Chapter 997:

Near the top of the mountain, I stumbled upon something soft, a flash of lightning, and saw a pile of broad black cloth and a pair of boots between my feet. Before I could clearly distinguish how the person lay down, the flash of light had passed. I stood on him, waiting for the next flash. When the time came, I saw that he was a strong man with cheap clothes, but he didn't wear ragged clothes. With his head bent under his body, he wrinkled close to the fence, as if he was throwing at the fence violently.
I overcame the natural disgust of someone who had never touched a corpse. I bent over and turned around to feel his heart. He is dead. Obviously his neck was broken. The lightning flashed for the third time and his face jumped onto me. I stood up suddenly. That was the landlord of the Dalmatian, and I took it.
I stepped carefully over him and pushed up the hillside. I walked along the police station and university armory towards my home. Nothing burned on the hillside, although from ordinary places there were still red glare and rosy smoke beating on the wet hail. As far as Flash could see, the houses around me were hardly injured. Beside the university armory, a pile of black paint was piled on the road.
On the road to Maybury Bridge, there were voices and foot sounds, but I didn't have the courage to shout or go to them. I put myself in with my key, closed the door, locked the door, fixed it with bolts, staggered to the foot of the stairs, and sat down. My imagination is full of those metal monsters striding forward, and dead bodies smashing against the fence.
I squatted at the foot of the stairs with my back to the wall, shaking violently.
eleven.
On the window.
I have already said that my emotional storm has a technique to exhaust myself. After a while, I found that I was cold and wet, and there was almost no accumulation of water around the carpet on the stairs. I stood up almost mechanically, went into the dining room and drank some whiskey, and then I was moved to change my clothes.
After doing this, I went upstairs to study, but why I don’t know. The windows of my study overlook the trees and the railway to Hallhill Park. In order to leave us as soon as possible, we opened this window. The passage is dark, in contrast to the picture enclosed by the window frame, the sides of the room appear very dark. I stopped at the door.
The thunderstorm passed. The tower of the Oriental Academy and the surrounding pine trees have disappeared, and far away, illuminated by bright red glare, the common ground of the sandpit can be seen. Through the huge black shape of light, weird and strange, running back and forth.
It did seem as though the whole country was on fire in this direction-a wide mountain was covered with thin flames, swaying and twisting with the dying storm, and throwing red reflections at the cloud scud above. From time to time, thick fog bursts from a nearby fire and flies through the windows, hiding the shape of sparks. I can't see what they are doing, nor can I see their clear form, nor the black objects they are busy with. Although the reflection of the fireplace danced on the walls and ceiling of the study, I could not see the fire nearby. There is a strong smell of burning resin in the air.
I closed the door silently, then quietly walked to the window. When I did this, my vision widened until I reached the house near Woking Railway Station on the one hand, and the charred and blackened pine forest of Byflett on the other. There was a light on the hill, on the railway, near the arches, and the houses along Maybury Road and the streets near the station were glowing ruins. The lights on the railway confused me at first. There is a black pile and vivid glare, and on the right is a row of yellow rectangles. Then I realized that this was a wrecked train. The front was smashed and caught on fire, and the rear carriage was still on the tracks.
Between the three main lighting center houses, the train, and the Burning County towards Chobham, irregular dark villages stretched out, intermittently on the dim and smoky ground. That was the strangest sight, the large black patch was burning. It reminds me of pottery more than at night. At first, I couldn't tell anyone at all, even though I stared at them intently. Later I saw many black figures hurriedly passing in a straight line under the shadow of Woking Station.
This is the small world I have been living in safely for many years, it is a fiery chaos! I still don't know what happened in the past seven hours. Although I have begun to guess, I don't know the relationship between these mechanical colossus and the dull masses that I have seen scattered from the cylinder. Out of a strange feeling of incompatibility with the individual, I turned my desk and chair to the window, sat down, and stared at the dark country, especially the three huge black things dazzling around the bunker.
They seem to be extremely busy. I started to ask myself what they might be. Are they smart mechanisms? I think such a thing is impossible. Or do Martians sit in everyone’s brain, rule, direct, and use, just as a person’s brain sits and rules in his body? I began to compare these things with humans and machines to ask myself, for the first time in my life, how would an iron armor or a steam engine feel for a smart lower animal.
The storm made the sky clear, and under the smoke of the burning earth, when a soldier entered my garden, a little bit of fading precision of Mars fell into the west. I heard a slight scratch on the fence, waking up from the drowsiness that fell on me, I lowered my head and saw him climb up the fly dimly. Seeing another person, my torch passed, and I leaned eagerly out the window.
"History!" I whispered.
He stopped crossing the fence suspiciously. Then he crossed the lawn through the corner of the house. He bent down and took a light step.
"Who's there?" he said, also whispering, standing under the window, staring at himself.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"God knows."
"Do you want to hide?"
"That's it."
"Enter the house," I said.
I went downstairs, unlocked the door, let him in, and then locked the door again. I can't see his face. He has no hat and no buttons on his coat.
"Oh my God!" he said, as if I drew him in.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Nothing?" I saw him making a desperate gesture in obscurity. "They wiped out us-they wiped out us," he repeated again and again.
He followed me into the restaurant almost mechanically.
"Drink some whiskey," I sighed.
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