Elise and The Butcher of Dreams

by Steven Welch

  Elise tossed her backpack into the cab. The Octo-Thing dangled from her shoulders and his eyes were sleepy. The evening sky was a wash of indigo and crimson. There was a light breeze and the heat of day was drifting away.

  Ahmet was under the heavy hood of the truck taking one last look at the engine. He glanced up at Elise and smiled.

  “She’s a strong truck, Elise,” he said in a mix of Arabic and English she had learned to understand, “all new everywhere we could. I can tell you there is no stronger beast in Jordan. None.”

  “How about Egypt?”

  “Strongest anywhere. Even Egypt.”

  “I’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”

  “Why do you want to go so far? This is a good town, Elise. The best town. Good moonshine. We have a bar. Who else has a bar? Who will play guitar?”

  “My guitar is broken. That skinny kid who lives with Denzel can play. He’s just too shy. Kick his ass and get him to play. You’ll like him. He’s better than me.”

  “Egypt is too far. Too many things in the desert. Bad people too. Too far.”

  “Well then, I’d better get started.”

  “Drive at night to keep her cool, that will be smart. The engine runs on this shit fuel we make but it can run forever on a liter. Run forever, but keep her cool. She’s a nasty bitch when she gets hot. But she’s the strongest beast anywhere, Elise.”

  “I know she is. Shukran, Ahmet. Here.” Elise tossed Ahmet a little leather pouch that landed on the radiator cap. Ahmet took the bag and stood. He opened it and his eyes grew wide when he saw what was inside.

  “This is a dream. You gave me a dream,” he said. Elise clapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re welcome. That’s who you are to her, you know. That’s you. Make it happen.”

  A tear made a thin trail along Ahmet’s brown face. He slammed the hood of the truck down and locked it into place with a little chain and pin combination. The leather pouch went into his back pocket. He handed Elise the keys.

  “You remember now, she will start with the key or you flip the little switch we installed below wheel, right?”

  Elise nodded “yes.” She lifted the Octo-Thing from her shoulders and dropped him into the red leather passenger seat. The strange creature flashed a shade of blue and slid down onto the floorboard and into her backpack.

  “Tell everybody I said goodbye,” Elise murmured in a low voice as she opened the armored driver side door and hopped up into the seat behind the wheel.

  “What?”

  “Tell everybody I said goodbye, Ahmet,” she repeated, louder this time, “Aqaba was fun. Best place I’ve seen since I left Paris. Don’t screw it up.”

  Ahmet laughed and pulled the leather pouch from his back pocket and held it up for Elise to see.

  “We have music, we have food, we have family, we have Allah, we have the sea once more. Now my girl will have a wonderful dream. We have everything. Be safe. Drive at night. Keep her cool. Don’t push her too hard. Be safe, Elise.”

  “Safe. Right. That’s probably not going to happen,” she said with a laugh. The key turned and the engine thundered. The interior of the cabin smelled like sweat, leather, cigarettes, and moonshine.

  The sound of the engine was a rumble broken by periodic blasts like the shots from a gun. A blue smoke billowed out from the exhaust pipes and it reeked like bad eggs. Elise knew others would hear the noise and come down to see what was happening.

  “Let’s roll,” she said to the Octo-Thing, “rather not make a scene out of this.”

  She feathered the gas pedal and the massive ebony truck rolled forward. Elise checked the rearview mirror. Ahmet the Engineer grew smaller as she watched and he was holding up the little thing that he had pulled from the leather bag.

  Santa Claus.

  Ahmet had a daughter he loved more than life and one night Elise had been drunk enough to tell Ahmet’s daughter the story of Santa Claus and how he would visit good little boys and girls, of how he would give them presents and of how he flew through the sky like a comet in a ship pulled by magical animals with atomic noses. Ahmet had listened, and he later told Elise that sharing this story with his daughter had been a mistake, that such fantasies and hopes were bound to disappoint.

  Elise had disagreed, but she understood.

  How can a father make dreams come true in a world so dark?

  Elise shifted her eyes to the road ahead. Van Gogh’s sunflowers, along with the other paintings and prints that Elise had recovered on her travels, were rolled tightly into a waterproof plastic sheet and they rested next to her backpack on the floor of the cabin.

  According to Jules it would take at least ten hours to drive to Cairo. She hoped there would be enough fuel.

  North to the Israeli city of Eilat then hard west into the desert along Route 50M.

  Practically a straight line if the highway was clear and there were no problems.

  There were six barrels in the back of the truck and that was just enough room for Taariq to lie flat and hide between them and the cab’s rear. Sneaking into the flatbed had been easy while Elise and Ahmet were talking. Taariq had a backpack and in it were his weapons and enough ammo to take care of most things.

  The barrels were tightly bound together with wire and cinch straps and they were too heavy to move much but they made Taariq nervous anyway. He didn’t want to get crushed by a rolling barrel of shit fuel so he wedged himself underneath the lip of the truck cab where he felt there might be just enough space for him to squeeze if a barrel broke free and rolled his way.

  He rested his head on his arms to cushion himself from the lurching, bumpy road and tried to sleep.

  THE SPIDERS OF EILAT

  It would have been nearly impossible before The Turn to drive a truck from Aqaba to Eilat.

  Only a few kilometers separated the beach towns but there was a wall of bad blood that made such a trip unthinkable. Elise didn’t know the history of Jordan and Israel, the history of the region, she only knew the night was calm and cool and the road was clear. There was little debris. A few cars and trucks were abandoned or overturned here and there but it was mostly an open paved road in good condition that ran north from Aqaba. There had been no sign of life.

  Her hands were tight on the wheel. The Octo-Thing was curled on the floorboard of the passenger side and he rippled with glowing patterns of color as he watched her drive.

  “Zuzu’s strong, buddy. She’ll be alright. Some of them got away. That’s what he said.”

  The Octo-Thing puffed quietly out of his mantel. The flashes of color from the tiny chromatophores imbedded in his remarkable skin transitioned from green to blue and then back again in a steady rhythm.

  “We’ll meet this son of a bitch in Cairo and we’ll make things right.”

  The ring road on the outskirts of Aqaba gave way to a series of side roads and a barricaded wall that cut east and west. She had seen it first when she had arrived to town and gone exploring. The wall was several meters tall and there were guard posts, long unmanned, every few dozen meters along the top. A tunnel wide enough for vehicles was the transition point between the two old countries and the road ran straight through it. There were wooden barricades and barbed wire in the way.

  Elise jammed her foot on the accelerator and blasted through the mess. Broken wood flew around her as she passed. The wire wrapped the truck but did not slow it down. There were wide stone posts, and she slalomed around them at speed.

  It would have been smooth if not for the enormous spiders that had made cobwebbed nests on the ceiling of the old tunnel. They were as big as wolves and each of their eight thin legs was armed with blades of sharp bone. Elise saw the webbing on the glass of her windshield only seconds before the first of the hairy black things dropped onto the hood of the truck and skittered toward the cabin.

  “Shit!”

  She jabbed the little button to roll up the windows. The window mechanisms were slow, and the spider was quick.

&
nbsp; One of the bladed legs sliced into the cab and struck her vest. The Kevlar held and Elise turned the wheel hard to the left to shake the spider away.

  The Octo-Thing was up now and he frantically jabbed the passenger side window control button. Another spider appeared on the window and it clattered its legs against the glass and steel in a desperate, hungry effort to break in. The Octo-Thing bowed up and seemed to increase in size but the spider seemed unimpressed and continued to scratch on the window.

  The other spider clung to Elise’s door and struck out with its sharp legs.

  Two more of the creatures dropped from the ceiling of the tunnel and clambered along the hood of the truck.

  Taariq Tanaka awoke to the sound of squealing tires and giant spiders scratching against glass and metal. He pulled his knife and curled into a ball. The tunnel ceiling passed above him and he could see the cobwebs and the dark things that called the place home. His choice was to hide and hope for the best or stand up and fight but reveal himself to Elise before he was ready. He lay still and the metallic taste of fear was so strong in his mouth he thought he might be sick.

  Elise pulled her sidearm. If she fired she would shatter the glass and create a doorway for the things to climb into the cab. The spider was striking the window hard but it held and showed only little chips where the bone struck glass.

  A dark blue dot in the distance grew bigger and bigger. The exit to the tunnel. Only a few meters away.

  More thuds hit the metal roof of the Dodge, more spiders descended, and now the cobwebs were so thick she couldn’t see through the front windshield.

  It was a black ball with legs and it was the size of a cat and it landed with a hard plop next to Taariq Tanaka’s foot. He screamed and kicked. The legs had blades of bone and the creature raised its front two arms up as if in prayer but more likely to strike.

  Taariq had no illusions. Elise be damned. This thing would chop away his legs and he would die bleeding to death in the back of this truck.

  He aimed and fired. The shot was deafening in the confines of the tunnel. He fired again and this time the spider exploded in a spray of white liquid, its legs flailing and kicking.

  What the hell? Gunfire? Elise heard the noise but focused on the exit to the tunnel that was rapidly disappearing behind a curtain of webbing.

  She was through the tunnel. Now what? The road ahead into Eilat was clear, but the truck was crawling with spiders and shrouded in cobwebs. It made no sense to keep barreling down the highway as if all was right in the world.

  “Fine,” she spat.

  Elise jammed her boot heel on the brake and the truck roared to a stop, the tires squealing and smoking.

  Taariq was slammed against the back of the truck. He saw stars and then he saw a spider. Shit. He was up and firing but his head wasn’t clear and he missed.

  A bullet passed between two of the Octo-Thing’s legs as it blasted through the cabin of the truck. He slithered down below the seat and curled into a tight ball.

  Elise took a deep breath then threw open the door.

  She dashed outside of the truck and slammed the door quickly behind her as she went. She spun on her heels and spotted her targets.

  There were four of the spiders she could see. Two were on the top of the truck, another clung to the driver’s side mirror, and the fourth was clattering along the side of the flatbed.

  Taariq stood in the back of the truck with his gun drawn. He fired at the spider nearest him and missed again as the creature scrambled under the body of the truck. He shot through the metal floor of the flatbed and hoped for the best.

  Elise slowly exhaled as she fired. The two spiders on the roof exploded in a milky mist. She didn’t want to shoot at the one on her door because if she missed the slug would be a danger to the Octo-Thing. The spider raised four of its skinny black legs and jumped.

  I didn’t know they could jump that far, she thought, as the thing landed on her chest.

  Elise was surprised by the strength of the stick-like legs as they clutched and grabbed.

  It’s trying to bite me, she thought.

  She let out a shriek despite herself and grabbed two of the legs.

  She pulled the thing away and threw it as far as she could. It landed a few meters away and immediately scrambled back toward her.

  Elise fired twice, and it was dead. She ran back to the truck.

  “Where is it?”

  Taariq pointed at the flatbed. “Under there.”

  “Perfect.”

  “How the hell are we going to get it?”

  “Climb under the truck and chase it out so I can shoot it,” she said.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “What are you doing in the truck anyway?”

  “Does that matter right now?”

  “Well, yes, it kind of does,” Elise said, “but just stand still and stop shooting holes in my truck.”

  She withdrew a small metal canister from her vest and pulled a pin on the top. She rolled it under the truck and there was a slight hiss. Elise ran to the other side and opened the passenger door. The Octo-Thing slithered out onto her shoulders and she ran a few meters back.

  Taariq began to choke and cough. He covered his face and gasped.

  Elise watched the truck. A yellowish gas billowed from beneath the chassis. She held her gun steady and kept her finger on the trigger.

  The last of the spiders dropped to the ground and scurried toward her. She fired once, and the thing convulsed, then lay still.

  Taariq leapt from the truck and ran. He fell to his knees, coughing and gagging. Vomit shot from his mouth in yellow streams.

  “It’s just tear gas. You’ll live. We need to talk.”

  Elise slipped her pistol back into her holster and sat down on the dusty old road. The Octo-Thing was a tentacled shawl of rippling color on her shoulders.

  THE SHIP THAT BREATHES

  It was an iron lift, below L’Académie, powered by hidden hydraulics and chains.

  Jack stepped onto the metal grate and jammed his thumb into a blue button lit by the glow of recessed work lights. The lift, wide enough for three or four people, lurched and descended, the sound a monster’s roar.

  The lift system triggered an audio track and a Johnny Hallyday song played. The rattle of the machinery couldn’t drown the sound of “Noir c’est Noir”.

  Jack glanced around for a moment and looked for a way to silence the offending music but could not see a switch that would deactivate the sound.

  Had you been standing on the dark metal platform as it slowly descended, as the French pop song played, you would have seen Jack’s face darken and then, for the briefest of moments, shimmer. The face beneath his own would have been revealed to you and it was an awful, hellish sight, visible in only an instant, a thinly skinned skull of many eyes.

  Then he was Jack once more.

  Listening to the song made him angry enough to vomit.

  The lift platform screeched and shuddered to a stop. Jack stepped out onto slick cobblestones.

  He was in a long tunnel that stretched into blackness to either side. A bioluminescent fungus grew on the ancient stone walls all around and gave off a soft blue glow. Jack heard rushing water and walked forward a few steps. He looked down and saw the river.

  The Seine. The dark waters of the river flowed here, many dozens of meters below the surface of Paris.

  Jack grunted, thinking. An old tunnel, perhaps an abandoned subway or something even more ancient, now flooded. The sound of the water bounced off the arched ceiling and echoed into the distance as a chatter, a babble of spirit voices.

  This is it, he thought.

  There were two vessels moored to boat lifts along the passage as he went. They were silvery steel and nearly a dozen meters long with a shape like an elongated manta ray or the mantle of a squid. The sleek ships were dark with scum from the river and clearly had not been touched in many months. Jack knew these vessels as the peculiar and powerful
ships used by the Aquanauts. They were called Aquaboggins and he was trained in their use, both in water and in flight.

  They were formidable if flamboyant.

  “You’ll do, if need be, but there’s better, from what I’m told.”

  Jack walked on and paid no more attention to the docked Aquaboggins. There was a bit of amber light from wall sconces powered by Les Scaphandriers solar panels. The passages were tall and seemed endless. Jack walked for nearly fifteen minutes and then he saw a sight that made him fall to his knees in wonder.

  “A faster ship than this awaits in Paris,” he said again, this time so loudly that his voice echoed along the subterranean passage. He clapped his big hands in excitement and surveyed what he saw.

  Cables and hydraulic arms came down from a large structure built into the arched ceiling above the river and they descended further to create a cradle for a vessel that rested half submerged in the fast moving water.

  The ship was easily a dozen meters and sleek, with a hydrodynamic fuselage similar to the others. She was a beautiful thing of glowing emerald glass and golden metals and she was lined with thick cables like tendons that coursed with cobalt and green light.

  Jack stood and stared, not believing what he saw, a vessel he had known as an Aquaboggin but so different, so changed from what he captained. This was one of the old ships but she had been reborn as if destroyed and rebuilt by an artist from another world. He could feel her presence, he could sense that this was not just a vessel of glass and metal, that this ship was alive.

  This was a living Aquaboggin, as the legend told, and in that moment Jack knew this righteous vessel would deliver him to Elise St. Jacques.

  If this vessel was like the ones he knew from the past, then there would be tracking programs. It would fly at great speed and would have weapons capable of doing much damage. The desecration of L’Académie and the sacrifice of The Aquanauts was essential but Jack’s truest hope was that one of their great ships might still exist. This then, the living ship that saved Elise St. Jacques at The Turn of Worlds, would be the instrument of her death.