The next day

Within the rubble strewn streets of London, a lone man walked, climbing over the remains of the fallen trees, gas lamps and overturned cars and the large pieces of rubble from the nearby buildings. It was Martin. His clothes were a little torn, the skin around his eyes was red and he had a bit of a cough. Not really in fit and healthy condition, but he had at least survived his encounter with the Martians. He had been rescued by a priest from the Godwinson Bridge, but the priest had gone mad and had drawn the Martians to them. Martin had to knock him out and then hide and had to watch the Martians take away the body of the priest to his fate.

The guilt of that act still burned within him. He could not believe he had actually done something like that, but then again, he did not really have a choice. If he had left the man praying, the Martians would have been looking around for him as well, no doubt because the man would have probably screamed that Martin was with him, and even if Martin had knocked him out and tried to hide him in the hole, they would have been spotted for the hole was not big enough for the both of them and the Martians would have searched it anyway for they heard the priest's voice.

Survivor's guilt Martin thought again as he walked around a large hole in the road.

On and on he walked further into the city. He had been on the move since early this morning and he had narrowly avoided a run in with another tripod that was searching the area for any straggling humans. He had had a narrow escape from one earlier, having to dive behind a horse carriage as a tripod advanced into the street he was in through what had been part of a row of houses, but had evidently been destroyed by the heat ray of a tripod sometime previously. It had observed the area for a few moments; Martin kept his head down, hoping to avoid the mechanical eyes of the mechanical menace before him. Then, it had marched off, pausing for a moment for Martin to watch it grab a lone, person who had staggered drunkenly – or at least it had looked that way – out of a building near one its feet, and stuff it somewhere in the main body part. Though he would not see it, Martin had no doubts as to what fate the man would befall soon.

Since then, he had been keeping close to the streets that were littered with rubble so he could hide behind or underneath it if another tripod came near him. So far, he had not seen another tripod and he was glad he had not and hoped it would stay there.

As he walked on, he passed a group of trees placed in a small grass clearing between two buildings. Like with all the trees he had seen so far, it was bare of leaves and branches, it was a ghostly grey colour and the red weed was spread up along the sides of it, overtaking it and turning into a real dead tree, one that would not come back to sprout leaves and be the homes of nature again as it had done many times before. Martin sighed upon seeing this. The Martian invasion was more than an invasion to destroy Humans, it was to destroy the very nature of Earth and replace it with that of their own. Even though it had been a few days, it looked as though it was the end of Great Britain and the world. He could only imagine what was going on in the other countries across the planet that the priest had mentioned just shortly before he had been taken by the Martians. The people of these countries were probably on the run, diminished in numbers and supplies and being taken by the Martians just like what was going on in Great Britain.

It was really was the end of the world, not entirely, but the human world, an apocalypse that was predicted long before, but no one took any notice of it. Now, they were probably wishing they had listened.

As Martin reached the end of the street, which turned right, a small thud from an alleyway on his left drew his attention. The alleyway was filled with old wooden boxes, clothes and such, in front of the few gates along the sides, which had been left behind by the people in their attempt to flee. His curiousness brought him to look into the alleyway and as he stepped towards it, he saw a figure at the end, searching through a large wooden box. His dark green-like coloured clothes looked ragged and torn and he had a bandage around the top of his head. In his hand was a long stick-like object, a cane.

"I best stay away," Martin muttered to himself, slowly and quietly moving away. However, his shoe hit a piece of glass from a fallen gas lamp and it cracked loudly. The man at the end grunted and looked up, staring with wild eyes directly at him.

"Oi! Bugger off! Go on! Scram!" the man barked, stomping down the alleyway towards Martin, raising his cane to threaten him.

"I-I'm s-sorry!" Martin stuttered backing off in fear.

"Ya want me food and water, don't ya!" the man barked at him. "Well, you ain't getting it! There's onl' enough fer one, not two, now bugger off before I-"

The man suddenly stopped as he emerged from the alleyway, revealing himself to be an army soldier. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, his face and hands were dirty, as was his clothes, and he had a small beard growing on his chin. Martin did not know it at first, but this was someone he had met before.

All of a sudden, the soldier laughed, a happy look came upon his face. "Martin!" he exclaimed.

Martin was puzzled. "H-how do you know my name?" he asked.

"Don't yer recognize me?" the soldier asked. "It's me! Your old friend ya met on the way to St Angel,"

Then, it hit Martin. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that was lucky," he said, laughing a little. "I thought you had been killed,"

"Nah," the soldier told him. "I fell inta the river after the bridge was destroyed, bu' I escaped and now I've been 'iding in a small cellar in one o' these 'ouses. C'mon, I'll take you there. Ya look like ya could do with some rest,"

The soldier led Martin back into the alleyway to the end and kicked open one of the back gates, revealing a small garden which was covered almost completely in the red weed, which was spreading up the side of the building and onto the doors and windows. Next to the back door of the house at the other end of the garden was another door at the bottom of a small flight of stairs that led down into a kind of small rectangular hole. A tiny window was on the wall next to the door. The soldier and Martin walked across the red garden, causing splits in the layer of red weed as their feet went through it, but it quickly grew back, towards the door. They walked down to the steps and the soldier opened the door and they walked inside.

The cellar was a large square shaped room with a flight of stairs along the left wall leading up to a door placed on the left wall. A few old chairs were placed along the right wall with a blanket on one of them. A small wooden table was placed in the middle of the cellar with a bottle of whiskey with a few cups, a few loaves of bread and cheese and a small radio. However, what really caught Martin's attention was a half cylindrical tunnel that went down at a bit of a diagonal angle into the wall at the opposite end of the cellar that was layered with bricks. A small pile of dirt was at the end of the tunnel near the dirt wall with a spade sticking out of the top.

"Well, 'Ere we are. No' exactly paradise, bu' it'll do," the soldier said. "'Ere, I'll turn the radio on," he added, walking over to the radio and began fiddling with it.

A wave of static came out of the radio and the soldier swore under his breath and began hitting it as he tried fiddling with it again to try and make it work.

Martin, meanwhile, walked over to the tunnel and gazed at the walls as he looked around at it, much like he was re-enacting Tinkerbell's reaction when she has walked into the fairy house Lizzy had made last year. Why was there a small tunnel in the cellar of a house? Had the soldier made it, or was this already here before the invasion?

"Ah, finally!" the soldier said, standing up and pulling a chair over to the table as the radio crackled to life.

"The-(static) British government has fled…the Martian invaders are spreading-(static)-across London. Thousands have fled into the city-(static)-red weed has taken over much of the countryside. For Great Britain, it is the end. The prime minister had declared that Britain must prevail for if Britain falls, then the rest of the world, which is reported to be under siege by smaller Martian invasion forces, will also fall-"

The radio suddenly cut off and went quiet. The soldier cursed under his breath and sighed. "Well, so much for being a great country," he said as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Ya want some of this, Martin?" he asked.

"Oh!" Martin replied, turning to face him, drawing himself away from the tunnel. "Uh, no thank you," he said. He resumed looking into the tunnel and ran a hand across the brick wall. "Why is this here?" Martin asked the soldier.

"I made it," the soldier answered, getting up, holding his half empty glass in his hand, and walking over and gazing into it. "Well … part of it," he added. "I can up with an' idea no' long after I go' inta London,"

"What's that?" Martin asked him.

"Us … not you and me … but, Britain … all of us startin' again," the soldier answered.

"Starting again?"

The soldier nodded. "Yup! Think of it; they've probably done the same thin' on their 'ome world. When it died on the surface, they fled undergroun' an' started again. Well, if they can do it, so can we,"

Martin looked at the back wall of the tunnel. It was a crazy idea, but then again, the soldier was right. If the Martians could do it, then so could Humanity. A faint idea began to form in his head of underground communities with parks, shops, maybe even small rivers and fields and farms. Was it possible?

"Think of it," the soldier said. "We'll build a new capita' underneath the Martians an' learn how ta build technology like theirs and one day, we'll surprise 'em and take back Britain from 'em and rebuild. Oh, it sounds crazy, bu' I think It's possible,"

Martin could not help but partly agree with him. It was crazy, but then again Humanity had learned to adapt and survive against past disasters and enemies. What if they could do the same here against the Martians? What if one day, Britain did begin a new war against the Martians, and would they use Martian technology against them? It all sounded crazy and the thoughts of a mad man, but right now Martin was probably acting crazy and acting a mad man.

"Did yer find ya daughter?" the soldier asked after a few moments, snapping Martin back into reality.

"Oh, uh, no," he replied sadly. "Last time I saw her was at the Godwinson Bridge with an elderly couple I know and her fairy friends. I-"

"Wait, did you jus' say; fairy friends?" the soldier asked.

"Yes," Martin replied. The soldier chuckled. "What?" Martin asked him, though he knew what the soldier was thinking.

"Are ya sure ya ain't crazy, Martin?" the soldier asked. "I mean, fairy friends?" he chuckled again and drank the rest of his whiskey and swallowed hard and breathed out a relieved sigh. "I mean, fairies don't exist,"

"Actually, they do," Martin replied. "I used to think they didn't until last year when I saw a group of them that have returned this year to see me and my daughter again,"

The soldier chuckled again. "I dunno what ta say, Martin, but I do think it's crazy you thinkin' fairy are real," he said.

"Well, you'll know they're real soon," Martin told him.

"I'm sure I will," the soldier replied sarcastically, walking over to the chair and sitting down again and pouring himself another glass.

Martin looked sadly down at the ground as the thought of his daughter, Mr and Mrs Perkins, his wife, if she was still alive, and Lizzy's fairy friends. He missed them all. He was wishing they were okay and he wished that soon he would be able to hold them again. He wiped away a small tear from his eye and tried to push the thoughts of his mind, but it was hard to do so.

Hopefully, I'll see them again he thought before heaving a heavy sigh and turning to walk over to one of the chairs to rest.