist and explorer Joseph Bank. She’d learned of his voyages during her classes with Les Scaphandriers in Paris. Banks and his team of artists and scientists sailed with Captain Cook through the South Seas and chronicled the creatures, plants, and people that they encountered. The world seemed exotic and full of alien things back then, on Joseph Bank’s expeditions of the 1800s into uncharted and unknown territories.

  Now, after The Turn, the world was exotic and alien once more.

  The air jelly was long out of sight when Elise mounted her horse and again took to the old road that led back to the sea. The beast wouldn’t have been a problem even if it had sensed her. She was experienced in dealing with them. They were slow and simple things, deadly if attacking as a swarm or if their tentacles were within reach of you, but her horse could outride it and she could outrun it if she had a head start.

  Elise had seen the jellies destroy a village once and kill a friend who had been a fierce fighter so they were not to be underestimated. Their long tentacles carried deadly stinging packets of poison and had surprising strength. The stingers were dangerous even after death. Elise brought one down with harpoon and grapnel on a training mission when she was younger and they spent time dissecting the creature. In the process she accidentally brushed a tentacle and gotten stung, even through thick cloth. Elise suffered terrible pain and a raging fever that kept her in bed for nearly a week. The scar of the wound was still a pale reminder on her calf. It was a lesson learned.

  She learned other things, though, interesting things. Somehow the creatures created their own helium, or something like it, a curiosity they discovered when they sliced into the thick sac of the body and a gas escaped that made all of their voices become comically high-pitched for a few moments. The bioluminescence wasn’t a part of the jelly; it was a separate creature, worm-like and harmless, that lived within the clear bell of the body. These were fragile creatures that did not live long after being removed from the jelly and seemed to feed on the scraps that their host left behind. The jellies were just as simple as the ones from old earth with no brain to speak of and a primitive nervous system.

  Elise speculated that the tentacles could sense the jagged patterns of disturbed air created by other living things, perhaps even the warmth of a body.

  Their tentacles always seemed to be reaching out, trying to make sense of their surroundings, seeking as they drifted in the sky.

  They were not intelligent, but they were dangerous.

  All the knowledge gained about air jellies was important to Elise. The more she knew the less frightening they became.

  She was prepared for other encounters with living things on that desert ride. There were her weapons for defense, her guitar and games for amusement, and some small items that could bribe or serve as payment.

  The ride was long and Elise settled into her saddle and let everything slip away until she was in the perfect place between awake and asleep.

  The old road had once been busy with tourist buses and heavy trucks. The tourists carried their dreams of ancient civilizations and old movies while the trucks were weighted down with oil and goods and chickens and soldiers. The Wadi here was a lunar landscape, a flat desert with sharply carved mountains off in the distance. Stubborn plants raged out of the desert here and there, somehow sucking water out of nothing.

  Elise dreamt of the ocean as she rode when the horse scampered a bit and she woke to see the black skeleton of an old tourist bus that had come to rest against the wind scrubbed white wall of a small home.

  She had not noticed the bus on her journey out to Petra but that wasn’t unusual. There were small villages here and there along that desert road, some long-discarded huts and even a convenience store or two that served nothing but ghosts.

  Elise bit her lower lip as she looked about. The brilliant canvas of stars and the nearly full moon washed the desert with light. Yes, it had been a tourist bus, a big blue one charred with black and with the Jordanian flag emblazoned here and there, now faded and scratched. The vehicle was on its side. The tires were long melted away, just black sand crusted blobs streaked along dark rims. The driver’s cabin of the bus nearly touched the white wall of the structure. In the starlight the whitewash was nearly blue and Elise thought it was beautiful.

  So the bus had overturned, crashed, and burned, thought Elise. Probably at The Turn. Yes, otherwise it would have been cleared by rescue teams and firefighters.

  Well, there was no hurry now so Elise dropped a leg over the saddle and came down to the ground. Her backpack was resting on the back of the saddle. The Octo-Thing peeked out of the sack and watched. The little eyes first tracked Elise then shifted and looked about. He was an excellent watchman and there was a small brass bell in the sack that the creature would ring if he spotted something unusual or threatening.

  The white structure had not been a house. No. Something else. It was a single level with a peaked roof of battered metal. Jordanian flag. Arabic signs here and there. Oh. There was a long wooden beam on a lever and a post. A check-point gate.

  This had been a security check-point on the road between Aqaba and Petra, thought Elise.

  She saw no tracks in the sand but that meant little as tracks didn’t linger in the wind. She looked into a broken window of the overturned bus. No skeletons. If there had been tourists, and there had been a driver, they escaped the wreck.

  Elise used the melted rubber of the wheel near the front cab to hoist herself up. She clambered to the top side of the bus.

  There was torn and twisted metal, thin sheets of it, here and there. Elise was cautious.

  A long luggage storage bin that ran along the lower side of the upturned bus. She didn’t have a key but she didn’t need one. Elise pulled a thin rod of metal from one of her jacket pockets and used it to pick the tiny lock in a matter of minutes. She wrenched open the bin.

  Merde.

  Her hand was wet and red. The meat of her left palm was sliced.

  Shit. All of this sharp rusty metal. Should have been more careful.

  She hadn’t felt the cut when it happened and it didn’t hurt now, just itched, but it was bleeding well enough. Elise pulled a cloth from a pocket in her vest and dabbed at the wound.

  Not bad. She was left handed, and the cut was in an awkward place and not too deep so it probably wouldn’t be a problem for her guitar playing. Infection was the biggest concern. There were also little bugs that burrowed into wounds and blossomed into painful flowers. These were new to Earth and had come in The Turn. They weren’t deadly, but they were a nuisance and their blossoms had a scent like a rotten carcass. These “blood plants” could even be eaten in a dire emergency but the taste was awful.

  She kept a small vial of alcohol in her vest and she poured the liquid over the cut. There was some stinging, but it wasn’t anything to scream about. She wrapped the cloth tightly around her sliced palm. There had been far worse injuries. She turned her attention back to the bin.

  Jackpot. There were several pieces of luggage. They were protected from the elements but the heat of the fire had m
elted them in spots. Elise pulled them out of the dark bin and tossed them to the ground.

  Purple sky. Sun was coming up. Not much time before she would need to settle down and find a place to sleep. She jumped down and rummaged through the bags.

  She never grew tired of the treasure hunt. That’s what it was, really. These were things that hadn’t been touched in many years that had been left by the owners when they had fled or been killed. Every bag, every valise or suitcase or backpack or purse could hold something of value. Or not. A treasure hunt.

  Clothes. Holiday wear. Bathing suits for the Red Sea. Elise had no use for them. This bag had belonged to a woman who was larger than Elise and enjoyed bright colors so nothing would be worth having while this other bag had been a man’s and he had apparently been tiny. Nothing there to wear although Elise found a pack of batteries that might be useful and some belts and some ties that would have purpose.

  Two stacks grew on the side of the road, the “yes I’ll take it” stack and the “rubbish” stack.

  She kept digging and unzipping and rummaging. A book, yes. A brush, no. A toothbrush, yes. A pair of boots that might fit, absolutely.

  A Santa Claus.

  Elise had been in a hurry but now she stopped. It was a child’s soft plaything. He was red and white with a little beard and wide button eyes. He was Santa Claus.

  The chill of the early dawn gave white wisps to her breath. She smelled him. He’d been buried in the luggage, a child’s suitcase of pretty colors and silly characters. Elise breathed deep of the sweet fresh smell.

  She laughed at her stupidity then she looked up at the stars. So many stars. The sun was coming up but the purple sky was still bursting to overflow with stars. The wide glowing edge of the Milky Way was at a steep angle from horizon to horizon. She looked back down at the soft doll and she knew she was being silly but she hugged it close. Just some cloth and stuffing and buttons. Just a toy but he had been so real to some child so long ago, a child that had probably died a terrible death along that road between Petra and Aqaba. He had been Santa Claus, and he was a comfort and he was a friend and he had been left behind in the haste and fear and fire of that moment when the bus had crashed into the side of a check-point.

  He had been waiting for all these years and he probably was wondering where his girl had gone and why she had left him alone in the darkness of a torched luggage bin.

  Elise saw the shooting star just then as it flashed brilliant green across the sky then disappeared. Maybe that shooting star was the real Santa, and he was going to return finally to bring everyone some presents. Maybe that weird reindeer with the atomic nose was there too.

  A twist of a steel knob on her wrist device.

  “Is Santa Claus real?”

  A pause. Just the hum of the little speaker. Then, that thick French accent broke the stillness with “Who’s to say?”

  “Sometimes those things of imagination are the most real of all,” the voice continued, “as you know, there was episode seven of our television series in which The Astonishing Aquanauts were led on a quest to uncover the secrets of a fortress at the top of the world. As you might recall, my adventures included a grappling match with a bearded giant who carried a sack of peculiarities. Our subsequent bout of drinking in a snow hollow inhabited by a race of dwarves, as well as some whispered conjecture by a frost wraith, led me to understand this jolly gentleman might have indeed been the mythical old spirit of the north. But again, who’s to say? Conclusion, Santa Claus is real and a fearsome grappler.”

  Elise smiled.

  Santa Claus went into her backpack, much to the happiness of the Octo-Thing.

  Elise found nothing else of value except a few bottles of water and a few more books so she tied her horse to the old check-point post and curled up with her backpack in the shadows of the small white building.

  She pulled her cowboy hat down low over her face and slept.

  ATLANTIC

  Wind and rain lashed at Jack’s peculiar airship as it rode the air currents a thousand meters above the dark expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Frost made white the slick skin of his coat. There was a thick cloth tied around his head for warmth as no hat would hold against the wind. The lightning tore the sky all around in strikes so close there was no pause between the flash of whiteness and the crash of noise.

  Jack and the man called Dominic stood close at the open forward platform of the vessel. Their knees flexed, and they leaned this way and that as the ship ducked and shuddered in the storm’s turbulence. There was heat from chunks of coal that smoldered in a perforated metal barrel protected from the elements by a tight lid. The ship was an old recreational vehicle over ten meters long and tightly constructed of aluminum and fiberglass. Jack and his men, on modifying the rig, removed the glass and replaced it with sheets of metal that could be dropped into place when needed. They cut away the forward cabin and fashioned a ship’s deck where they could more easily see what might be in their path. They gutted the interior to make room for men and weapons and jugs of water.

  Heavy rope lines ran from the four corners of the vessel and from the port and starboard sides. These lines extended to the enormous sky jellies that powered their flight. The men who were strapped into small sleeves at the bell of the jellies were the pilots and they used their metal prods to guide the things as they soared. Changing out the pilots every day was a risky proposition and required more luck than gymnastics as the men belayed up and down the ropes in harnesses within striking distance of the stinging tentacles.

  They had lost only two pilots, so they considered themselves lucky.

  Below the belly of the main vessel and attached by more rope was a cage that held the men, women, and children who provided an incentive for the jellies to fly and remain placid. The primitive creatures responded to operant conditioning so periodically the jellies would be fed a captive to keep them at the task.

  Jack reached out and pulled Dominic close. The grip was tight but friendly.

  “Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, and now us, my friend. I think it’s safe to say we’re blazing the trail in a unique way, though. Across the Atlantic by sky jelly. What do you think?”

  Dominic looked up into Jack’s face. He began to say something and Jack stopped him with a gesture.

  “Tell me about your family,” Jack said. His voice was strong, and he did not need to shout above the storm.

  Dominic hesitated.

  “You’ve told me before, yes, I know. Tell me about your family. Again.”

  “My wife was Alicia and she was from Maryland. We had a son named Ozzie. He was a tough little guy and smart like his mom. She worked at the Recreational Department.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “I was staking the place out, trying to see if there was anything worth taking. I was a small timer, taking what I could here and there. Never did anything really bad. Petty stuff. Anyway, I see her walking out after she gets off work and I decide there was only one thing worth stealing at the place.”

  Jack smiled. “Her heart, am I right?”

  Dominic laughed. “Sure as shit. Told her I worked for the city and we went to a movie and then for a few drinks. Thing is, I fell hard and made damn sure that I actually got a job with the city before we went out again. Didn’t want to get busted, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So yeah, we were great. Big wedding. Honeymoon in the Poconos. That was something, my friend, that was paradise. Along comes Ozzie, and I don’t think there’s ever been anybody happier than the three of us. Nobody. You hear me? We were rock stars.”

  “You were, weren’t you? Then what happened?”

  “You know what happened.”

  “What happened, my friend?”

  “I’m in my office and the world goes nuts, goes crazy, right? I’m running to the Rec Center first because it’s on the way to day care but there’s things coming down from the sky, so there’s people running everywhere, really
bad shit’s going down. I get to Alicia and we get to Ozzie, and that was a nightmare, I had to fight my way into the day care. Bunch of animals, Jack, the people were a bunch of animals. We’re running and then there’s things that ain’t from our world and you know this and you know I don’t like telling it so why are you asking me to say this? Jack? Why?

  Jack held Dominic close.

  “What happened?”

  “Something awful tore Ozzie out of my arms. I saw what it did to my son. I saw what it did,” he said and his voice broke and he continued speaking but his words could not be understood.

  Dominic raged and tried to pull away from Jack’s grip but the big man was too strong.

  “We all need fuel, my friend,” Jack said, “and that’s your fuel. That anger will take you to a better place. We all need that furnace that burns in our guts, Dominic. Nothing happened in vain when the world ended. Lindbergh did it for glory and ego but we’ll make this trip because we have a righteous purpose and there’s no force in nature that will stop us from taking it all back. Am I right??

  Dominic stared off into the storm and his tears turned into frost streaks along his face.

  “Yes.”

  “There you go. Days of wonders are ahead of us. Days of peace and truth and those things that matter most.”

  “Yes.”

  Jack put his arm around Dominic and whispered in his ear.

  “Be strong, my brother. A faster ship than this awaits in Paris.”

  SKY KRILL

  Taariq’s backside was sore from the ride across the desert into Aqaba.

  He pushed his horse so hard that the animal collapsed and died on the outskirts of the town where the mountains gave way to the sea. He carved slabs of meat from the bony shanks and these steaks hung from his shoulders.

  Never leave food behind.

  The walk into town was easy enough along the old road. Taariq moved at an easy pace in the afternoon’s heat and admired the view. The Red Sea was a shimmer, a silver expanse beyond the brown and gold land. Aqaba was an eruption of old buildings that began along the shore and extended well into the surrounding hills. There was the jumble of the oldest part of town and then the deserted towers of seaside resorts built just before The Turn.