A story I have been writing(And greetings!)

[fleeingfromtripods]

Hello all, FleeingFromTripods here, I have been a long time lurker,first time poster "Slowly and surely drawing my plans against you" you could say ;D
I have been a fan of The War of the Worlds since I was 8 years old, and first read the original novel.
It reamins one of my favorite books!
I also have the muscial on CD(Love it! ;D ), and several spin-off books.
I have also seen all 4 movies, but the Spielberg 2005 one is the bst one so far, but I await with baited breath Jeff Wanyes CGI version!
Anyway, I have wanted to write my own version of the story for years, set in the same time perriod, in the US, and I have started it several times, but allways gave up on it.
This is the first time I have really put my mind to it, and I'm making some good progress so far.
I have gotten good feedback on it on other forums, but I wanted to register and post it on here, to get some feeback from true WOTW Fans!
So, without futher adieu', here is my work-in-progress,
"ULLA: A Survivors story."
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[fleeingfromtripods]

DISCLAIMER, I do not, nor do I claim to own, War of the Worlds.
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Ulla: a Survivors story.



February 18th, 1905.


It has been five years since those events.
What more can I say?
Only the young children of this world don’t know of the horror visited upon us in that pitiless summer.
It seems amazing to me now, in hindsight, that we humans went about our petty affairs, assured of our supreme dominion over this planet, that we were completely unaware of the interplanetary Sword of Damocles hanging over our necks.


I suppose that it would be best to take you back to the beginning.


In that first year of the Twentieth Century, I was living in the town of Farmville, Virginia, a small town on the banks of the Appomattox River, about 50 miles from Richmond, and 100 some odd miles from Washington, D.C., as the crow flies.


In that humid summer, I was working at the local post office as the head clerk, a position I had only recent obtained, and one that I was thoroughly proud of.
As I worked each weekday that June, I, like so many others, was blissfully unaware of the “great and calamitous events” that would soon befall us.

I did of course read the Richmond papers, but, other than scattered small articles at the back referring to eruptions of gas on the surface of the Planet Mars, there was no warning of what was coming, for even esteemed scientists and the world Governments were unaware of the sinister meaning behind the gaseous eruptions on the Red Planet.


I had come across these articles once or twice, especially during the month of May, but, not holding an interest in astronomy, I ignored them.

At that time, I lived in a small house on the edge of town, on a small hill overlooking the river.
As I could not afford the upkeep of the house by myself, I had a boarder living with me at the time, a young man by the name of Jenkins, who worked at the general store in town.

The morning of June 7th, 1900 dawned bright and sunny, but very humid, with a temperature in the 90s.
My mother, who lived in the Deep south in her childhood, called this “Confederate Weather.” After waking, I bathed, and dressed in my postal clerks uniform, and walked out into the garden to get the paper.


MISSILE FROM MARS shouted the headline; some sort of cylinder had landed near London the day before, but the paper was unable to give further information.
While I found the article to be interesting, I did not have time to dwell on it, and went back inside to have breakfast.

I had just sat down to eat when Jenkins walked in.

“Did you see the paper” he asked, breathlessly.
“Yes, what of it?” I said, slightly irritated.
“The missile from Mars, of course. What do you make of it?”
“Hmmm, I’m not really sure . . . ”
“Well, what if it is an Attack?”
“I doubt that, a race that would take the time to travel the distance between our two worlds would surely have better things to do. I think the most likely outcome is that they have sent a message, books and the like.”
“Hmmm, I suppose you might be right.”
“Yes, well enough of this, here, have some tea.”

We ate breakfast in silence.

After I was done, I left the house for work.

I walked on the side of the main road leading into town; along the river.
Bulrushes lined its banks, and darning-needles darted around though them.
The sparrows and finches sang in the willows, and the snakeweed was in bloom, making parts of the bank a solid pink.

After a few minutes, the road bent away from the river and began to head into town.
I walked past houses much like my own, with tidy gardens in front of them, and the occasional person tending them. I saw a few cats slinking along in one of the towns few alleyways, hunting rats that fed upon the feed for carriage-horses.

It was a small town, and carriages were not often needed within it; however I did see one rather ornate one, belonging to the local Statehouse representative, heading to Richmond, most likely.
I arrived at the post office, and unlocked the door, and began the day’s work.

Not many people came in that day, due to the heat, I surmise, and those that did insisted on gossiping about the Missile in England, a topic which I found to be tedious and boring.
At the end of the day, I locked up the post office, and headed back home.

When I walked in, I found Jenkins in the parlor, reading the evening paper.

He hadn’t heard me walk in, and I gave him a start.
“You know that missile in England?” He asked excitedly.
“That again? Really, Jenkins, you should find something better to talk about” I replied, irritated.
“Yes, yes, I know, but there’s been more of them”
“Really?” I said, my interest rekindled. “Let me see.”

He handed me the paper and I began to read.

The paper told that the first missile, now being referred to as a ‘cylinder’ had opened, disgorging otherworldly beings, of grotesque appearance, apparently, and of how they had somehow massacred a crowd of onlookers with some sort of weapon.

It also told of the falling of a second Cylinder, near the first, and of the dispatching of the militia to control the situation. Other Cylinders had landed elsewhere, near Paris and also in Germany, with similar occurrences as described as happening in England.

I put down the paper, rather shocked at what it told.

“So? What do you make of it?” Asked Jenkins
“Well, my theory from this morning might be untrue, but it could also be that they were just scared of us, and reacted rashly. Nonetheless, I think the militias should be able to take care of them.”
“But what if they come here?” He asked, worry tightening his voice.
“If they do, I’d wager we can take care of them.” I said confidently
“Well, I hope you are right.” He said, sounding unsure.
“So, who’s turn is it to make dinner?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yours.” He replied with a grin.
“Yes, that’s what I was afraid of.”
After having a dinner of cold beef(I was not, and am not, a good cook), Jenkins retired early, while I stayed up, rereading the paper.

Despite my confident comments to Jenkins, the cylinders in England did bother me, and I was concerned about the possibility of more of them landing here in America. I must have reread that article three times, but I realized that no matter how hard I looked at it, it would not change, so I retired, and sank into a restless sleep.

[fleeingfromtripods]

Sorry for all the posts, but my story so far seems to be longer than allowed in one post, so I will post each chapter in its own post.
Heres Chapter Two!
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Chapter 2


The next day dawned as clear ad hot as the day before, and it proceeded in much the same way, that is, until I opened the post office for the day’s business.
One strange thing that did happen, was when I went out to get the days paper, it was not to be found. I questioned Jenkins, but he had not brought it in, either. I surmised that I had been accidentally left of the days delivery list, and I made a mental note to inform the main office of their oversight.

In the early afternoon, a man came walking in, at a fast pace, and out of breath, as though he had recently been running. I recognized him as a man by the name of Jefferson, a worker at a nearby railway station.

“Good day, Mr. Jefferson” I said, jovially
“Yes, yes, good day to you too. I say, have you heard the news? ”
“Which news would that be?” I asked
“Why, the Cylinder, of course ” He said excitedly.


My heart skipped a beat, and I felt an involuntary chill race down my spine.


“Cylinder? Where?” I replied, cautiously.
“It landed just this morning, in a tobacco field down Blackstone way, about 10 miles or so away” He stated, matter-of-factly.

I glanced at the clock above the door, it was around noon, and with the heat, it was doubtful that there would be many people that day coming in.

“I do believe that I want to see this ‘Cylinder’ for myself ” I said quickly, walking to the door and putting up the “Closed” sign. “Will you take me that way, sir? I have no carriage right now.”
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Jefferson “We’d best hurry, though, there was already a crowd gathering when I left for here.”
“Do you want to tell anyone else?” I asked.
“No, I had already taken care of that before coming here”
“Ah very well. Shall we?”

We walked out of the post office, and I locked the door behind me.
A few people walking by gave incredulous glances at the sight of the head clerk of the post office leaving said office in the middle of the day, but I ignored them.
At that time, my only thoughts were of the Cylinder in the tobacco field, and of what possibly ominous implications it could have for me, and perhaps others as well.

We climbed into the carriage, Mr. Jefferson gave a flick of the reins, and we were off, heading south, out of town, at a trot.
We went down the main road between Farmville and Blackstone, passing fields, brooks, and trees.

I felt the need to talk, to break the tense silence between us.

“So, Mr., Jefferson, tell me more of the Cylinder.”
“I’d be happy to, my boy, and please, feel free to call me ‘Jacob’.”
“It landed pretty much in the middle of the field, and with great force, it would appear, as it made a large crater, and splashed earth all around it.”
“Splashed?”
“Yes, splashed, like mud under a stone.”
“How large is it?”
“Oh, I would say a good thirty yards.”
“Thirty yards? How massive”
“Yes, and it is also glowing hot. The heat radiates off of it.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, it is so hot, that there were some small fires burning in the field when I saw it.”
“Has it opened?” I asked, a ball of worry gathering in my stomach.
“Opened? No, I do not think so; why would you think that?”
“Well, the one that landed in England opened, the paper said it had passengers in it, men from Mars.”
“Men from Mars?” He chuckled “No, I doubt that, my boy, you see, I have read a bit on this subject, and the force of gravity on Mars is a good deal lighter than here on Earth, if they had come here, the mere effort of standing upright would crush every bone in their bodies”
“I didn’t know you were a man of science, Mr. Jefferson.”
“It’s Jacob, my boy, Jacob, but, what is your name? I’m sorry to say, I haven’t caught it yet”
“It’s Alex, Jacob” I replied, smiling”
“Ah, very good, very good Well, Alex, in answer to your question, I have studied a bit, I want to William and Mary college, and they recently offered me a teaching position”
“You should take it Jacob, you have a way of explaining things very well.”
“Well, I thank you for that Alex” “Ah, “he said, pulling back on the reins a bit, “here we are.”

He had brought the carriage to a stop in one of many copses of trees scattered along the edge of the tobacco field, and I welcomed the shade.
I looked out over the field, but could not see the Cylinder, it was, as Jacob had described, hidden by mounds of earth, some of them ten feet or higher.
The tobacco, which had the day before been in its prime, and close to harvest, was now flattened, covered with earth in some places, burned out and smoldering in others.
The owner of the field would not get a harvest this season, I thought.
I looked around, and saw, under some of the other trees, other carriages, some almost ornate, and others plain and utilitarian.
Looking out across the field, I saw a few small knots of people, mostly talking among themselves, and some of the braver ones inching closer to the Cylinder.
Seized by curiosity, I left Jacob to tie the horses to the tree, and walked out into the field.
I made a wide circle around the thing, to find a vantage point where I could actually see it. Climbing onto one of the hills of upturned earth, I was able to look down into what would later be called “The Pit.”

A large crater, a good 60 or so yards across, with the Cylinder itself in the center. It looked as though the Cylinder was larger that Jacob thought, as it appeared that a part of it was buried in the ground, like a dart.
The end of it appeared to be slowly rotating, unscrewing, like a cap. The thing was caked in earth, and some other material, which was flaking off in places, especially near the end, where a few inches of projecting screw were a shiny gray-white.
“Good lord, it appears to be opening” Jacob appeared at my side.
“Yes, it seems as though the thing is hollow, like the ones in England” I said.
“Yes, that may be true, but I doubt that there are actual men in there” Jacob said with a chuckle.
“But, the ones in England had occupants, they even massacred a crowd” I said, my fear rising as I saw the end of the Cylinder make a quarter-turn.
“Oh, pish-posh”Jacob said, making dismissive motions with his hands, ”you know how those English are, I’d say it’s just a stunt”
“I certainly hope you are right.” I said.
During the time we had been talking, a group of about five other people had gathered around us on the hill, and as I looked around, I could see similar groups on the other hills that had been made by the Cylinders impact.
“Look at that” shouted a woman, pointing at the end, which was making another quarter-turn. “It’s unscrewing”
“It doesn’t look like much will happen right now” I said, turning away from the Thing.
“We should sit in the shade and see what happens”
“Ah, yes, very good” said Jacob, “this heat is indeed unpleasant,” he said, as he took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbing his forehead with it.
We walked under the tree where the carriage was hitched, and sat down, watching other groups of people, seeing nothing particularly exciting happening at the Cylinder, walked away as well; some went under the trees, while others left.

There was a shopkeeper from Blackstone, toting a barrow out of which he was selling ginger beer, and I walked up to him and brought two bottles.
I took then back under the shade, and sat next to Jacob, and handed him one.
We sat under the trees for an indeterminate amount of time, watching various people come and go, some from Blackstone, others from Farmville.
Jacob and I exchanged small talk, much of it idle speculation about the Cylinder, and as the heat became stronger, we both began napping.

I don’t know how long we slept, but we were awoken by screaming.

My eyes snapped open, and I examined the field. The Sun was low in the sky, and the first snatches of orange were beginning to tint the westward horizon.
There were still knots of people on the hills around the Cylinder, and in the field itself, but they now seemed to be moving as one, all of then away from the Cylinder.
I got up and ran towards it. I passed a man with a ruddy face, and I stopped him “You What’s happening? ”
I demanded “That damn thing’s opening, I’m not staying to find out what’s inside “ He said, and pushed me out of his way.

“Opening?” I asked out loud. I continued running towards the Pit, and I could not have been more than 5 yards away, when, suddenly, I heard a deep thrumming noise.

Louder and louder it grew, soon drowning out the screams and cry’s of the retreating crowd.
It began to ring in my ears, and I dropped to my knees in pain, clutching them.
I looked up, and over the dirt hills I saw bright green light begin to flare, a light so bright, that the now-vivid summer sunset was overpowered by it.
Three puffs of green smoke came up out of the pit, and by the light, I saw a group of people standing on the dirt hill closest to the Cylinder.

They seemed to be frozen in shock.

Despite the assault on my ears, I removed my hands from them, and began waving them at the group, and shouting wildly, “Stop, you fools Run ” I shouted this twice, and one of the people, a young girl wearing a straw hat, turned and looked at me.

Her face was etched in horror.

I began running towards them, but I had not run but two or 3 feet, when there was a bright glare, and each and every person on that dirt hill was instantly turned to fire.

A beam of light, so pale as to be almost invisible, was coming out of a tall funnel, rising out of the Pit.
The funnel turned, and so did the beam of light, sweeping over the field and the trees ringing it. Each tree and bush became a mass of flames at the touch of this, savage, unearthly Ray.
The people still on the field turned and ran, and so did I, completely overcome with terror. The face of that girl was emblazoned on my memory, and remains so to this day.
As I ran, I saw people around me come into contact with the Ray, and as they did, each instantly came ablaze, falling to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain and fright.
Masses of the flatted tobacco came ablaze too, as did the carriages and their horses under the trees.
I tripped over a root and fell, the scent of burning trees and human flesh thick in the air. I expected nothing but a painful death.
The Ray swept over my head, igniting the trees in front of me, and then it stopped, the thrumming stopped as well.
I turned and saw the funnel of the thing descend back into the pit, and I realized, that, by a miracle, I had escaped.

[fleeingfromtripods]

Here is Chapter 3
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Chapter 3

I scrambled up, and looked around me, at a scene straight out of Dante’s Inferno.
The scent of burning was thick in the air, every scrap of tree, bush, or hedgerow was afire.
The roar of the flames was the only sound to be heard.
And, scattered throughout the field were burned and blackened corpses.................some of which were still moving, moaning in agonizing pain.
I took all this in in a second or two, thrust into a state of shock, unable to move.
Jacob was nowhere to be found, and the carriage we had arrived in was a cinder.
For several seconds, I just stood there. Then, I remembered the face of the girl, the green smoke, the droning, and I was overcome with pure terror.

I turned and ran towards the road as fast as I could, tripping and stumbling over rocks, roots, and a corpse or two. I don’t know how long I ran like that full out, I believe that as I ran, my mind shut down, to protect me.


When I came to, for lack of a better term, it was now twilight. I was still running, but slowly, my chest was on fire, my legs ached, and my face and body were plastered with sweat.
I was still on the road, and I walked to the side, and collapsed against a magnolia tree, utterly exhausted, and panting heavily.
I lay there for several minutes, staring straight ahead, my mind struggling to process the horrors it had just witnessed.
I turned my head, and looked down the road in the direction I had just come.
The field was concealed by a small rise, topped with trees, that were just beginning to catch afire.
The night sky above the field held a faint yellow-orange glow, and a few wisps of smoke were rising, beginning to consolidate into a larger cloud.
I looked around my closer surroundings, and realized that I was very close to Farmville, and I got up and continued walking towards it, occasionally looking over my shoulder in fear, jumping at the slightest noise.
“I must warn the town” I thought.
After walking for a few more minutes, I rounded a bend in the road, and before me were the happy and cheerful lights of Farmville.


I walked into town, and I passed one of the first houses. There was a group of young people standing in the garden, talking and laughing.
One of them noticed me, and I most have looked quite disheveled, for one of them looked up, and recognizing me as the head clerk of the post office asked.
“Mr. DeRuyter, are you all right?”
I was still a little dazed, and didn’t hear him the first time, so he repeated the question louder.
“Mr. DeRuyter, are you all right? ?”
I looked up ”Mmm? Uh, yes, I’m fine. Have you heard any news?”
“News?” asked one of the other people, a young lady, dressed in the latest fashion, “what news?” I was shocked.
“Why, of the Cylinder, of course ”
“The Cylinder?” said the boy. “What of it? People seem rather jumpy about it.”
“They have right to be,” I said, anger and sadness tinging my voice.
“The thing opened, and whatever was inside killed the whole crowd ”
The faces of the young people showed shock and disbelief.
“But, wait, “said another boy in the group,“If they killed everyone, how did you escape?”
I was indeed unsure myself at that time of just how I had accomplished that, and this was reflected in my response.
“I, uh, I’m not exactly sure,” I said, trailing off of the sentence, still in shock.
I heard one of the group whisper to his friends “I think he’s drunk”, and the girls giggled.
I had heard him, and whirled on him in anger.
“I am NOT drunk, you fool They killed them, every last one of them Just like they did in England They might come here too They......””
I said, my voice rising higher, and with more fear, anger, and sadness in it with each word, finally ending in a sob.
“The fools’ read too many papers,” said one of the boys, and then another said “Go home and dry out, you idiot ”
My anger rose again, and I began to say something more to them, but stopped, and began to walk away. As I did, I said over my shoulder, in a rough voice “You’ll hear more yet from them.”, and, as I walked away I could hear them laughing at me.


I walked to my house, still in shock. I entered the door, walked into the parlor and collapsed into a chair.
Just then, Jenkins walked in from the kitchen. “Good God, Alex, what the devil happened to you ”
I looked up at him, and, in a hoarse voice said, “The killed them.”
“Killed them? Who?” I looked at him in shock.
“The Martians of course In the tobacco field ” Jenkins looked shocked.
“The tobacco field, what? You mean a Cylinder landed here in Virginia? ? ”
“Yes, in a field down Blackstone way.” Now Jenkins was the one who looked shocked.
“My God, they are here too ? And you say they killed a crowd ? ” Jenkins sat down on the sofa.

My mind had begun to clear, and I was beginning to formulate a plan. “We must inform the Military.” I said flatly. “And the papers, too. The populace must be warned.”
“Should we leave town, what with them being so close?” Jenkins asked.
I considered it for a few moments, then said “No, no, I do not think that will be necessary. The Gravity of Earth is stronger than Mars’ is.” I said, repeating what Jacob had told me that afternoon.
I thought of him, and felt a stab of guilt for not looking for him on the field. “They will be hard pressed to move from their pit.” I said, confidently.
“They have done some damage, but the military will talk some reason into them.” Jenkins looked unconvinced.
“If worst comes to worst, a Shell in the Pit,” I said, slamming my fist down onto the table, “will kill them all.”
I got up suddenly, “I must go to the post office, to send a message to Richmond.” I said, and, without a further word to Jenkins, who was still sitting on the couch in shock, I walked out of the house.

Several minutes later, I arrived at the post office, and unlocked the door. I walked into the back room, where the Telegraph was located. I tested it, and there was a spark, so there was still power after all.

I looked up the code for the Richmond Militia, and tapped out a message to them.
A moment later, I got a confirmation message, which meant there was indeed an operator at the other end.
“NEED TROOPS SENT TO FARMVILLE BLACKSTONE AREA ASAP.” I wired.
“WHAT IS NEED FOR TROOPS?” wired back the operator in Richmond.
“MARTIAN CYLINDER LANDED NEAR BLACKSTONE. OCCUPANTS MASSACRED CROWD WITH WEAPON.”
“IS THIS A JOKE?” Tapped back the other operator in Richmond, it would appear that he believed I was pulling a hoax on him.
“NO JOKE. MARTIANS VERY DANGEROUS. PLEASE SEND TROOPS ASAP.” I replied.
“I THINK THIS IS A JOKE” came the reply, then, a few seconds later, “HOLD ON. I AM RECEIVING OTHER TRANSMISSION. STAND BY.”
I sat there for several minutes, my worry growing. Perhaps he had cut me off? Suddenly, the machine crackled to life
“HAVE RECEIVED CONFIRMATION OF CYLINDER FROM WAR DPT. WILL SEND TROOPS.” I was overwhelmed with relief. Someone else, perhaps from Blackstone, had wired the War Department in Washington, and they had been believed. That must have been why he had kept me on hold, he must have been in contact with DC.
“THANK YOU. PLEASE HURRY, SITUATION URGENT.” I tapped out gratefully.
“WILL DO. EXPECT TROOPS BY TOMORROW NOON. GOOD NIGHT.”
“THANK YOU. GOOD NIGHT.” I tapped out in reply, and shut off the device.
I sat back in the chair, and sighed in relief. Richmond would send the Militia, and the Martians would either be reasoned with, or destroyed. I walked back out of the post office, and locked it up once again. I began walking back home. I arrived back about a half hour later, to find the lights still on. I went in, and found a tired Jenkins waiting for me. “Why are you still up?” I asked.
“Did you get through to Richmond?” He asked worriedly.
“Yes. At first, they didn’t believe me, but the War Department up in DC contacted them, and they said that troops would be here by Noon tomorrow.” I said.
“Oh, Thank God” Jenkins said, and sighed with relief.
“There isn’t much more to be done tonight, I’m going to bed, and you should too; Don’t you have to work at the General Store tomorrow?”
“Oh yes, I suppose I do.”
“Well then go to sleep. Good Night, Jenkins.” I said, as I walked down the hallway towards my room.
“Good Night, Alex.”He said, as he walked down the hall after me.
I went into my room, and, after settling myself under the sheets sank into a restless sleep.



In the field near Blackstone, the Martians were at work, sleepless, indefatigable, upon the machines they were making.............

[fleeingfromtripods]

And here is the First Part of Chapter 4; this is all I have written so far, so, please comments and constructive criticism is welcome!
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Chapter 4
I awoke the next day to the sound of horses hooves and carriage wheels on the road outside.
I jumped out of bed, and still in my pajamas, rushed out the front door and into the garden.
Jenkins was already standing at the gate, also in his bedclothes, staring at the procession parading down the road.

And indeed what a procession it was. Regimented groups of uniformed men walking down the road, their rifles and bayonets glittering in the early morning sun; their officers mounted on horses. Draft horses pulling wheeled cannons and ammunition wagons, it was indeed quite a sight, and to this day it remains vivid in my memory. As we watched them parade past, some of the soldiers shouted out assurances to us, “Never you fear, the Militia is here ” “We’ll show ‘em what for, don’t you worry ” “Them Spacemen’ll listen to reason with us around ”
Even while listening to those assurances, I couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that hung over me.

After the procession passed us, continuing down the road towards the field, I turned to Jenkins and said “I’m going to dress and follow them down there.”
Jenkins looked at me for a second and then said “Yes, I shall go with you.”
“Very well then, but hurry. I do not want to miss anything.”
After dressing, we both hurried into town, and found it in a state of high excitement. The passing through of the Militia had shocked everyone into the reality of the situation, as had the disturbingly conspicuous lack of newspapers from anywhere outside of Richmond.

As we walked into town, we saw people running about, many hurrying to their carriages, many of which were fleeing out of town to the North. Newsboys stood on almost every corner loudly proclaiming “Earth attacked by Martians Contact with England and the West lost Read all about it ” Jenkins and I stood on a street corner for several moments, in shock.

I spotted one of the young men from the night before, the one who had accused me of being drunk. He saw me as well, and hurried across the street to speak to me, narrowly missing being run over by a carriage with was traveling at a ludicrous rate of speed.
He came up to me out of breath, and said “It would seem that I was wrong.” “Yes, I suppose you are.” I said flatly. “I’m sorry for saying you were drunk, Mister DeRuyter.” He said, looking down at his feet.
“I do not believe it is important anymore, it light of what is happening.” I said, waiving the matter off.
“Do you know where we could procure a carriage and a driver?” I inquired of him.
“Are you leaving town as well, Sir?” He asked.
“No, my tenant,” I said, gesturing to Jenkins, who was busy watching the organized chaos all around us, “Jenkins and I are going to watch the Militia defeat them”
The young man looked shocked. “Defeat them? But sir, you yourself said just last night that they killed a whole crowd of people with a weapon ? How can Cannon stand up to that? ”
“I was in a bit of a terror at the time, I believe that the Militia can fight them.” I said confidently.
“I wish I had your confidence.” he said.
“So, do you know where we can acquire a carriage?”
“No, Mister DeRuyter, I’m afraid I do not. But you could ask at the public-house.”
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Thank you.”
“Yes, anytime.” He said, and disappeared into the crowd.

“Come, Jenkins, we must find a carriage” I said, tapping Jenkins on the shoulder, and breaking him out of his trance.

We plunged into the crowd, and headed towards the public-house, but, since it was in the direction of Blackstone and the Cylinder, we had to fight the prevailing direction of the crowd.
After several minutes of fighting out way through the crowd, I spotted the sign for the public-house, and grabbing Jenkins by the shoulder, forced our way through the crowd to the door.
I pulled it open, and we ducked inside, grateful to be out of the crowd.
It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting inside, but once I did, I saw that there were about ten or fifteen people sitting at widely scattered tables.
The room was very quiet and subdued, a stark contrast to the chaos outside, which I could still see outside the windows.

I walked into the center of the room, and said “Does anyone here have a carriage I could rent?”
Several people looked up at me, but most of them returned to their glasses a second later.
Except for one man, an older gentleman with a beard, who looked at me and said “Yes, I have one. What do you need it for?”
His words were slightly slurred, I surmised that he had been in the public-house all day.
“ My friend and I are going to watch the Militia fight the Martians.” I said.
“Martians? What are you talking about ? ” He said
“The Cylinder that landed Blackstone way, Joe.” said someone sitting at the bar.
“Cylinder? Martians? What rot ” Joe said, waving me away.
“Go, take you lies somewhere else ”
“I’ll pay good money” I said.
Joe looked up at me, his interest piqued.
“How much?”
“Forty, and you will get it back tonight.” I said flatly.
“Forty? Good God man, the whole carriage ain’t worth that much ”
“I’m in a hurry. Forty and you will have it back tonight.”
Joe sat there for a few seconds, contemplating my offer.
“Alright, you can have it, but I won’t drive you.”
“I didn’t expect you to.” I said, already walking towards the door.
“Which carriage is it?” I asked.
“The beat up one with the shoddy horses ” shouted someone in the back, which elicited laughter from everyone but Joe, who was beginning to let loose a stream of profanity as I left, with Jenkins in tow.

[David Faltskog]

Most excellent

Keep up the good work.

D.F.

[Relyt]

Yes, it is excellent, as if an author of the literary skills of , well, an author were writing this!

Oh, and welcome to your doom- er, the forum!

[fleeingfromtripods]

faltskogian said:

Most excellent

Keep up the good work.

D.F.

Thanks ;D

[fleeingfromtripods]

relyt said:

Yes, it is excellent, as if an author of the literary skills of , well, an author were writing this!

Oh, and welcome to your doom- er, the forum!

WOW!
Thanks! ;D
Thats high praise yet again, I've gotten good reviews on this at another board.
And the thing is, I write it as I go along, not much is set out beforehand! Although I do have a rough layout of the overall plot.

BTW, I plan to have the you-know-what-machines make their first appearacne in the next installment! ;D

[Relyt]

Also, it's nice of it to take place in Virginia for a change. It's my motherland after all!

[fleeingfromtripods]

Oh, Really?
Cool!
I have visited D.C. before, but now down in Virginia as far as my current setting, so some of my descripitons of terrian and the like might not be so accurate.

[richardburton]

Good stuff so far - good luck with it and welcome aboard.

[fleeingfromtripods]

*Sigh*
Ok, I'm having some trouble with the story.
I think I have chosen the wrong location as my starting point.
You see, I do want to use the overall plot of Wells's book, using Washington DC in place of London, and Fredericksburg in place of Weybridge/Shepperton, with Anapolis as the location for the Thunder Child event.
But, all these locations are too far apart,given turn of the century transportartion methods.
Now, I could use DC and the Potomac as the setting for the Thunderchild,but a narrow river just doesnt make sense for that chapter(Even using the Chesapeke Bay, considering that the Martians could just close it off at the mouth, is streching it as a location)
Reylt, You said you were freom Virginia, can you lend me some help, because I'm just not willing to continue with the story untill these issues are resolved.
So, anyone that can help,please do so.

[Relyt]

Alright. First, the Chesapeake Bay is actually one of the largest bays in the world, so there's plenty of room there for the Thunder Child event. Even the outlet is huge.
For the starting point, you could use a city or town on the peninsula and since it's right next to the Chesapeake Bay there's a perfect set-up for the Thunder Child for the narrator to cross the bay in a farry in order to reach the Potomac river and that would get him close to Washington DC. So how about putting the narrator at the beginning in Exmore, which is on the Penensula. What do you think of that?
Here's the map I used:
www.virginia-map.org/virginia-map.jpg

[fleeingfromtripods]

Well, I live on the peninsula, and have thought of setting it here, but it seemed unreasonable to have him over here and be able to cross the Bay, was there even a ferry where the bridge is now in 1900-ish?
That was the main thing that prevented me from setting it over here.
Then only thing is that the peninsula doesnt have a river big enough to be the Weybridge-Shepperton stand-in, and doing it on the potomac puts it too close to D.C.,which is the London stand in......
Now, if there was a cross-bay ferry in 1900, than changes things...