War
The first cylinder had crashed in London five nights before, and the invasion commenced the next morning. When a new cylinder fell in Wimbledon, I decided to leave. I took Sarah with me and made for the railroad station.
As we approached, I could see a column of artillery pieces in the distance, placed between the station and the smoke in the horizon, with the obvious intent of protecting the refugees. As the engine approached the crowded platform, it blew its whistle.
The call was answered by an ululating chant that froze my blood. Thunder came, and I grabbed Sarah as the cannon shells downed the wailing war machine. But a second one appeared behind it, and the black smoke engulfed the artillerymen.
There was an horrendous explosion, and as I flew off I felt Sarah’s hand torn off mine.
***
When I regained my consciousness, I found myself underneath an upturned cart, miraculously unharmed except for a throbbing gash in my forehead that had stopped bleeding while I was out. I crawled out of the wreck to find myself before a nightmarish scene, as the engine’s boiler had been burst open by the war machine. Pieces of bodies were strewn on the platform.
I vomited.
I couldn’t find Sarah’s body.
I never saw her again.
***
Two nights later I found the half-demolished cottage. I only had the vaguest idea of where I was, such was my state of mind, but as a new cylinder had crashed nearby, I decided to hide instead of escaping on foot.
I found her asleep inside a large cupboard. Her blue dress was stained with dirt and soot, her face turned away from me. My heart was bursting in my chest. She started and almost screamed as I touched her.
She wasn’t Sarah.
***
Harriet had lived in the cottage. She didn’t know what had happened, but she was afraid and had been hiding in the cupboard for three days. She was starving. I told her I would go look for some food and water.
She hid again as soon as I left.
I found the remains of her parents. I was glad she hadn’t come with me. I also found the pantry.
***
We gathered all our food and water and hid in the basement. Harriet told me she had always been afraid of the basement, but she was more frightened now of what was above.
I closed and locked the hatch, and barred it from the inside.
I made Harriet talk in hushed tones. I steered the conversation towards anything but her family. She had liked horses and playing the piano. She never played the piano again.
In the night, we heard the clanging noises carried over by the wind.
***
Two days later a clatter woke me up in the middle of the night. I heard a rasping noise and taps above, and several thuds on the hatch.
I looked down to discover the panicked eyes of Harriet.
She huddled against me, but never screamed.
***
Ten days later we ran out of water. I had been giving Harriet most of my food and water rations anyway, but the situation was unbearable.
I decided I’d have to try to find us some nourishment. I broke us out of our hiding place, only to find the world changed: a malicious red weed was everywhere. The sky was crimson and a stench drifted from the river.
I stepped outside to find a toppled war machine, its inert monstrous occupant preyed upon by crows. They were all dead.
***
I raised Harriet as my own daughter.
~~~~
This is my entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: November 30–December 6, 2015 on the Writer’s Discussion Group in Google+.
When I saw the moody illustration by Daniel Danger that serves as a prompt, the first thing I thought was “The War of the Worlds”. And I couldn’t get the tunes of Jeff Wayne’s musical version off my head. Therefore I followed Oscar Wilde’s advice and yielded to temptation.
And thus I wrote my piece, which is a fan fiction homage to H G Wells. I tried to follow the timeline of events in the books, and at the same time create a little story within the story.
It turns out that most of the other authors this week saw the illustration and thought “Fallout”. But then I don’t play videogames any longer…
