Jean-Claude Girard walked home alone on a chilly June night. Paris these days was a very scary place to walk alone in these days, and his eyes darted back and forth as he tried to avoid tripping over the remains of barricades and houses. Nothing had really been cleaned up since the battles of last month, except for a few now homeless Parisians hopelessly picking up the rubble that used to be their homes. Not even the air had healed,and every whiff he took of the night air was burned by the still powerful scent of gunpowder and death. He tripped over something soft, and as he fell to the floor let out a yell of surprise. When he realized what it was, he was suddenly overcome by the powerful odor, and vomited. He had tripped over the body of a dead soldier. He got up from sitting, and inspected the body for anything of value. It had probably already been gone over dozens of times, but tonight Jean-Claude was in luck. He pocketed the soldier's expensive-looking dagger into his pocket, and kept on his way.
He walked across a local square, and could faintly see the outlines of the gallows the Army had set up there. No one knew how many people had been convicted of sympathizing or fighting with the Worker's Republic, but he knew every day there were dozens of people hanged here, whether they be men, women, or children. The Government had cracked down hard. If the Army even heard you whisper the word Socialism here, the bet was you were now labeled an enemy of the state. Some of his neighbors had been taken, but he did not know to where. Some rumors said they were being sent to work camps in French territories around the world. Jean-Claude guessed it was better than an end at the gallows. Or at least he hoped.
And what of he and his family? So far they were able to stay low. As long as he didn't cause trouble, he thought they might be able to make it through this. No hell could last this long, could it?
As he neared the house, he saw that the door was open, and began to feel his stomach turn. Something was terribly wrong. Rushing in, he looked into the kitchen, where he finally saw them. Two French soldiers standing, hands on their holsters, with his wife, Eloise, and his two little children sitting at the kitchen table, crying.
"What is the meaning of this?" gasped Jean-Claude, trying to fend of a heart attack.
"Ah, Monsieur, you are home." The French soldier said. He looked like he was an officer. "I am Lieutenant Colbert, and this is Private DuPont. We are part of the Army's intelligence unit. We are investigating a supposed hospital for Socialist sympathizers during the final days of the insurrection, and based on some intelligence, eh, gathered from some other investigators, we have been led to your home Monsieur Girard." Colbert explained. Jean-Claude glanced at the private. DuPont said nothing. He didn't even have an expression on his face, which made him all the more frightening. He was stocky, cleanly shaven and tall, with menacing eyes that tore into him. He was most likely just the Lieutenants bodyguard, but he did his job well, and his presence only enhanced Colbert's cold persona.
"Lieutenant, I really have no idea what your talking abou-"
"We know the hospital was here Jean-Claude. We have testimonials from many men who were treated here. And the description of one of the men helping the wounded pefectly matches your own." The Lieutenant stared at Jean-Claude.
"Sir, I really did not have anything to do with this." Jean's heart was racing. He didn't know what they did to people who were labeled as sympathizers, but he knew they had names for them now. The Parisians called them
les disparus. The name sent shivers down his spine. The disappeared? What fate could be worse?
"Monsieur Girard, we know that it was here. You cannot prove otherwise. And if you really aren't going to make my job easy, your family will have to come with me...for, eh questioning.." His voice trailed off purposefully. Jean-Pierre's wife gasped and began to break into tears. Colbert looked at the wife, and back at Girard. "Have I made myself clear?"
Jean-Pierre stared at the table where Eloise and the children sat. He looked back at the officers. "When the Army came into Paris, a man came to me with a wounded child. He was a doctor, and he asked whether I could use my house, because it was the only one still standing on our street. I could not say no. Over the next day or so, more people came in with wounded loved ones, and finally, soldiers began to be brought in. I was not in support of this, but I could not watch these people die. I helped the doctor with medial tasks, I brought them water, and brought the doctor supplies. We did not just treat the Socialists Lieutenant, the doctor saved the lives of countless soldiers who fought with the Army. Now please, I beg of you. Do not harm my family."
Colbert gestured to Private DuPont. "Thank you for your cooperation Monsieur. Private DuPont, arrest this man for treason, and aiding and housing enemies of the state. Take the woman and children for questioning."
"NO!! Lieutenant! They did nothing! Leave them be I beg of you!" Jean-Claude cried out. He tried to run to them, but was stopped by the brute strength of the Private, who threw him against the wall with a surprising force. As he lay there, dazed by the impact against the wall, he saw hazily the sight of the officers moving towards his family, forcing them up from their seats. At that moment, his hand went over the hilt of the dagger he had picked up not too long ago. As the Private turns away from the family back to him, Jean-Claude, using the last of his energy to jump at the Private, drives the dagger into DuPont's chest, toppling the huge soldier to the ground. The Lieutenant, seeing the commotion happening only a few feet away, took out his pistol and shot it in the air, then pointed it at Girard's wife.
"Monsieur, you are going to drop the knife. You are going to come with me. And your wife may see tomorrow yet." Colbert was serious. Jean-Claude could see it in his cold face. He dropped the knife. As he got up from the lifeless, bloodstained body of the Private, another flash of movement came, not from the Lieutenant or Girard, but from Eloise, as she swung the small kitchen knife she had apparently hidden under her apron into Colbert's abdomen. As he winced in pain, Girard jumped again, this time into Colbert, and tackled him to the ground.
"You bitch!" the Lieutenant screamed in agony.
The fight was an age old fight for survival. Both were tired, and both used any trick they could to finally come out on top. As the two men struggled to get the upper hand, Eloise finally had the chance to kick the pistol from the Lieutenants hands. As she picked it up and aimed it at the Lieutenant, Jean-Claude rolled off him, and stood next to his wife. The Lieutenant, clutching his severely bleeding waist, gradually got up. His demeanor had completely changed. He was scared.
"Monsieur, and Madame, I think that-"
The pistol that was still in Eloise's hands fired three times, all three bullets smashing into the chest of Lieutenant Colbert. He fell almost in slow motion, his eyes were wide open, his face full of surprise. Eloise spit on the ground.
"Bâtard"
As the family looked at the scene that had just occurred in their kitchen, only one thought crossed Jean-Claude Girard's mind.
"We need to get out of France."