Book 1 · Chapter 12

As the dawn got brighter, we backed away from the window where we’d been watching the Martians and went quietly downstairs. The artilleryman agreed with me that the house wasn't a safe place to be. He suggested he head to London and then rejoin his battery - No. twelve, of the Horse Artillery.

My plan was to go straight back to Leatherhead; and I was so freaked out by how strong the Martians were that I’d decided to take my wife to Newhaven and get out of the country right away.

I already knew that the area around London was going to be a disaster zone before we could take down those things. But between us and Leatherhead was the third cylinder, with those giant guards. If I’d been alone, I probably would have taken my chances and cut across the fields.

But the artilleryman talked me out of it: "It’s not fair to your wife to make her a widow," he said, and in the end, I agreed to go with him, hiding in the woods, north as far as Street Cobham before we split up. Then I’d take a big detour by Epsom to reach Leatherhead.

I should have left right away, but my friend had been in combat and knew better. He made me search the house for a flask, which he filled with whiskey. Then we stuffed every pocket with packets of biscuits and slices of meat.

Then we slipped out of the house and ran as fast as we could down the bumpy road I’d come in on the night before. The houses looked deserted. In the road, there were three charred bodies lying close together, zapped dead by the Heat-Ray.

And here and there were things people had dropped - a clock, a slipper, a silver spoon, those poor, useless valuables. At the corner heading up towards the post office, a little cart filled with boxes and furniture was overturned on a broken wheel.

Someone had smashed open a cash box and tossed it under the mess. Except for the lodge at the Orphanage, which was still burning, none of the houses had been hit too badly here. The Heat-Ray had just singed the chimney tops and moved on.

Still, aside from us, it didn’t look like there was a single living soul on Maybury Hill. Most of the people probably got out by way of the Old Woking road - the road I’d taken when I drove to Leatherhead - or they were hiding.

We went down the lane, past the body of the man in black, which was now soaked from the overnight rain, and ducked into the woods at the foot of the hill. We pushed through them towards the railway without seeing anyone.

The woods across the tracks were just scarred and blackened ruins; most of the trees had fallen, but a few still stood - grim, gray trunks with dark brown leaves instead of green. On our side, the fire hadn’t done much more than scorch the trees closest to us; it hadn’t really taken hold.

In one spot, woodcutters had been working on Saturday; trees, felled and freshly trimmed, lay in a clearing, with piles of sawdust by the sawing-machine and its engine. Nearby was a temporary hut, deserted. There wasn't a breeze this morning, and everything was really still.

Even the birds were quiet, and as we hurried along, I and the artilleryman talked in whispers and glanced over our shoulders now and again. Once or twice we stopped to listen.

After a while, we got close to the road, and as we did, we heard the sound of hooves and saw through the tree trunks three cavalry soldiers riding slowly towards Woking. We yelled out, and they stopped while we hurried towards them.

It was a lieutenant and a couple of privates of the eighth Hussars, with something like a theodolite, which the artilleryman told me was a heliograph. "You’re the first guys I’ve seen coming this way this morning," said the lieutenant. "What’s going on?"

"His voice and face were super eager. The guys behind him were staring, totally curious. The artilleryman jumped down the bank and into the road, then saluted. "Gun destroyed last night, sir. Been hiding out. Trying to rejoin the battery, sir.

"You’ll see the Martians, I expect, about half a mile down this road. "What the heck are they like?" asked the lieutenant. "Giants in armor, sir. Like, a hundred feet tall. Three legs and a body like aluminum, with a huge head in a hood, sir. "Get out!" said the lieutenant. "What crazy nonsense!"

"You’ll see, sir. They carry a kind of box, sir, that shoots fire and hits you dead. "What do you mean - a gun? "No, sir," and the artilleryman started describing the Heat-Ray. Halfway through, the lieutenant cut him off and looked up at me. I was still standing on the bank by the road.

"It’s totally true," I said. "Well," said the lieutenant, "I guess it’s my job to see it too. Look here" - to the artilleryman - "we’re supposed to be clearing people out of their houses. You should go find Brigadier-General Marvin and tell him everything you know. He’s at Weybridge. Know the way?"

"I do," I said; and he turned his horse south again. "Half a mile, you say?" said he. "At most," I answered, and pointed over the treetops southward. He thanked me and rode on, and we didn’t see them again.

Further down the road, we came across a group of three women and two kids clearing out a laborer’s cottage. They had a little hand truck, piling it up with messy bundles and old furniture. They were all working so hard they didn’t even stop to talk to us as we passed.

By Byfleet station, we came out of the pine trees and found the country calm and peaceful under the morning sun.

We were way beyond the range of the Heat-Ray there, and if it hadn’t been for the empty houses, the hustle of people packing up, and a bunch of soldiers standing on the bridge over the railroad and staring down the tracks towards Woking, it would have felt like any other Sunday.

Several farm wagons and carts were moving creakily along the road to Addlestone, and suddenly through the gate of a field, across a flat meadow, we saw six twelve-pounders standing neatly at equal distances, pointing towards Woking.

The gunners were standing by the guns, waiting, and the ammunition wagons were parked nearby. The men looked like they were under inspection. "That’s good!" said I. "They’ll get at least one good shot, that’s for sure. The artilleryman paused at the gate. "I’m going on," he said.

Further on towards Weybridge, just past the bridge, there were a bunch of guys in white fatigue jackets building a long rampart, and more guns behind. "It’s bows and arrows against lightning, I guess," said the artilleryman. "They haven’t seen that fire-beam yet."

The officers who weren’t busy were standing and staring over the treetops southwestward, and the guys digging would stop every now and again to stare in the same direction.

Byfleet was in chaos; people were packing, and a bunch of hussars, some on foot, some on horseback, were running around trying to organize them. Three or four black government trucks with white circles and crosses, and an old bus, among other vehicles, were being loaded in the village street.

There were tons of people, most of them dressed up like it was a special occasion. The soldiers were having a hard time getting them to understand how serious the situation was.

We saw one old, shriveled guy with a huge box and a bunch of flower pots full of orchids angrily arguing with the corporal who was trying to leave them behind. I stopped and grabbed his arm. "Do you know what’s over there? I said, pointing at the pine tops that hid the Martians.

"Huh?" he said, turning. "I was saying these are valuable." "Danger!" I shouted. "Danger is coming! Danger!" and leaving him to figure that out if he could, I hurried after the artillery guy. At the corner I looked back.

The soldier had left him, and he was still standing by his box, with the orchid pots on top, and staring blankly over the trees. Nobody in Weybridge could tell us where headquarters were. The whole place was total chaos, like nothing I’d ever seen.

Carts, carriages everywhere - the craziest mix of vehicles and horses. The regular folks - guys in golf and boating clothes, their wives dressed up nice - were packing. River-side locals were helping out, and the kids were super excited, totally loving this wild change from their usual Sunday.

In the middle of it all, the nice vicar was bravely holding an early service, and his bell was ringing above the noise. The artillery guy and I, sitting on the drinking fountain step, had a pretty good meal with what we brought.

Soldiers - not the fancy cavalry guys anymore, but grenadiers in white uniforms - were telling people to move or get to their cellars when the shooting started. Crossing the railroad bridge, we saw a bunch of people had gathered at the train station.

The platform was overflowing with boxes and packages. Regular train service had stopped so troops and guns could get through to Chertsey. I later heard there was a crazy fight for spots on the special trains they put on later.

We stayed in Weybridge until noon, and then we were near Shepperton Lock, where the Wey and Thames rivers meet. We spent some time helping two old ladies pack a little cart. The Wey splits into three channels, and at this point you could rent boats, and there was a ferry across the river.

On the Shepperton side was an inn with a lawn, and beyond that, the tower of Shepperton Church - now a spire - rose above the trees. We found a really excited and noisy crowd of people fleeing. It wasn't a full-blown panic yet, but there were already way more people than all the boats could carry.

People were rushing along with heavy loads; one couple was even carrying a small shed door between them, with some of their stuff piled on top. One guy told us he was going to try to get away from Shepperton station. There was a lot of shouting, and one guy was even joking around.

The idea people had was that the Martians were just tough humans who might attack and loot the town, but they’d eventually be destroyed. Every now and then people would nervously glance across the Wey, at the fields towards Chertsey, but it was still quiet over there.

Across the Thames, except where the boats were landing, everything was quiet, a sharp contrast to the Surrey side. The people who got off the boats were walking down the lane. The big ferryboat had just made a trip.

Three or four soldiers were standing on the inn’s lawn, staring and joking at the people fleeing, without offering to help. The inn was closed, because it was past closing time. "What’s that?" yelled a boatman, and "Shut up, you idiot!" said a man near me to a yelping dog.

Then the sound came again, this time from the direction of Chertsey - a muffled thud - the sound of a gun.

The fighting was starting. Almost immediately, unseen cannons across the river to our right, hidden by the trees, opened fire, blasting away one after the other. A woman screamed. Everyone froze, stunned by the sudden chaos happening so close, yet invisible.

All you could see were flat fields, cows munching away, and silvery willow trees still in the warm sunlight. "The soldiers will stop them," a woman next to me said, sounding unsure. A haze started rising over the treetops.

Then, suddenly, we saw a plume of smoke far up the river, a puff that shot up and hung in the air. Right after that, the ground shook and a huge explosion blasted the air, smashing a few windows in nearby houses, and leaving us totally shocked. "They’re here!" a guy in a blue jersey shouted.

"Over there! Do you see them? Over there! " Quickly, one after the other, one, two, three, four of the armored Martians appeared, far off over the little trees, across the flat fields stretching towards Chertsey, and heading fast towards the river.

They looked like tiny hooded figures at first, moving with a rolling motion and as quick as flying birds. Then, moving diagonally towards us, came a fifth. Their armored bodies glittered in the sun as they sped toward the guns, getting bigger and bigger as they got closer.

One on the far left, the one furthest away, raised a huge case high in the air, and the ghostly, terrifying Heat-Ray I’d already seen on Friday night shot towards Chertsey, hitting the town.

Seeing these strange, fast, and terrifying creatures, the crowd near the water’s edge seemed to me to be totally horrified for a moment. There was no screaming or shouting, just silence. Then a hoarse murmur and people moving - a splash from the water.

A guy, too scared to drop his suitcase he was carrying on his shoulder, spun around and knocked me over with a blow from the corner of it. A woman shoved past me with her hand. I turned with the rush of people, but I wasn’t too terrified to think. The terrifying Heat-Ray was in my mind.

Get under the water! That was it! "Get under the water! I shouted, but no one heard me. I turned back and ran towards the approaching Martian, racing down the gravelly beach and headfirst into the water. Others did the same. A boatload of people heading back jumped out as I ran past.

The stones under my feet were muddy and slippery, and the river was so low that I ran maybe twenty feet, barely waist-deep. Then, as the Martian towered overhead, barely two hundred yards away, I threw myself forward under the surface.

The splashes of people jumping into the boats sounded like thunderclaps in my ears. People were scrambling onto the banks on both sides of the river.

But the Martian machine didn’t even notice the people running this way and that any more than a person would notice a bunch of ants scattering when their foot kicks a nest.

When I raised my head above the water, half-suffocated, the Martian’s hood was pointed at the cannons still firing across the river, and as it advanced, it swung out what must have been the generator for the Heat-Ray. In another moment, it was on the bank, and in one stride, wading halfway across.

The knees of its front legs bent at the far bank, and in another moment, it had raised itself to its full height again, close to the village of Shepperton. Right then, the six guns hidden behind the edge of that village, fired all at once. The sudden, close-together blast made my heart jump.

The monster was already raising the case generating the Heat-Ray as the first shell exploded just six yards above its hood.

I let out a yell of surprise. I didn't even notice the other four Martian monsters; I was totally focused on what was happening closer by. At the same time, two more shells exploded in the air near the creature as the hood twisted just enough to catch, but not dodge, the fourth shell.

The shell blew up right in the Thing’s face. The hood bulged, flashed, and was ripped off in a dozen torn pieces of red flesh and sparkling metal. "Hit! I yelled, a mix between a scream and a cheer. I heard shouts from the people in the water around me.

I could’ve jumped out of the water, I was so excited. The headless giant staggered like a drunk, but it didn’t fall over. Somehow, it managed to regain its balance, and, with the camera that fired the Heat-Ray now held high, it stumbled quickly towards Shepperton.

The Martian inside the hood, the living brain, was gone, scattered to the wind, and now the Thing was just a complicated metal machine whirling towards destruction. It drove straight ahead, unable to be steered.

It slammed into the tower of Shepperton Church, smashing it down like a battering ram would, swerved, and collapsed with a huge crash into the river, disappearing from my sight. A huge explosion shook the air, and a spray of water, steam, mud, and shattered metal shot way up into the sky.

When the camera from the Heat-Ray hit the water, it instantly turned into steam. A second later, a giant wave, like a muddy tidal bore but super hot, came sweeping around the bend upstream.

I saw people struggling towards the shore and heard their screams and shouts faintly above the noise of the Martian's collapse. For a moment, I didn't notice the heat, forgot about needing to protect myself.

I splashed through the wild water, shoving a guy in black out of the way, until I could see around the bend. Half a dozen empty boats were bobbing aimlessly on the waves. I saw the fallen Martian downstream, mostly underwater.

Thick clouds of steam were pouring off the wreckage, and through the swirling mist, I could see, now and then, the giant limbs churning the water and splashing mud and foam into the air.

The tentacles swayed and lashed out like living arms, and except for the helpless, pointless way they moved, it looked like some wounded thing was fighting for its life in the waves. Huge amounts of a reddish-brown liquid were gushing out of the machine in noisy bursts.

My attention was pulled away from this chaotic scene by a furious yelling, like the alarms they use in our factories. A guy knee-deep near the path shouted something I couldn’t hear and pointed. Looking back, I saw the other Martians striding down the riverbank from the direction of Chertsey.

The Shepperton guns fired this time, but it was useless. I ducked under the water right away, holding my breath until moving was agony, and blundered painfully ahead underwater as long as I could. The water around me was a mess and getting hotter fast.

When I raised my head for a breath and to wipe the water from my eyes, steam was rising in a swirling white fog that at first hid the Martians completely. The noise was deafening. Then I saw them dimly, giant figures of grey, magnified by the mist.

They had passed me, and two were leaning over the frothy, chaotic ruins of their comrade. The third and fourth stood in the water, one maybe two hundred yards from me, the other towards Laleham. The Heat-Ray generators waved high, and the hissing beams shot this way and that.

The air was insane - a total chaos of sounds. The Martians were making this crazy clangorous noise, houses were collapsing, trees and fences were exploding in flames, and fire was crackling and roaring everywhere.

Thick black smoke shot up, mixing with steam from the river, and as the Heat-Ray zipped back and forth over Weybridge, it left behind flashes of blinding white light that instantly turned into swirling, bright orange flames.

The houses closest to the river still stood, waiting to be destroyed, shadowy and pale in the steam, with the fire moving around them. For a second, I just stood there, chest-deep in almost boiling water, totally freaked out by where I was and hopeless about getting out.

Through the smoky smell, I could see the people who’d been with me in the river scrambling out through the reeds, like little frogs darting through grass when someone's coming, or running around in total panic on the path alongside the river.

Then, suddenly, those bright flashes of the Heat-Ray started zooming toward me. Houses crumbled and melted away at its touch, exploding with flames; trees instantly burst into fire with a huge roar.

The Ray zipped up and down the path, grabbing people who were running every which way, and came right down to the water's edge, not fifty yards from where I stood. It shot across the river to Shepperton, and the water in its path boiled up in a huge wave, covered in steam. I turned toward the land.

In another moment, this massive wave, practically boiling, rushed over me. I screamed, and got burned and half-blinded, in so much pain, and stumbled through the jumping, hissing water toward the shore. If I’d tripped, it would’ve been over.

I fell helplessly, right in front of the Martians, onto this wide, bare, gravelly strip of land that runs down to where the Wey and Thames meet. I thought I was a goner.

I have a vague memory of the foot of a Martian coming down within about twenty yards of my head, smashing straight into the loose gravel, sending it flying, and then lifting again; of a long, tense moment, and then of four Martians carrying the remains of their buddy between them, sometimes clear and sometimes hidden behind a curtain of smoke, moving farther and farther away, it seemed like, across a huge stretch of river and meadow.

And then, really slowly, I realized that somehow, unbelievably, I’d made it out.