Super Trick or Treat System

On our side, the fire only scorched nearby trees. It failed to secure its foothold. The husband works on Saturday in one place. The felled and freshly trimmed trees lie on a clearing, and the sawmill and its engine are piled with sawdust. The hard part was a temporary hut, empty. There was no breath this morning, everything is still strange. Even the bird was quiet, and as we hurried past me, the artillery talked in a low voice, looking at our shoulders from time to time. Once or twice we stopped to listen.

After a while, we were driving near the road, and then we heard the sound of hoofs and saw the three cavalry on the stump slowly approaching Woking. We greeted them and stopped as we rushed towards them. It was a lieutenant of the 8th Hussar and several private individuals. It had a theodolite-like shelf. The artillery told me it was a helicopter.

The lieutenant said: "You are the first time I have seen this this morning." "Brewing what?"

His voice and face were longing. The people behind him stared curiously. The artillery jumped off the river bank to salute the road.

Sir, the gun was destroyed last night. Has been hidden. Sir, I want to reinstall the battery. I expect that you will see Martians about half a mile along this road. "

"What kind of Dickens do they like?" the lieutenant asked.

"Armored giant, sir. One hundred feet tall. Sir, three legs and an "aluminum" body with a huge head on top."

"Get out!" the lieutenant said. "Nonsense!"

"You will see, sir. Sir, they carry a kind of box that will shoot and kill you."

"What do you mean, a gun?"

"No, sir." The artillery began to describe the heat rays vividly. Halfway through, the lieutenant interrupted him and looked up at me. I am still standing at the bank by the roadside.

"This is completely correct," I said.

"Okay," the lieutenant said, "I want to see it too. Look here." For the artillery, "we have detailed the situation of driving people out of the house. You'd better continue to tell Marvin The Brigadier General reports and tells him everything you know. He is in Weybridge. Do you know the way?"

I said. Then he turned the horse south.

"Half a mile, you say?" he said.

"At most," I replied, pointing south at the treetops. He thanked me and moved on, we never saw them again.

Moving further, we met a group of three women and two children on the road, busy cleaning the workers’ cabin. They are holding a small trolley, piled up with dirty-looking straps and dilapidated furniture. When we were in the past, they all tried very hard to talk to us.

We walked out of the pine trees next to Beverlet Station and found that the country was peaceful and peaceful in the morning sun. We are far beyond the range of the heat rays there. Is it not because of the silent desolation of some houses, the chaotic movement of other houses, and the knots of soldiers standing on the railway bridge staring at Woking. This day seems to be the same as any other Sunday. very similar.

Several agricultural trucks and trolleys moved frantically on the road leading to them, suddenly passing through the gate of a field, and we saw a flat grass with six twelve-pound shells pointed at Woking neatly and equidistantly. . The gunmen stood by the waiting gunpoint, and the ammunition light bus was as close as an official business. These people were almost standing for inspection.

"That's great!" I said, "In any case, they will get a fair chance."

The artillery hesitated at the gate.

He said: "I will continue."

Across the Wibry Bridge, across the bridge, many men in white fatigue jackets threw the long walls, and more guns were placed behind them.

The artillery said: "Anyway, that is the bow and arrow on the lightning." "They haven't seen the flame."

The officer who was not actively involved stood up and stared at the treetops in the southwest, while the excavators would stop from time to time and stare in the same direction.

In a commotion; people packed their bags, cavalry, some of them dismounted, some on horsebacks, looking for them everywhere. There are three or four black government trucks on the streets of the village, with crosses on them and white circles on them, as well as an old integrated bus and other vehicles. There are many people, most of them take vacations so that they can put on their best clothes. The soldiers encountered the greatest difficulty in making them aware of the importance of their positions. We saw a dry old guy holding a big box with dozens or more flower pots containing orchids, and the morale of the corporal who left them behind was angry. I stopped and took his arm.

"Do you know what it is over there?" I said, pointing to the top of the pine tree where the Martian was hidden.

"Huh?" He turned around and said. "I was explaining that these were Valli."

"Death!" I shouted "Death is coming! Death!" Then I asked him to digest, and if he could, I would pursue the artillery. At the corner, I looked back. The soldier left him. He was still standing next to his box, covered with a pot of orchids, staring vaguely at the tree.

No one in Weybridge can tell us where the headquarters are. The whole place is full of chaos I have never seen in any city before. There are trolleys and carriages everywhere, the most amazing miscellaneous items of transportation and horse meat. The respected residents of this place, men in golf suits and rowing suits, neat wives, are packing, loafers by the river help greatly, the children are excited, and in most cases, they are very excited about the Sunday experience I am very happy with the amazing changes. In the process, all valuable pastors were very happy to hold the early celebrations, and his bells were teetering in excitement.

The artillery and I sat on the steps of the drinking fountain, and we did a good job with the food we brought. The soldiers patrolling here are no longer light cavalry, but white grenade soldiers are warning people to act immediately or take refuge after the shooting begins. When we crossed the railway bridge, we saw that more and more people gathered in and around the railway station, and the crowded platforms were full of boxes and packages. I believe that in order to allow troops and guns to reach Chetsea, ordinary traffic has stopped, and since then, I have heard people hear brutal struggles on the special trains that opened in the next hour.

We stayed until noon, when we found ourselves nearby, where we met the Thames. For part of the time, we spent a lot of time helping the two old women to pack the cart. The mouth is high pitched. At this time, we need to rent a boat. There is a ferry across the river. On the Shepperton side is a small hotel with a lawn. In addition, the tower of Shepperton Church has been replaced by a spire and stands above the trees.

Here, we found a group of excited and noisy fugitives. So far, flying has not caused panic, but there are already more people flying around. People were out of breath under the heavy burden. A couple even carried a small door between them, with some household items stacked outside. A man told us that he wanted to escape from Shepparton Station.

Shouting loudly, even one person was joking. The idea that people seem to be here is that the Martians are just terrifying humans, and they might attack and fire the town and eventually destroy it. Every now and then, people will glance nervously at the top and drive toward the grass, but everything there is still there.

Across the Thames, everything was quiet except where the boats landed, in sharp contrast to the Surrey side. People who landed there from the boat wandered along the alley. The large ferry has just gone through a journey. Three or four soldiers stood on the lawn of the hotel, staring at the joking fugitive, and offered no help. The hotel has been closed because it is now in a prohibited time.

"What is that?" shouted the boatman. "Shut up, you idiot!" said a man near me to a barking dog. Then the sound rang again, this time coming from Chertsey, a muffled sound-gunshots.

The battle began. The almost invisible shells on the river on our right, invisible due to the trees, closed the chorus and fired one after another. A woman screamed. Everyone stood beside us nearby, but was invisible to us and arrested by the sudden fighting. Except for the flat grass, there is almost nothing to eat, almost nothing to eat, and the silver Pollard willow tree is motionless in the warm sun.

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