Dead London

Hundreds of houses, locked and empty, lined the streets. I passed a number of dead bodies—a dozen or more—as I made my way up Euston Road, their features softened by a thick, black ash, whose origin I could easily enough guess at. Likewise, the body of a woman slumped in a doorway, a broken bottle near one of her hands, and a large quantity of rust-colored stain upon the front of her dress. After it all, after surviving for this long, she had taken her own life.

"Kraa-aang…" echoed the voice of a Martian, but rather than their usual triumph, it sounded raspy… weak… perhaps even pleading? None of its fellows answered. I paused as I listened to it; as if that desert of houses had found a voice for its fear and solitude.

I turned a corner, then backpedaled several paces out of terror; a fighting machine stood in the middle of the lane, stock still. I was out in the open, with noplace to hide. Surely the heat ray would sweep me out of existence at any moment… and yet, nothing. This was not the one that had called out for its companions, as, somewhere off in the background, it did so again, eliciting no response from the machine before me. "Kraa-aang," its fellow wailed again, the only remaining player in a game of Marco-Polo.

The desolating cry worked upon my mind. The wailing took possession of me. I was intensely weary, footsore, hungry, and thirsty. Why was I wandering alone in this city of the dead? Why was I alive when London was lying in state in its black shroud?

Despite just having left the artilleryman and the parson, I felt intolerably lonely, drifting from street to empty street, drawn inexorably toward that cry.

"Kraaaaaanngg…" the lone Martian issued weakly. I caught sight of it over the trees on Primrose Hill, toddling awkwardly in an aimless, confused circle. I pressed on toward it; I know not why I suddenly felt some kinship with this lone survivor, even as its kind had been at the root of the surrounding devastation. It issued one final howl as it ceased moving, the echo of it died out across the rooftops, and silence fell like a pall over the city.

Suddenly the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. While that voice sounded, London still seemed alive. Now there was a change, and all that remained was this gaunt quiet. I started into a run toward the machine. An insane resolve possessed me: I would give my life to the Martians, here and now. I would not be the last thing alive here! If Death was coming to everything in the city, I would not be left behind alone in the ruin! Arms outstretched to make myself a more visible target, I hurled myself through the streets toward the monster, hoping for nothing but a swift end from the beam of the heat ray, but I was impeded from my suicide by Martian—for, as I turned another corner, I ran into another fighting machine that I had not seen, for this one had collapsed, at an angle, across the length of the street. A number of houses lay crushed to rubble beneath it, now supporting the hood and the box housing the heat ray. And yet, there was faint movement around the sleek hood. As I stood gaping at the downed Martian apparatus now blocking my path, a jackdaw lit on the ground before me, stopping to peck at and then gobble down a piece of purple-pink meat.

Voices sounded from behind me, though between my shock and befuddlement in looking the fighting machine over kept me from turning or responding.

"There he is!" said Raphael.

"Leo!" Michelangelo's voice carried to me, sounding grateful to see me. "Why'd you run off? Whoa…" the two other turtles came to a halt beside me, also stunned at the wreck, as I gave a bare shake of the head.

I could only raise a hand to point toward the gleaming hood, saying, "The birds…" Even as I did so, there was a scuffle amongst the birds, and two Martian tentacles, utterly limp and smelling of rot, toppled out from under the hood.

"Carrion eaters," the artilleryman assessed.

"It's dead?" Raphael took his meaning. "Praise be!"

Michelangelo tugged lightly at my arm. "Come on… We can work on the tunnel some more today. You were so good at it, I'd like to see how far we can get in a full d—"

But before he could pull me back into his project, a great explosion caused the buildings around us and the ground beneath our feet to tremor, and the tripod that had so enthralled me toppled like a felled tree. The concussion was so close, we were pelted with bits of debris. The parson thrust a hand out in front of my face, catching the large piece of shrapnel that I was too off-balanced to take note of; then he immediately dropped it and stuck his fingers in his mouth, having burnt them on the hot metal. I nodded to him in thanks, and shook myself out of the rest of my stupor. I had to know what the cause of that explosion was. "Let's go!" I told the others, deciding a new route around the downed fighting machine and slain Martian inside.

As we reached the crest of Primrose Hill, among the clearing smoke and near the legs of the fallen giant, I could see the bodies of several Martians, splayed out across the grass, very much dead, yet there was movement from a handful of silhouetted beings and devices—wholly unlike those of the Martians… humanoid, and yet, so strange in their concept and movement that they scarcely resembled anything Terran in nature. I should have been afraid, I suppose, and yet my body had produced so much adrenalin over the past few weeks that it could supply me with no more; I very much doubt that I could have fought nor fled in that moment if I had to. One, with a wide, domed head with two antennae sticking out from it, and a sort of open, metal frame surrounding its body, approached us, reaching a hand up to touch its head. And then, from below, a voice, though I could not make out the words, sounding like Cockneyed English reached my ears, an irate complaint in more refined tones, and a burst of laughter! Men—they were men! The one that approached turned and called back to the others, in unexpectedly female tones, "It's all right! They're friendly!"

I stood gobsmacked. How could she assess such a thing, without ever having met us?

She took the domed apparatus off her head, cradling it under one arm while extending the other in greeting as she shook out her ponytailed red hair, vivid now that she'd stepped into the full sun. "Hello there. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm April O'Neil."