Book 1 · Chapter 16

The sheer terror that hit the biggest city in the world just as Monday was starting - it was like a tidal wave.

People were fleeing, a flood of them rushing to the train stations, pushing and shoving in a chaotic mess around the docks on the Thames, and scrambling north and east on every possible route.

By ten o’clock, the police were falling apart, and by noon, even the train companies were losing control, collapsing under the pressure, dissolving in the rapid breakdown of society.

All the train lines north of the Thames and the South-Eastern folks at Cannon Street had been warned by Sunday midnight, and trains were filling up fast. People were fighting like crazy for just a spot to stand in the cars, even at two o’clock.

By three, people were getting trampled and crushed just a couple hundred yards from Liverpool Street station in Bishopsgate Street. Guns were fired, people were stabbed, and the police, exhausted and furious, were even hitting the people they were supposed to protect.

As the day went on and the train engineers and stokers refused to come back to London, the pressure of the escape drove the crowds into an even thicker mass away from the stations and along the roads heading north.

By noon, someone had spotted a Martian at Barnes, and a slow-moving cloud of black smoke drifted along the Thames and across the flatlands of Lambeth, blocking off all escape over the bridges.

Another cloud covered Ealing, trapping a small group of survivors on Castle Hill - alive, but with no way out.

After a wasted effort to get on a Northwestern train at Chalk Farm - where the engines of the trains that had loaded in the goods yard were plowing through screaming people, and a dozen strong guys were fighting to keep the crowd from crushing the driver against his furnace - my brother made it onto the Chalk Farm road.

He dodged through a rush of cars and was lucky enough to be first to grab stuff from a bike shop. The front tire of the bike he got was flat from being dragged through the window, but he got up and rode off anyway, with just a cut wrist.

The steep hill of Haverstock Hill was blocked by overturned horses, so my brother took Belsize Road instead. That's how he got out of the worst of the panic and, skirting the Edgware Road, reached Edgware around seven, hungry and worn out, but ahead of the crowd.

Along the road, people were standing around, curious and confused. He passed a bunch of cyclists, a few horse riders, and two cars. A mile from Edgware, the wheel rim broke, and the bike became unrideable. He left it by the side of the road and started walking through the village.

Half-open shops lined the main street, and people crowded onto the sidewalks and in doorways and windows, staring in amazement at the unbelievable parade of people fleeing that was starting. He managed to get some food at an inn. For a while, he stayed in Edgware, not sure what to do next.

The number of fleeing people kept growing. Many of them, like my brother, seemed happy to hang around. There was no new information about the invaders from Mars. At that time, the road was crowded, but not completely jammed.

Most of the escapees were on bikes, but soon there were also cars, horse-drawn cabs, and carriages speeding along, and thick clouds of dust filled the air along the road to St. Albans.

It was maybe a vague idea of heading to Chelmsford, where some friends of his lived, that finally made my brother turn onto a quiet lane running east. Soon he came across a low fence, and after climbing over, he followed a path northeast.

He passed several farms and some little places he didnn't learn the names of. He didn’t see many people escaping until, in a grassy lane towards High Barnet, he ran into two ladies who became his travel buddies. He got there just in time to save them.

He heard their screams, and, rushing around the corner, saw two guys struggling to pull them out of a small pony-carriage they’d been driving in, while a third guy was barely holding back the scared pony’s head.

One of the ladies, a short woman dressed in white, was just screaming; the other, a dark, slender figure, slashed at the guy who grabbed her arm with a whip she held in her free hand. My brother immediately understood what was happening, yelled, and hurried towards the fight.

One of the guys backed off and turned towards him, and my brother, realizing from his face that a fight was coming, and being a really good boxer, went straight for him and knocked him down against the carriage wheel.

It wasn't a time for fancy fighting, so my brother took him down with a kick and grabbed the collar of the guy who was pulling on the slender lady’s arm.

He heard the sound of hooves, the whip stung his face, a third guy hit him in the eyes, and the guy he was holding yanked himself free and ran down the lane in the direction he’d come from.

Partly stunned, he found himself facing the guy who’d been holding the horse’s head, and watched as the carriage disappeared down the lane, swaying back and forth, with the women looking back. The guy in front of him, a burly tough, tried to lunge forward, and he stopped him with a blow to the face.

Then, realizing he’s been abandoned, he dodged around and took off down the lane after the carriage, with the sturdy guy close behind, and the runaway following from a distance.

Suddenly he tripped and fell; his immediate pursuer went head over heels, and he got to his feet to find himself facing two guys again. He wouldn’t have stood a chance against them if the slender lady hadn’t bravely pulled up and returned to help him.

It turns out she’s had a gun the whole time, but it’s been under the seat when she and her friend were attacked. She fired at close range, narrowly missing my brother. The less brave of the robbers took off, and his partner followed, cursing his cowardice.

They both stopped down the lane, where the third guy lay unconscious. "Take this!" said the slender lady, and she handed my brother her gun. "Go back to the carriage," said my brother, wiping the blood from his split lip.

She turned without a word - they were both catching their breath - and they went back to where the lady in white struggled to hold back the frightened pony. The robbers had clearly had enough. When my brother looked again, they were retreating.

"I’ll sit here," said my brother, "if that’s okay"; and he got onto the empty front seat. The lady glanced over her shoulder. "Give me the reins," she said, and cracked the whip across the pony’s side. In a moment, a bend in the road hid the three men from my brother’s eyes.

So, totally unexpectedly, my brother found himself, panting, with a cut mouth, a bruised jaw, and bloodstained knuckles, driving along an unknown lane with these two women.

He learned they were the wife and the younger sister of a surgeon living in Stanmore. He’s come in the early hours from a really tough case in Pinner and heard about the Martian attack at some train station on his way.

He rushed home, woke the women - their housekeeper had quit a couple of days before - grabbed some snacks, put his revolver under the seat - luckily for my brother - and told them to drive to Edgware to catch a train. He stopped behind to let the neighbors know.

He said he’d catch up with them around half past four in the morning, but it was almost nine now, and they hadn’t seen him. They couldn’t stay in Edgware because there was so much traffic, so they’d ended up down this side street.

That’s the story they told my brother in bits and pieces when they stopped again, closer to New Barnet. He promised to stay with them, at least until they could figure out what to do, or until the missing man showed up.

He pretended to be a good shot with the revolver - a weapon he’s never used before - to give them confidence. They made a makeshift camp by the side of the road, and the pony seemed happier in the bushes.

He told them about how he’d escaped London and everything he knew about the Martians and their plans. The sun climbed higher, and after a while, their talking faded into a tense feeling of waiting. A few people wandered down the lane, and my brother got whatever news he could from them.

Every vague answer just strengthened his feeling of the huge disaster that had hit humanity and how important it was to keep running. He pushed them to keep going. "We have money," said the slender woman, and paused. Her eyes met my brother’s, and her hesitation disappeared.

"So do I," said my brother. She explained that they had about thirty pounds in gold, plus a five-pound note, and that with that, they might be able to get on a train in St. Albans or New Barnet.

My brother thought that was unlikely, seeing how crazy the Londoners were trying to cram onto the trains, and suggested they head across Essex towards Harwich and escape the country altogether.

Mrs. Elphinstone - that was the name of the woman in white - wouldn’t listen to reason, and kept calling for "George"; but her sister-in-law was surprisingly calm and thoughtful, and finally agreed with my brother’s idea.

So, planning to cross the Great North Road, they continued towards Barnet, my brother leading the pony to save its energy. As the sun climbed higher, the day got really hot, and the sand underfoot became burning and blinding, so they moved really slowly. The hedges were coated in dust.

As they got closer to Barnet, a growing rumble got louder. They started seeing more people. Most of them were staring straight ahead, muttering confused questions, tired, haggard, and dirty. A man in a tuxedo walked past on foot, his eyes on the ground.

They heard him shouting, and when they looked back, they saw one hand tangled in his hair and the other hitting at invisible things. Once his outburst was over, he kept walking without looking back.

As my brother’s group headed towards the intersection south of Barnet, they saw a woman approaching the road across some fields on their left, carrying a baby and with two other kids. Then they passed a man in a dirty black suit, with a thick stick in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.

Rounding the corner of the lane, from between the houses that lined it where it met the main road, came a little cart pulled by a sweaty black pony and driven by a pale young man in a bowler hat, covered in dust.

There were three girls, factory girls from the East End, and a couple of little kids crammed into the cart.

"Will this take us around Edgware?" asked the driver, looking wild and pale. When my brother told him it would if he turned left, he sped off without even a thank you.

My brother noticed a pale grey smoke or haze rising among the houses ahead, veiling the white front of a row of houses beyond the road that appeared between the backs of the villas. Mrs. Elphinstone suddenly shouted at a bunch of red flames leaping up above the houses against the hot, blue sky.

The noise got louder - lots of voices mixing together, wheels grinding, wagons creaking, and horses’ hooves pounding. The lane turned sharply, not fifty yards from the crossroads. "Good heavens!" cried Mrs. Elphinstone. "What are you driving us into? My brother stopped.

The main road was a flood of people, a rush of human beings heading north, pushing against each other. A huge cloud of white dust, bright in the sunlight, made everything within twenty feet grey and blurry.

It was constantly being stirred up by the hurried feet of a dense crowd of horses and men and women on foot, and by the wheels of all sorts of vehicles. "Move! Make way!" voices were shouting.

It felt like riding into smoke from a fire as they approached where the lane and road met; the crowd roared like a fire, and the dust was hot and stinging. And, sure enough, a little way up the road a villa was burning, sending thick black smoke rolling across the road and adding to the chaos.

Two men passed them. Then a dirty woman, carrying a heavy bundle and crying. A lost retriever dog, with its tongue hanging out, circled around them nervously, scared and miserable, and ran off when my brother threatened it.

As much as they could see of the road heading towards London between the houses on the right was a chaotic stream of hurried people, squeezed between the villas on either side.

The dark heads and crowded bodies became clearer as they rushed towards the corner, hurried past, and lost themselves again in a receding crowd swallowed up by a cloud of dust. "Go on! Go on!" voices yelled. "Move! Move! One man’s hands pushed against the back of another.

My brother stood by the pony’s head. Irresistibly drawn in, he moved slowly, step by step, down the lane. Edgware had been chaotic, Chalk Farm a wild mess, but this was a whole population on the move. It’s hard to believe how many there were. It had no real feel to it.

The figures poured past the corner, and disappeared with their backs to the group in the lane. Along the edges walked people on foot, threatened by the wheels, stumbling in the ditches, bumping into each other.

The carts and carriages were packed together, barely making way for the faster, more impatient vehicles that darted forward whenever they could, sending people scattering against the fences and gates of the villas. "Push on! Push on! They’re coming!" was the cry.

In one cart sat a blind man in a Salvation Army uniform, gesturing with his crooked fingers and yelling, "Eternity! Eternity!" His voice was raspy and loud, so my brother could hear him long after he was lost in the dust.

Some of the people crowding into the carts whipped their horses stupidly and argued with other drivers; some sat motionless, staring blankly with sad eyes; some gnawed their hands with thirst, or lay flat in the bottoms of their vehicles. The horses’ bits were covered in foam, their eyes bloodshot.

"There were cabs, carriages, shop carts, wagons - you name it, there were tons of them. A mail cart, a street cleaner’s cart that said "Vestry of St. Pancras," even a huge wagon packed with roughnecks. A brewery truck rumbled past, its front wheels covered in fresh blood. "Move it!

Clear the way!" people shouted. "Forever! Forever!" echoed down the road. You saw sad, worn-out women walking by, dressed nicely, with kids crying and stumbling, their fancy clothes covered in dust, their faces smeared with tears."

Some had men with them - sometimes helpful, sometimes mean and aggressive. Hanging out with them was a tired-looking street person in faded black rags, wide-eyed, loud, and cursing.

There were tough workers pushing their way through, beat-up guys dressed like clerks or store employees, struggling to keep going. My brother noticed a wounded soldier, and there were guys in railroad worker clothes, and one poor guy in a nightshirt with a coat thrown over it.

But no matter how different everyone was, they all had something in common. You could see fear and pain on their faces, and even more fear behind them. A fight broke out further down the road - people fighting for a spot in a wagon - and the whole crowd sped up.

Even a guy so scared and broken his knees were giving out got a sudden burst of energy. The heat and dust had already taken a toll. Their skin was dry, their lips black and cracked. They were all thirsty, tired, and aching in their feet.

And you could hear arguments, complaints, and groans of exhaustion. Most of their voices were hoarse and weak. Through it all, you could hear the same thing over and over: "Out of the way! The Martians are coming!" Very few people stopped.

The lane opened up at an angle into the main road, with a narrow opening that made it look like it was coming from London. But people kept getting pulled into it like a whirlpool - weak people just dropped out of the crowd for a moment to rest before diving back in.

A little way down the lane, a guy with a bare leg, wrapped in bloody rags, lay with two friends leaning over him. He was lucky to have friends.

An old man, with a gray military mustache and a filthy black coat, limped out and sat down next to the buggy, took off his boot - his sock was covered in blood - shook out a pebble, and hobbled on.

Then a little girl, about eight or nine, all alone, ran and hid under the hedge near my brother, crying. "I can’t go on! I can’t go on! My brother snapped out of his shock and picked her up, speaking softly to her, and carried her to Miss Elphinstone.

As soon as my brother touched her, she went completely still, like she was terrified. "Ellen!" a woman in the crowd screamed, her voice filled with tears - "Ellen! And the little girl suddenly darted away from my brother, crying "Mommy! "They’re coming," said a man on horseback, riding past.

"Get out of the way!" yelled a coachman, towering over everyone. My brother saw a closed carriage turning into the lane. People pushed each other to get out of the horse’s way. My brother pushed his pony and buggy back into the hedge, and the man drove by and stopped at the turn.

It was a fancy carriage with a pole for a pair of horses, but only one was pulling it. My brother could barely see through the dust, but he saw two men lift something onto a white stretcher and gently place it on the grass under the privet hedge. One of the men ran to my brother.

"Where’s any water?" he asked. "He’s dying fast and really thirsty. It’s Lord Garrick. "Lord Garrick?" said my brother. "The Chief Justice? "The water?" he repeated. "Maybe there’s a faucet," said my brother, "at some of the houses. We don’t have any. I can’t leave my people."

The man shoved through the crowd toward the gate of the corner house. "Go on!" people yelled, pushing him along. "They’re coming! Go on!" Then my brother’s attention was grabbed by a bearded man with a sharp face, hauling a small bag.

The bag ripped open, spilling a bunch of gold coins that seemed to scatter as they hit the ground. They bounced around among the feet of people and horses. The man just stood there, looking dumbfounded, and a cab’s pole smacked his shoulder, knocking him off balance.

He let out a shriek and ducked back, narrowly avoiding a cartwheel. "Move! Make way!" people shouted all around him. As soon as the cab passed, he dove for the pile of coins, grabbing handfuls and shoving them into his pockets.

A horse stepped right up to him, and in the next second, he was about to be trampled under the horse’s hoof. "Stop!" my brother screamed, shoving a woman out of his way and trying to grab the horse’s bit.

Before he could reach it, he heard a scream under the wheels and saw, through the dust, the rim passing over the poor guy’s back. The cart driver cracked his whip at my brother, who darted around behind the cart. The noise of the shouting was deafening.

The man was writhing in the dust among his scattered money, unable to get up, because the wheel had broken his back, and his legs were limp and lifeless. My brother stood up and yelled at the next driver, and a man on a black horse came to help.

"Get him out of the road," said the man; and, grabbing the man’s collar, my brother pulled him to the side. But he was still reaching for his money, glaring at my brother and hammering at his arm with a handful of gold. "Go on! Go on!" angry voices shouted behind them. "Move! Move!"

There was a crash as the pole of a carriage smashed into the cart that the man on horseback stopped. My brother looked up, and the man with the gold twisted his head around and bit the wrist that held his collar.

There was a jolt, and the black horse stumbled sideways, and the carthorse pushed beside it. A hoof missed my brother’s foot by inches. He let go of the fallen man and jumped back.

He saw terror replace anger on the face of the poor guy on the ground, and in a moment he was hidden, and my brother was pushed backward and carried past the entrance of the lane, having to fight hard in the crowd to get back.

He saw Miss Elphinstone covering her eyes, and a little kid, with a kid’s lack of understanding, staring with wide eyes at a dusty something that lay black and still, crushed and ground under the rolling wheels. "Let’s go back!" he shouted, turning the pony around.

"We can’t cross this - it’s a nightmare," he said, and they went back a hundred yards the way they had come, until the fighting crowd was out of sight.

As they passed the bend in the lane, my brother saw the face of the dying man in the ditch under the bushes, deathly white and drawn, and covered in sweat. The two women sat silent, huddled in their seats and shivering. Then beyond the bend, my brother stopped again.

Miss Elphinstone was white and pale, and his sister-in-law sat crying, too upset even to call for "George. My brother was shocked and confused. As soon as they had retreated, he realized how important and unavoidable it was to try to cross. He turned to Miss Elphinstone, suddenly determined.

"We have to go that way," he said, and led the pony around again.

For the second time that day, this girl showed what she was made of. To push their way through the crowd, my brother dove into the traffic and stopped a cab horse, while she drove the pony across its head. A wagon locked its wheels for a second and ripped a long splinter from the carriage.

In another moment, they were grabbed and swept forward by the flow. My brother, with red marks from the cabman’s whip across his face and hands, jumped into the carriage and took the reins from her. Aim the revolver at the guy behind, he said, handing it to her, if he pushes us too hard.

"No - aim it at his horse." Then he started looking for a chance to move to the right across the road. But once in the flow, he seemed to lose control, to become part of that dusty mess.

They sped through Chipping Barnet with the crowd; they were almost a mile past the center of town before they fought their way to the other side. It was a crazy, chaotic noise; but inside and beyond the town, the road split a bunch of times, which helped a little.

They headed east through Hadley, and there on either side of the road, and at another spot further on , they saw a ton of people drinking from the stream, some fighting to get to the water.

Further on, from a quiet spot near East Barnet, they saw two trains crawling along one after the other, without any signals - trains packed with people, even with guys even among the coal behind the engines - heading north on the Great Northern Railway.

My brother figures they must have filled up outside London, because at that time, the crazy fear of the people had made the main train stations impossible. Near this place, they stopped for the rest of the afternoon, because the day's craziness had totally worn them out.

They started feeling hungry; the night was cold, and none of them dared to sleep. And in the evening, lots of people hurried along the road near where they stopped, fleeing from unknown dangers ahead, and going in the direction my brother had come from.