CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I Meet the Curate

Having realized the ability of humans to defend themselves, the Martians returned to their base camp in the sandpits. In their hurry to return with their damaged machine, the Martians failed to kill everyone in Shepperton. Had they not troubled with their fallen companion and gone on toward London, they would have found it quite easy; the military had not yet gathered its units and guns. London would surely have been just as devastated as Lisbon one hundred years ago, after its earthquake.

Now, however, the military was quickly pulling itself together and gaining strength. Guns were hidden within every neighborhood of every little village. Even among the ruins of previously destroyed areas, soldiers were in place, waiting to signal their comrades for the next attack.

Unfortunately, the Martians were also gaining in strength and numbers. Every twenty-four hours, a new group of falling cylinders came crashing into Earth. As for the Martians in Woking, they had moved all of their equipment from the other two camps to the sandpits and were working, without stop, to prepare for their next advance.

I, in the meantime, struggled to make my way to London, through the smoking ruins of Weybridge. I found a small boat floating in the river and jumped inside. It had no paddles, so I was forced to use my hands. Each time I stroked the water, a terrible pain ran through my burned body.

The towns along the river were all burned to the ground. And the surrounding countryside was full of little fires here and there. Occasionally, I could see the shadows of people running through the trees away from Weybridge. I had lost my shirt and the sun was shining painfully down on my backside. I tried to rest for a moment, but fear took control again and forced me to paddle some more.

When I came to a bridge at Middlesex, I got out of the boat and started to walk. I made it only a mile before needing to lie down in the tall grass at the side of the road. I had not seen anybody anywhere. I must have slept, because I remember opening my eyes and seeing a man standing nearby and looking up into the sky, which, at the time, was a beautiful blue and red sunset.

I quickly got to my feet and addressed him.

"You haven't any water, have you?"

He did not. His rather big, blue eyes looked tired, almost hopeless.

"What is all of this?" he asked, indicating the surrounding destruction. "What have we done to deserve this? Who are they to take all of this away from us?"

"But, then again, who are we to have it?" I responded. I was not really in the mood to start a deep conversation, but I could not help asking this, not just of this man, but of myself, as well.

He remained silent for a moment.

"Everything we've worked so hard for, here in Weybridge, is gone! Our church, the one we'd just rebuilt, gone in a matter of minutes."

I did not know what to say to him. It was apparent now that he was an assistant to the local priest, a curate. I asked him if the town of Sunbury was nearby, but he only went on asking the same kinds of unanswerable questions: Is there no hope? Has the Earth been given to these horrible beings? I could see that he was starting to go mad. I tried to encourage him to pull himself together.

"We still have hope," I said.

"God is punishing us! That is what it is! He's punishing us for all of our sins. We were warned not to sin, but did that stop us? Not in the slightest! And now it is as clear as day, God has become tired of man and has decided to rid himself of them!"

"Other places in the world have been destroyed by earthquakes and terrible storms. Is your town of Weybridge any different from those places? It shares the same Earth, and it will do as they have done; it will adapt and rebuild itself."

"But those ... Things cannot be destroyed!" he cried out.

"Ah, but I just saw one get killed earlier today. I saw it with my own two eyes. Now, over there in that direction, the Martians are at work, while up this way our military is preparing to fight."

"Wait, quiet!" he said suddenly. Far away, the sound of guns could be heard going off, along with a strange crying sound. It was a little similar to the cry of a siren that warns people of an approaching enemy.

"Let's get going," I said, "North is where we want to be."

(end of section)