Война миров
The Work of Fifteen Days
NearRoehamptonIhadseentwohumanskeletons—notbodies,butskeletons,pickedclean—andinthewoodbymeIfoundthecrushedandscatteredbonesofseveralcatsandrabbitsandtheskullofasheep. ButthoughIgnawedpartsoftheseinmymouth,therewasnothingtobegotfromthem.
AftersunsetIstruggledonalongtheroadtowardsPutney,whereIthinktheHeat-Raymusthavebeenusedforsomereason. AndinthegardenbeyondRoehamptonIgotaquantityofimmaturepotatoes,sufficienttostaymyhunger. FromthisgardenonelookeddownuponPutneyandtheriver. Theaspectoftheplaceintheduskwassingularlydesolate: blackenedtrees,blackened,desolateruins,anddownthehillthesheetsofthefloodedriver,red-tingedwiththeweed.Andoverall—silence. Itfilledmewithindescribableterrortothinkhowswiftlythatdesolatingchangehadcome.
ForatimeIbelievedthatmankindhadbeensweptoutofexistence,andthatIstoodtherealone,thelastmanleftalive. HardbythetopofPutneyHillIcameuponanotherskeleton,withthearmsdislocatedandremovedseveralyardsfromtherestofthebody. AsIproceededIbecamemoreandmoreconvincedthattheexterminationofmankindwas,saveforsuchstragglersasmyself,alreadyaccomplishedinthispartoftheworld. TheMartians,Ithought,hadgoneonandleftthecountrydesolated,seekingfoodelsewhere. PerhapsevennowtheyweredestroyingBerlinorParis,oritmightbetheyhadgonenorthward.
