The Martians Feed

For days Parson Raphael and I were trapped in the cellar. We had water, albeit muddied, from a hand-pump, but for food, had we only the jarred vegetables and some preserves that had survived the destruction that had pitched over the shelves; the rest, tainted by shards of glass, was no good to us. I resolved to ration the rest, for who knew how long we were to remain there, out of sight of the Martians… just barely. But my companion, not used to abstaining to this extent (no matter what his religion said), made constant attacks on the food, such that I had to guard it vigilantly in the scullery, lest he greedily gobble it down. His outbursts continued, each affrighting me that he might bring the Martians down upon us, but as yet, we remained safe.

From the cellar window, we watched the Martians' activity in the new crater, where they set to mining the land for a bluish dust. (My friend Donatello later figured this to be aluminium ore.) From the cylinder, they extracted a number of shining, metal pieces, which they assembled into a new sort of machine, this one looking like a five-legged spider, with a carrying basket upon its back. The front was armored with a hood, much like the fighting machines, in which a Martian sat to control it, but this apparatus was also equipped with several highly dexterous, as I may call them, fingers… similar to the fighting machines' tentacle whips, but much more slender and purposeful, and so delicate I could hardly think of it as a machine at all, but as a living creature.

On our fifth day of captivity, we watched this spider-like handling device trundle across the fields, and witnessed it pursuing a woman. It snared her up in its tentacles and tossed her into the basket on its back, from which it was evident she could not escape. The other Martians in the area—four of them—clustered around her, a long glass pipette extending from each of their hoods, which, horrific as it is to say, pierced her body, drawing every last drop of her blood into their own bodies.

Raphael and I stared at the event, unable to look away, unable to find words—and even if we had, not in a position to voice them.

On the seventh day, part of the cellar wall came down as tendrils of the red weed found purchase and wound their way inside. I watched them curl and claw their way in, faster than any natural Earth plant could move. Yet, if I dared too close in my observations, close enough to scarcely breathe on the roots, they would quickly be stricken by blight and crumble. I watched their progress over the next two days as they encroached on our confinement, and wondered who I would have to fend off first, the Martians or the weeds.

As it turned out, neither; it was the parson I came to blows with. After making several attempts to get at our rations (four days' worth left, at this point, and meager at best), Father Raphael went back to sulking and muttering, as was his wont by now, but in the middle of the afternoon, as we watched the aliens feed once more, draining the life from three more unfortunates, he let out a loud gasp, and all but shouted, "A sign! I have been given a sign! They must be cast out! And I am the one to do it! I must confront them, now!"

I struggled with him, pulling him back from the window. "No, Parson! No!"

Still, he persisted. "These machines are just demons in another form! I shall destroy them with my prayers, I shall burn them with my holy cross! I shall—"

Fearing the Martians being attracted by his shouting, I needed to resort to my father's training, giving him several quick, precise punches with a single finger, which caused his body to seize up, motionless. His eyes flicked back and forth, wide with panic. If he would think anything was demon trickery, it would certainly be my father's secret ninjutsu techniques. "The places I've hit you are a number of pressure points," I whispered in his earhole. "They'll make it extremely painful to move, but they'll wear off in a few hours. I'm sorry to have had to do this to you, but I can't have you bringing the Martians down on us!"

But it was too late, for at our row, the handling machine stotted up, bending low so that the Martian piloting it could cast a glance inside. Before it could spot me, I leapt into the scullery, knocking the parson over in my flight. He let out a muted scream at me, just as three of the delicate tentacles slid in through the window and began feeling their way across the floor, exploring everything without actually seeing it. They searched across the ruined shelves, occasionally taking a fragment of glass or a now-rotting pickled vegetable with them.

I buried myself as much as I could within the coal and firewood in the scullery. One of the tentacles felt its way in, carefully feeling the walls, the floor, a piece of coal. Then it touched my boot; I nearly screamed, instead freezing in place. As it felt toward my hiding place, I moved a piece of firewood into its path. It tapped it, a bit as if confused, then the tentacle split into a three-pronged claw. It latched on to a piece of coal and took it away.

I looked on helplessly as they came across the body of Mona Lisa, then of Raphael, and dragged them away, the parson making an enraged but muffled squeal as his eye found mine, enraged, terrified, imploring me as he was hauled out the window. I gave him a sorrowful look, but there was nothing I could do to save him without sacrificing myself.

x-x-x-x-x

I waited another two days after Raphael had been taken, garnering no further attention from the Martians, and then I moved to where the red weed had encroached on the cellar. Several separate serpentine vines had wrestled their way in, dislodging any part of the wall that happened to be in their way. I began huffing my breath on them anywhere I could, spreading all the blight I contained on them. They withered and recoiled, graying and rotting as though sprayed with some sort of herbicide. Once the largest roots died, I began breaking them apart, pulling them away from the hole they had created. Finally, sunlight streamed through. I kept yanking them apart until I'd created a hole large enough to squeeze my carapace through, all the while keeping an eye on the Martian camp. When night fell, I became one with the shadows and slipped away into the darkness.