Війна світів
In the Storm
Itpickeditsroadasitwentstridingalong,andthebrazenhoodthatsurmounteditmovedtoandfrowiththeinevitablesuggestionofaheadlookingabout. Behindthemainbodywasahugemassofwhitemetallikeagiganticfisherman’sbasket,andpuffsofgreensmokesquirtedoutfromthejointsofthelimbsasthemonstersweptbyme. Andinaninstantitwasgone.
SomuchIsawthen,allvaguelyfortheflickeringofthelightning,inblindinghighlightsanddenseblackshadows.
Asitpasseditsetupanexultantdeafeninghowlthatdrownedthethunder —"Aloo!Aloo!"—andinanotherminuteitwaswithitscompanion,halfamileaway,stoopingoversomethinginthefield. IhavenodoubtthisThinginthefieldwasthethirdofthetencylinderstheyhadfiredatusfromMars.
ForsomeminutesIlaythereintherainanddarknesswatching,bytheintermittentlight,thesemonstrousbeingsofmetalmovingaboutinthedistanceoverthehedgetops. Athinhailwasnowbeginning,andasitcameandwenttheirfiguresgrewmistyandthenflashedintoclearnessagain. Nowandthencameagapinthelightning,andthenightswallowedthemup.
Iwassoakedwithhailaboveandpuddlewaterbelow. Itwassometimebeforemyblankastonishmentwouldletmestruggleupthebanktoadrierposition,orthinkatallofmyimminentperil.
Notfarfrommewasalittleone-roomedsquatter’shutofwood,surroundedbyapatchofpotatogarden. Istruggledtomyfeetatlast,and,crouchingandmakinguseofeverychanceofcover,Imadearunforthis.
