THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.
A Story By Tony Wright. nerfherder2001@hotmail.com
This story is only for viewing on the
www.waroftheworldsonline.com message boards and is very much a work in progress. Feedback is most welcome.
Based on characters created by Herbert George Wells. I take full credit for any historical, or other, inaccuracies in this work.
Prologue.
Mr Wells had been most insistent so, as the reader can surely see, I relented.
The story of my adventures has been very well received around the world, and it is due in no small part, to my mind, to Mr Wells’ embellishment. It is true that my experiences during that dark time were harrowing but I still fail to see why he chose my reminiscences over those of someone in His Majesties Government or perhaps a soldier of his armies. In his reedy voice, Wells once told me that the common man would, in some future in which we shall be no part of, be able to feel the horror more than if told from the point of view of some warhorse of a General. What he didn’t say was that the military, whilst they fought as bravely as any man in service could, were shown as ineffectual against the monsters within a very short time. So be it.
Wells approached me again, shortly after his work began to create interest.
‘A sequel!’ he cried as he poured us drinks at his house, ‘You have to tell the world the rest of the story.’
‘Why?’ I asked bluntly.
‘Why not?’ Wells replied simply. He handed me a glass. ‘Look. I know that there is much more to tell. When news of my story about you came out, you were approached to document the subsequent investigations on my recommendation, were you not?’
‘I was’, I admitted.
‘So’, he said.’ I understand you being reluctant to publish your experiences personally last time. God knows we all felt the horror of what happened. But I feel that you should set down what happened afterwards for posterity. From what you have told me, it certainly fills in some of the details that people will want to know.’
‘I don’t know’, I said. ‘Much of it was beyond me.’
‘Then just give what you do know. Mankind needs to know.’
I sighed. ‘Very well, I will give it some thought.’
And so I did.
Later, in the dark of night, with my beloved wife breathing softly beside me, I thought of how I would document such a thing. I was reluctant, still, but the idea had gripped me.
The story of my involvement with the Government is perhaps stranger than that of the War itself, as my esteemed reader will soon see. I also thought of the confidentially agreement I had signed. Could I expect not to feel the full force of the law in telling what I know?
This document, dear reader, is the result of these thoughts. If it is published, I hope it helps to supplement what has been told before.
Note: In this document, I shall assume the name of John Smith. This is not my real name.
1.The Approach.
Perhaps a month had passed since the great disillusionment. I trust the reader will forgive me using one of Wells' phrases but I always found it most apt.
Plumes of smoke still rolled lazily over some parts of London and the South East. Great metal machines stood silently and unmoving here and there, glittering in the sun, like huge chess pieces carelessly dropped by the gods. Weeds, of a green and entirely earthly nature, already grew around the parts that touched the ground.
My house, unlike so many others, had escaped most of the destruction, barring a few displaced roof tiles and a smashed garden wall, and was quite habitable.
The noise and bustle of humanity was at full pace as I sat staring from the window of my study. Across the road I saw men swarming over houses, rebuilding. People rushed to and fro with carts containing building materials and furniture. A dog scurried past nervously. The so recently dead and black wreathed streets were alive with activity as man once again stamped his mark on the landscape that had seemed so surely lost. I imagined this was happening everywhere.
The door to my study opened to reveal my wife’s sweet face, disturbing my reverie.
‘John? There are some men here to see you.’
‘Who are they, my dear?’ I asked.
‘Well, that’s the odd thing. They say they represent the Government.’
‘Very well,’ I said, puzzled. ‘I will be in presently.’
Opening the sitting room door, I saw two men, to who my wife was handing cups of tea.
The first was an important looking fellow of around 60. A great handlebar moustache was draped over his lip and chops like a white banner. His portly frame barely fit into the chair he was perched on and his small watery eyes regarded me as I entered.
‘Ah! Here’s our man,’ he said in a gruff, but friendly, voice.
The other man looked up from stirring his tea. He was around thirty with dark wavy hair and a goatee. He was slight in frame and dressed impeccably in black.
‘Indeed,’ he said quietly. His eyes showed no emotion at all.
‘Sir,’ said the portly man, standing with some difficulty. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir George Cavendish and this young man is James Horton. We are representatives of His Majesty’s Government.’
The younger man nodded slightly.
‘Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. May I ask, to what do I owe this honour?’ I found a chair and my wife handed me some tea and quietly left the room.
The portly man sat on the chair again and was rewarded with a small creak of protest.
‘Yes, of course. Well, you know Mr Wells, do you not?’
‘I do,’ I replied.
‘He is an acquaintance of mine and I have heard that he plans to publish your memories of our recent troubles.’
‘Yes, he was most insistent. I think he wished to put forth the ‘ordinary mans’ view of events.’
‘Quite so,’ said Cavendish. ‘Most admirable.’
‘Although, why his own memories are not enough is beyond me,’ I said. ‘He is not forthcoming on the matter.’
‘Well,’ Cavendish explained. ‘We have seen the drafts that wrote for him and we were most impressed. We would like you to join us and document our further investigations.’
‘I hardly think I am qualified..’ I began.
‘Please, let me finish. We very much need the man of the street’s view of things. We are not short of scientists, nor of military men. They will write their own reports. Whilst we expect that we cannot make much of what we may find public, we need a representative of the people, who will write in a way that they will understand and you would seem to fit the bill admirably. Your original draft shows a remarkable grasp of things. It’s a pity we have had to ask Mr Wells to excise some of the finer details in the work he is undertaking based on your experiences.’
‘You have?’ I was shocked. Perhaps I should not have been, on reflection, but it came as a surprise at the time.
‘Indeed. It would not do for some of the more.. technical.. aspects to be known.’
Horton, who had been silent until this point, spoke.
‘It is for the good of the country, Mr Smith. Surely you must understand that.’
‘Of course. What do you have in mind?’
‘We will need you to pack some things.. enough for a week or so, initially. You must not tell anyone where you are going, which is why I will say no more for now. Can we rely on you?’ Cavenish asked, setting down his cup.
I thought for a moment. The trauma of my experiences during the ‘war’ was still very much with me. I awoke sweating and screaming every night as I remembered what had happened to my friend Ogilvy and what the terrible consequences of my actions with the Curate had been. Not to mention the horrible fate that befell so many of my fellow men and women. Without my wife’s succour, I would surely be in some institution like so many other poor wretches who had been found aimlessly wandering the countryside after the carnage had ended.
Would this help exorcise those demons that lurked in the darkest reaches of the night, waiting to trouble me?
‘Would I be free to leave at any time?’
Cavendish nodded his great shaggy head. ‘We should like you to submit to a confidentiality agreement. You can only publish that which is cleared by either myself or Horton. Other than that, there are no restrictions.’
Curiosity had ridden rough shod over my doubts now. If only I had known what was to come.
‘Yes, then.’
‘Splendid!’ Cavendish beamed and both men stood. ‘You will be collected at 8 o’clock tomorrow. Until then.’
With that, my strange guests left leaving me alone with my thoughts.
