story snippet

The city of Paris burns. Fire has already swept though most of the city and smoke billows from collapsing roofs. Every now and then a scream shatters the unusual calm as the last of the survivors are hunted down. The river Seine runs a dull green, as soot, blood, and the bi-products of a biochemical war make their way to the sea. The Eiffel tower lies stricken, it's ironmongery twisted, burned and subdued to gravity.
The acrid smell of burning corpses fills the air, and reacts violently to the sickly sweet smell of roses. A bouquet rests where it was trampled in panic, no longer the only bright red colour on these ancient streets. A gift never given, and never will.
Out of the clouds and smog rises a solitary airship, a survivor of peaceful times and unrelenting logic. It's once silver coating is blackened from explosives, proving it to be unique. Another thing here that Should Not Be. A portside engine trails smoke, causing the behemoth to list to the left as it limps through the sky.

I turn away from the burning city and address the cabin;
"Well, Looks like we're all that's left"