Wilson swallowed and slowly turned his head to look at the house. Lucy’s pale face stared through the window. Her bottom lip quivered as though she might break down at any moment. Wilson shook his head slowly and returned his attention to the Martians, who were now standing over the paddock and scrutinizing the sheep.
A tentacle coiled around one of the ewes and lifted the squirming animal. The alien inspected it with almost childlike curiosity. Another tendril slithered up and forced itself down the sheep’s throat. The panicked cries became wet, pained gurgles, and a loud sucking sound reached Wilson’s ears.
Wilson tasted vomit in the back of his throat and fought the urge to retch as the Martian sucked out the animal’s liquefied insides. Finally the sheep became still as its body began to deflate like a balloon. When the Martian’s meal was completely drained, it tossed the shriveled husk aside. The carcass landed a few yards from where Wilson crouched, and the limp mass tumbled in the dust.
Lucy screamed. Wilson turned, as did the Martians. The nearest tripod took a step toward the house, and Wilson saw the green charging glow of the heat ray.
He scrambled to his feet and held out his hand. “No!”
The heat ray flashed. The house exploded in a shower of green flame and burning wood. A piece of debris struck Wilson above the eye, and he was knocked down by the blast.
He lay on his back, his vision swirling as smoke and sparks rose high into the sky. He felt something warm and wet on his face and reached up to wipe his eye. His hand came away dripping blood. The metallic smell filled his nostrils, and for the second time, he thought he would vomit.
“L-Lucy,” he gasped.
One of the invaders stepped over his body, and Wilson’s eyelids grew heavy. His head fell back onto the hard ground and the world faded away.
*****
Wilson’s head felt like it would explode at any moment. He opened his eyes, blinked a couple times, and wrinkled his nose. God, the stench!
He turned his head and looked into the sunken eye sockets of a drained sheep, its lips drawn back in a vile grin. He sat up, despite the pounding inside his skull, and scrambled away from the corpse. His hand brushed soft wool and he looked over his shoulder. An emptied ram stared up at him, its tongue hanging from its mouth, black with flies.
Wilson jumped to his feet and turned. All around him, drained and broken, lay his entire flock. This time, he was unable to stop himself from vomiting. He blinked the tears from his eyes and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Lucy!” he called.
Only the hot, stinking wind answered him.
He turned and looked at the spot where his house had once stood. Now, only a smoldering pile of charred wood and broken glass remained. He staggered toward the ruins, one hand pressed against his temple in an effort to ease the incessant pounding.
“Lucy?”
He fell to his knees when he reached the edge of the smoldering mess. He surveyed the ashes, looking for any sign, praying he wouldn’t find any. His eyes fell on a round, blackened object in the rubble, and his lips quivered.
“No,” he sobbed. “Oh, no, no, no. Lucy.”
He reached out and cradled the skull in both hands. As he lifted it, it began to crumble. Slowly, the wind took it, until only a few small fragments and a fine, black powder sifted through his fingers.
As he watched the ashes fall, he saw a small glint in the firelight. He reached down and carefully brushed the cinders aside. Wilson plucked the object from the debris and held it up to the light. It was a woman’s silver wedding band, along with the finger that wore it.
“Lucy?” he said.
He closed his fist around the severed digit. His breath came in heaving sobs, but after a minute, he started to laugh. Softly at first, but slowly growing in fervor until he threw his head back and cackled, wide-eyed and grinning.
Chapter Eight
New York City
Sean O’Brien blew smoke into the air as he watched one of the A.R.E.S. battle zeppelins pass overhead. Twin contrails of white vapor traced the airship’s path as it drifted over the Brooklyn Bridge. Boy, what damage he could do with one of those. Just the thought of dropping bombs on London from five thousand feet sent shivers down his spine, but then he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing the looks of shock on the smug bastards’ faces when he stuck a knife in their bellies. Either way, it’d be a laugh.
O’Rourke stood beside him, his face set in that ever-present scowl of his. He passed Sean a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Sean took a pull to ward off the slight chill in the air, and then set the liquor on a crate beside him. All around them, dock workers dashed back and forth unloading cargo from a German steamer. A loud thump to their right drew his attention, and he looked over his shoulder. He watched his men remove the straps from a large wooden box and then cart it away to their truck parked nearby.
Guns, and lots of them. Enough to blow the English to Kingdom Come, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted the real prize.
“Methinks your brother has turned, Sean,” O’Rourke grumbled.
Sean dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. “He’ll be here.”
O’Rourke’s pessimism was starting to get on his nerves. Paddy had him worried, too, but Sean wasn’t about to let the others know that. Something in his baby brother’s demeanor the previous night was off; the others saw it, too. They smelled blood in the water, and Sean wasn’t sure how long he could hold them back. If the pup double crossed them—
A moment later, a flash of red caught Sean’s eye, and he looked up. Patrick O’Brien strode toward them, still dressed in his A.R.E.S. uniform, sans jacket. He looked like hell, his face haggard and covered in soot.
“What’d I tell ya?” Sean said.
O’Rourke grunted.
O’Brien grabbed the whiskey bottle as he approached and took a long pull on the burning liquid. He grimaced and wiped his mouth with the back of one gloved hand.
“Well?” Sean said. “Where are they?”
“The Martians are back.”
“I didn’t ask ya about the Martians, Brother,” Sean snapped. “I asked you about the heat rays.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” O’Brien said. “We’re at war, Sean!”
“Yeah, with the English!”
O’Brien shook his head. “I have no weapons for you.”
O’Rourke pointed at O’Brien and spat. “You’re some can of piss, Paddy.”
Sean pushed O’Rourke back and glared at his brother, his fingers twitching over the pistol holstered on his hip. “Don’t you get it, Bucko? We would all rather be dead at the hands of the Martians than live under English tyranny.”
O’Brien stared, his jaw agape.
Sean drew his pistol and pointed it at his brother’s chest. “You’ve betrayed us.”
“I’ve betrayed nobody,” O’Brien shouted. “There is more to this world than Ireland, Sean. When are you going to realize that? Wake up! If we don’t stand up to the Martians, there won’t be an Ireland for you to fight for.”
Sean snarled and thrust the pistol at his brother’s face, his grip on the weapon trembling. There was no fear in Patrick’s reaction, only sadness. Pity.
“Do it,” O’Brien said.
Sean gritted his teeth and placed the barrel against his brother’s forehead. He cursed and loosened his grip on the weapon, but did not lower it.
“Goodbye, Sean.” O’Brien turned to leave. “Tell Ma I loved her.”
Sean’s nostrils flared as he watched his baby brother walk away.
“Go on,” O’Rourke shouted. “Shoot the bloody traitor!”
Sean cocked back the hammer and centered the sights on his brother’s back, but no matter how much he tried, he could not will himself to squeeze the trigger.
“Damn.” O’Rourke drew his own pistol and took aim at the younger O’Brien. “If you’re going to be a woman about it….”
Sean whirled and struck O’Rourke’s temple with th
e butt of his pistol. O’Rourke fell, unconscious before he struck the ground. The workers stopped to watch the commotion, and Sean spat on O’Rourke’s prone form.
“Put him in the truck,” he said. “Patrick!”
O’Brien turned.
Sean pointed at his brother. “You’re dead to me.”
O’Brien nodded and walked away, toward A.R.E.S.
*****
Sergeant Douglas stood outside the door of his house in Harlem and took a deep, calming breath. He reached for the doorknob but hesitated before his hand could touch the cold brass. What would he say? He couldn’t very well burst inside shouting, “The Martians are coming! The Martians are coming!” That would send the girls into a panic.
No. Better to act as though everything was normal. He took another breath and turned the knob, his face splitting into a wide, forced grin as he pushed open the door.
Tessa and the girls sat around the dinner table. The older of his daughters, Molly, kicked her feet while she sat atop a stack of books piled on her chair and sipped soup from her spoon. Tessa had her back to the door while she spooned vegetables into the baby’s already-messy mouth.
“There’s my angels,” Douglas said.
Molly hopped down from her chair and ran toward him, her arms outstretched. “Daddy’s home!”
“Da Da!” Joslin shrieked, a diced carrot clinging to her chin.
Douglas scooped Molly into his arms and held her up over his head so her back brushed the ceiling. “Oh, dear! You’re getting too heavy for Daddy! Pretty soon, you’re going to have to carry me!”
Molly giggled.
Tessa stood and wiped her hands on a dishtowel before planting a chaste kiss on her husband’s lips. “How’d it go today?”
“Uh,” Douglas said. “There were a few… problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“I, uh….” He hesitated and set Molly on the floor. “Sweetheart, can you excuse me and Mommy for a minute, please?”
Molly nodded and walked back to the table. Douglas placed a hand on the small of Tessa’s back and led her to the doorway of the living room. He waited until Molly’s attention was focused on Joslin. She lifted a heaping spoonful of vegetables and said, “Open up, Josy. Here comes the Leviathan. Zooooooom!”
Douglas turned and looked at his wife. Concern washed over her face. There was no hiding it from her now. She could see it in his eyes.
“Abe,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
“The Martians,” he said. “They’re back.”
Tessa’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“We were attacked today,” he went on. “We lost a lot of men.”
Tessa slumped against the doorframe. “My God.”
Douglas grabbed her shoulder to steady her. “Tessa, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m being deployed to New Mexico in two hours.”
“No, Abe,” Tessa said. She grabbed his arm. “You can’t!”
Douglas cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen, but the girls were oblivious to their parents’ distress.
“It’s not safe here, Tessa,” Douglas whispered.
“Where can we go?”
“I’m here to take you to A.R.E.S.,” he explained. “Captain Wells offered his quarters to you and the girls while we’re away.”
Tessa bit her bottom lip and glanced at the girls, who were now giggling and tossing carrots and peas at each other.
“It’s the safest place,” Douglas pressed. “Please, Tess.”
Tessa closed her eyes and nodded.
Douglas kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. “Everything’s going to be—”
“No,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Abe.”
Douglas nodded. “Pack quickly. We don’t have much time.”
She started toward the stairs leading to their bedrooms, then turned and embraced him. He held her as tight as possible without hurting her, then gently pushed her back.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
As her footsteps faded up the stairs, Douglas walked into the kitchen and donned his fake smile again.
“Hey, girls,” he said. “Who wants to see where Daddy works?”
“Yay!” Molly cheered, hopping up and down.
“Da Da!” Joslin squealed.
Douglas squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they didn’t see his tears.
*****
Lieutenant Carter pounded on the door. When no one answered, she tried the handle. Locked. She pounded again more urgently.
She stepped back, ready to kick her way in, when she heard the sliding of bolts on the other side. The door opened to reveal a bored-looking, balding man in a smart, black suit. The servant’s eyes lingered dubiously on Carter’s uniform.
“May I help you, madam?” he droned.
Carter gripped the doorframe. “Charles, I need to speak with my father.”
The butler’s eyes widened with recognition. “Miss Jennifer? Forgive me. I didn’t recogni—”
“Daddy!”
Carter shoved past Charles and into the penthouse apartment. She passed through the foyer into the library. It looked exactly as she remembered it, like a museum. Leather-bound volumes lined the walls, broken up by railroad memorabilia on pedestals. Her father’s portrait hung over the mantle, his stern, mustachioed countenance glaring disapprovingly down on her.
So lifelike.
“Daddy!” she called again.
Charles appeared at her side. “My apologies, Miss Jennifer. Your father—”
“What is the meaning of this commotion?”
A thin, dark-haired woman in a blue silk dress entered through a side door. When her eyes fell on Jennifer, her hand flew to her breast.
“Good lord,” the woman gasped. “Jennifer!”
“Mother.” Carter crossed the room in a few long strides. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Away on business,” Elizabeth Carter said. “Charles, have the tea brought in here, and bring an extra setting for my daughter.”
Charles bowed and walked briskly from the room.
“Mother, I need you to listen,” Carter pleaded. “There’s not a lot of time.”
Elizabeth sat on the davenport and beckoned. “Don’t be silly. Sit down. What on earth are you wearing? You look absolutely dreadful.”
Carter looked at her uniform, black with soot and spotted with dried blood. She probably did look like walking death, but she’d had no time to worry about her appearance when the Leviathan docked half an hour before. She shook her head and, despite her mother’s insistence, remained standing.
“Mother, listen,” she said. “You have to leave.”
“Leave?” Elizabeth cocked her head quizzically. “Whatever for?”
“The Martians are—”
Elizabeth cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Again with the Martians. Honestly, darling, I don’t understand your unhealthy obsession with those filthy creatures.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Carter snarled.
“Tea, ma’am,” said Charles. He balanced a tray of cups, saucers, and a steaming porcelain pot.
“Thank you, Charles.” Elizabeth gestured toward the nearest end table. “Please set it on the—”
“Damn it, Mother!” Carter knocked the tray from the butler’s hand, sending the set clattering to the floor. Porcelain shattered, spilling steaming tea all over the Persian rug.
“Jennifer!” Elizabeth’s eyes flicked from the mess to her daughter, and back again. “Good heavens, what has come over you?”
“Wake up, Mother!” Carter shouted. “The Martians are coming. I’ve seen them. And when they get here, all this… this… junk you’re so proud of will be nothing but ashes, and so will you if you don’t listen to me for once in your life and get the hell out of the city!”
Elizabeth Carter stood, her posture stiff. “Young lady, I have had quite enough of your nonsense. It’s not enough that you embarrassed us in front o
f all our friends and family, but when I think of how you crushed poor Edwin—”
“This isn’t about Edwin Dane, Mother,” Carter snapped. “For Christ’s sake! This is about survival! Now pack a bag, and pack light. I’m putting you and Charles on the next train out of the city.”
Elizabeth’s delicate hands balled into fists. “I’ll do no such—”
The front door crashed open in the foyer. “Elizabeth!”
Both women turned as Jonathan Carter stormed into the room, his hat askew and his expression panicked. When he saw his daughter, he stopped.
“My God,” he said. “Jennifer.”
“Daddy!”
“Thank God you’re here,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her briefly, and then broke the embrace to look at her. “We have to leave. Now.”
“What’s happened?” said Elizabeth.
“The Martians have been spotted in the Catskills,” Jonathan explained. “Charles, bring our overnight bags down. There’s a car waiting downstairs.”
“Martians?” said Elizabeth. “Then it’s true. My God. Where will we go?”
“The house in the Hamptons.” Jonathan grabbed the sleeves of Carter’s uniform. “I’m glad you’re here, Jenny. I’ve been just mad with worry ever since I heard the news.”
“Daddy,” Carter hesitated, fearing the look on her father’s face when she broke his heart again. “I-I’m not going with you.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m not going,” Carter said. “I have to return to A.R.E.S.”
That familiar stone-cold stare returned to his eyes. “Young lady, I don’t have time for your nonsense. You will accompany your mother and me.”
Carter’s eyes narrowed, matching her father’s. “No.”
The railroad magnate’s eyes widened. “No” was a word he was unaccustomed to hearing. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Carter said, her voice hardly above a whisper.
Jonathan struck Carter hard across the cheek. She stumbled, but managed to stay on her feet. Her mother gasped and ran to her side, but Carter shrugged her off. She touched her face, feeling the hot handprint swelling up.
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