Elise and The Astonishing Aquanauts

by Steven Welch

  “Yes,” said Renny, “of course, she is. Aren’t we all?”

  Fat old Renny leaned over to Elise and spoke. His voice was low and measured and his eyes did not blink.

  “I woke up too, with a dog and a mother who cared for me, in my little apartment in the 18th. There was a terrible sound and a wind threatened to blow down our building. The television was showing a movie about the end of the world, but it wasn’t a movie, it was the news, and it was happening all over the world at once. It started with the ocean. The ocean disappeared, all of it, in a flash. Then, there was no reason, no warning, just things coming up from the ground and dropping from the sky and no bullets, no bombs, no warships in our mighty French army could stop them. By the time I had finished my coffee I had watched America fall on my little flat screen, and by the time we had made lunch there were screams outside of my apartment and my dog was barking and my mother was screaming and I looked outside of my window, I lived on the third floor, and I saw these things, these awful things, chasing my neighbors through the streets, tearing into them, killing them, going door to door. I saw the Seine drain away. I looked up and I saw them in the sky.”

  He stopped and took a breath, then a sip of wine.

  “By the time mother had prepared dinner our city had fallen. Our world had fallen, for all I knew. The sky turned the color of mud and the wind was a hurricane. And days became weeks and we tried to find peace but first they killed and ate my dog and then they killed and ate my mother and then I found some people who could help and the things got most of them too and as time went by there was just Robert and this little place that escapes their notice and we sit in here and smoke and drink and pray we’re not found so we might die a peaceful death in our sleep as drunken old men.”

  “So, girl,” he said, “the marks on the wall over there represent the nine years, five months, and twelve days Robert and I have been in this place. But it has been ten years since that morning when I woke up to the end of the world and I still do not know what happened or why. In the movies, you know, they show you the alien invasion, the zombie horde rising up, the meteor falling from the sky. And there’s always a scientist or a hero who will tell you what is going on, what planet or what hell the villains are from, and how they are to be stopped and at what terrible cost. But this did not happen as it does in movies or in books or in songs about the end of all things. This happened after breakfast and before lunch and I have no idea why.”

  And with that, Renny stopped talking and sat back in his chair, staring at his hands.

  There was a low whistle from the wind beyond the street, and a light ticking from a clock sitting somewhere in the darkness. There was the smell of cigarettes and of old men who had not washed in a long time. Elise took a moment to consider what Renny had just said before she asked,

  “And what about that balloon?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TAKE THE BLADE

  ELISE WOULD HAVE felt this was foolish if she were more self-aware.

  She would have mentally kicked herself.

  These two harmless old men had been leading a perfectly peaceful life, hidden away in their little cafe, and now she was escorting them outside to look at a big blue balloon that might have been a figment of her over-heated imagination.

  But she was excited to have someone with her as they made their way outside, and self awareness was sometimes a rare commodity for Elise.

  She picked up her backpack from its hiding spot and strapped it to her back.

  Renny and Robert followed her, crouched low, looking this way and that like squirrels crossing a street wary of the inevitable car to come and squash them.

  The distance from the cafe, through the rough barricade, down the passage and into the street was short, less than a hundred meters. It felt like a journey of a thousand miles.

  “There. It was flying there. Toward the tower.”

  Elise pointed up and to the west, into the blob of orange that might have been the sun.

  “I’ve never seen or heard of a balloon. Are you sure it wasn’t a jelly?”

  “A what?”

  Renny shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s what we call them. They float, they have lots of arms, some as small as your hand and some as big as a house. Air jellies.”

  “Take you up screaming as soon as piss on you. Horrid things,” Robert added.

  Elise thought about what she had seen.

  “No. It had no arms, and it was trimmed in gold. I saw the flame that kept it in the air.”

  “Well, be that as it may, we’re not going up there. I’d rather sip my wine and die of lung cancer from my old cigarettes, thank you.”

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “Maybe not, but still.”

  “Cancer is just another thing that eats you, you know. Just more slowly than a monster.”

  “You’re clever, for a little girl.”

  “And you’re annoying and need a bath,” said Elise, “but are you coming with me?”

  Robert seemed ready to continue but Renny put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “No.”

  Elise didn’t understand.

  “Someone flew a balloon to the top. We need to go see who it is.”

  Renny shook his head.

  “We’ve seen enough.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Then you’ll die, Elise.”

  Renny turned and began walking back to the cafe.

  Robert hesitated, then smiled and dropped to a knee in front of Elise.

  “Come with us. We’ll keep you safe as best we can, there’s food and wine enough. And Renny isn’t as bad as he seems.”

  “Yes I am, I’m awful and I don’t want a little girl living with us. Let her go, Robert.”

  “Shut up, you old pisser. Come on, girl, you’re a fool and you’ll die a fool’s death if you go much further by yourself.”

  A long moment passed.

  Sometimes when you play solitaire you can’t help peeking at the next card. When you run you want to take one more step. When you dream you want one more moment in bed.

  “I’m going to see what’s at the top of the tower. From there, I will see for miles and miles and maybe I can find even more people. So thank you, but no, I’m going.”

  Robert shrugged.

  “Fine. I don’t like kids anyway.”

  “But one favor. I want you to take this.”

  And that’s how Elise came to own a sharp knife.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SCYNDA

  WHAT HAD HAPPENED here?

  A battle, a birth, a murder?

  Scynda moved down the side of the building, every bit of her skin the color of brick, the texture of mortar, so she blended with the city around her.

  If you looked at the building you would not see her, unless she wanted to be seen, and if she wanted to be seen you only had a gnat’s breath to live.

  She wasn’t just invisible because that was a cheat and of no proper use.

  She was unseen.

  She became.

  That was her gift as a special and blessed child of the First Sea.

  There was no finer thing than to be there, in plain sight but unseen, stalking, smiling in anticipation of feasting, a part of all and yet a part of nothing.

  When a world was turned and drained, Scynda arrived on The Shock Tide, along with her dark assassins and other, stranger things.

  This world was rich, and the hunting had been wonderful. So little resistance. Now though, there was this amusing puzzle of blood and tissue.

  She slithered to where The Man of Many Eyes was lying in a wide splatter of its own…self. Her skin was brown, then gray, then she relaxed and became as silver as the belly of a dead fish. This was her natural color, and she knew it could be used because whatever had killed the lurker, The Man of Many Eyes, was long gone.

  Her eyelashes wave to and fro because they were tentacles as long as a frog leg and they helped her s
ense things.

  Tiny hairs along her arms began to feel the air as well.

  What was that? Something different.

  The smell of blood, of course. And fear. Fear was a smell, and it was strong here. But something else?

  Her skin opened and reached out too, each cell so hungry, so in control of its own ways and yet a slave to her will. A new smell? A quick ripple wave of blue passed along her surface. Yes, a new smell. Crab, yes, dead sea monkey, yes, but something else.

  Human. Young and female. Harsh clean smell, not like the rest, a fresh smell, the smell the human’s had when the change had come. A fresh smell didn’t belong in this world.

  I must hunt and kill this clean new thing that doesn’t belong here before it does any real harm.

  She stood over the remains of the lurker.

  She was Scynda the Mirror, the seeker, the arrow in the night, the leader of the Men of Many Eyes.

  She became as black and red as the alley at her feet. Others appeared, moving quietly, almost gently, but with awful purpose, dark, slender, sinister men with mouths full of knitting needles and so many, many eyes.

  They were the Lurkers, The Shadow Men, The Men of Many Eyes, and they formed a circle of seven around Scynda.

  She looked as human as human, as sleek and beautiful as a painting in one of their old museums, but as awful as horror on the face of a newborn. Scynda raised her arm, her cells sniffing the air for any sign.

  And then she smiled and pointed to the west.

  The Lurkers moved off, on the hunt.

  Scynda became the color of the dust and followed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MY FIELD OF SLUGS

  ELISE ONCE PLAYED a video game where you were a frog.

  It was an old game, something her Dad might once have played. She moved towards the Eiffel Tower like the frog in that old game, dashing from side of the street to side of the street, from pile of rubble to wrecked car to overturned public toilet to sand dune. And all the time she was hoping she didn’t get squashed because she didn’t think there was another round in this game.

  The air was getting colder. The red fire of the sun was sinking lower and lower, and shadows were growing longer.

  A rusted old carousel made deep squeaking sounds as it moved in the breeze. There were sand blasted unicorns and mermaids; the color removed left the sad sculptures bare and gray ghosts.

  The park was a desert, of course, and there were dunes piled high, with pointy tips, like sand castles. Some were as high as her waist while a couple of these stood a good ten meters from base to tip. They were weird, and she steered clear of them where she could.

  She kept her head on a swivel, always looking for movement. She had tied the long machete to a bit of rope and wrapped the rope around her waist. The blade was in a sheath of old leather. It didn’t make her feel any safer. But it was there if things got bad, and she felt she could use it.

  Elise loved animals, but had no qualms about eating meat, so killing something wasn’t a concern. At her age, the connection between the ham in your croque monsieur and the pig in the petting zoo was tenuous. She smiled and felt warm inside when she saw a puppy, but had no problem at all dissecting a frog in science class, or killing a spider on the wall.

  Of course, the frog doesn’t fight back, but still.

  As you know, there’s a surprising coldness that can manifest at the most unexpected times in the heart of a child and perhaps the universe saw fit to put it there as protection against what might lay in wait. There are moments when children need to be dangerous.

  *

  By the time she had dashed and ducked and hid and scrambled to the Champs de Mar, the wide park at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, the sun had disappeared behind the skyline of dead Paris and Elise was exhausted.

  Night was cold, and the winds came, sandblasting all in their path. Lightning came too, along with the shock flies and dust devils of electricity that danced and haunted the land.

  Elise shivered and munched on a candy bar as she hid tucked away inside a twisted pile of burnt out cars. Getting deep into the wreck without getting cut or stuck had been a trick, but now she was squirreled away in a little steel den where she felt as safe as could be, and to top it off she had, through the maze of metal, a clear view of the tower.

  Once the Girls of the Garden were taken on a bus trip to the Museum of Science at night. On the way, Elise had marveled at the beauty of the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled, a million lights all twinkling in synchronization, illuminating the night, firing the imagination.

  There were always so many tourists, thousands of them, always a crowd.

  It was always a dream for Elise to be in the tower and go to the top, to see the city at her feet and all around her.

  Now it was dead, a skeleton against the roar of the sandstorm night.

  How can I get those lights back on, she thought.

  She didn’t once think of being back with Robert and Renny at the cafe.

  But where was the balloon?

  It wasn’t tied to the top of the tower, nor was it sitting on the second deck, not that she could see.

  Of course, seeing was a problem as the night wore on.

  The sandstorm was so thick visibility was limited, and the air was alive with the sparks she had come to understand as static electricity, the painful result of so much sand whipping against so much sand at such high speeds.

  There would be no taking the tower tonight. Too dark, too dangerous, too much storm and sand.

  She was twelve, she was brave, but she wasn’t stupid.

  Elise had taken a blanket from the old woman’s candy store. She wrapped it around her and curled into a ball, back against a cold wall made of someone’s Peugeot, and fell fast sleep.

  *

  She had been buried alive.

  What time is it?

  It was pitch black inside of her hiding place and her view of the tower was gone. She reached out and touched sand.

  The sandstorm had buried her in the night.

  Elise felt a moment of panic and pushed her hand out further. Her fingers went through the dune and she felt the cold morning air. Light shot through the sand as it sifted away.

  This was a good place to keep safe and she would remember it. She tidied up the candy wrappers by burying them and then took a sip from a water bottle.

  Elise stepped out of the wreckage and looked about.

  The morning was tranquil, with the wind just an echo. The sandstorm had created new dunes here and there, and the white powder had accumulated over and around her hiding place and made it look as if the cars and debris were dusted with confectionary sugar.

  She missed the morning sound of birds. The pigeons were such a part of Paris, such a part of the soundtrack. Their absence made her sad.

  And then she heard someone singing.

  It was far off, so distant, but it was a voice, singing, and it was singing “La Vien Rose.”

  Her heart jack-hammered. Where was it coming from?

  Elise walked across the sand covered expanse of the Champs de Mars, toward the tower, trying to figure out where the song was coming from. She was a tiny thing in the shadow of a giant, a speck on a vast ocean of sand, so small and dark and obvious.

  She was walking backwards, looking around, when her foot tripped over something and she fell.

  It didn’t hurt. The sand was soft. For a moment she considered making a sand angel. Then she looked to see what she had fallen over.

  The lump, half buried in sand, was brown and slimy, like a garden slug, but the size of a her backpack. It roiled and quivered, sand sticking to its sticky skin.

  Elise froze and watched the thing as it rolled over and presented hundreds of little pink tentacles, each boasting a fang like a cat’s tooth. At the center of it was a hideous mouth.

  She was running before she could think. She stumbled again and was up fast. Another of the things. Then she focused, looked around, not at the sky, not at t
he tower, but at the sandy desert all around her.

  There were hundreds of these brown lumps, these sand slugs with claws. Thousands. They were everywhere, some covered with sand and just bumps in the dust, others in the open, squirming and dirty like worms.

  Stand still. Figure it out.

  Ok. They didn’t move quickly, at least not yet. Giant slugs, but she was quick and if she was careful they couldn’t hurt her.

  Watch your step, she told herself, as she made her way across the park’s lawn. Just watch your step and it will be fine.

  The voice was still singing. Elise let the voice calm her, and she walked with care, avoiding the slugs, walking toward the tower.

  The rising sun cast light from the east and then she noticed that the things didn’t like the light. As the sun touched them, they squirmed and wormed their way into the sand, hidden.

  Just like earthworms. They come out at night then bury themselves in the day.

  Well, that doesn’t help, she said to herself, just as she stepped on something squishy.

  The slug wrapped around her boot in an instant. She felt sudden, heavy pressure as it squeezed her calf and then dozens of pointy things tried to push through her thick boot.

  Elise grabbed the machete.

  She couldn’t hear the singing through her own cries of horror.

  She brought the blade down softly at first, afraid to cut herself, then harder, with desperate strength, when she felt one of the claws penetrate the boot and touch her skin.

  The machete cut the slug open like a watermelon and something that looked like white spaghetti noodles in broth spilled out all over the sand.

  It released her and fell dead.

  Elise ran, avoiding lumps in the sand, hoping for the best.

  That was one of the most disgusting things ever, she thought. Seriously. Who has guts that look like spaghetti noodles in broth?

  One of the sand pyramids stood in her path, with slugs to either side. She dashed to the left of the hill, her shoulder slamming into it as she went, her feet dancing to avoid the slugs.