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Authors: John Christopher
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meadow, and dived under. I wondered if it had seen us; it was still far off, but we didn’t know its range of vision. I hoped we were hidden now. Andy squirmed forward to a position where he could look out, and after a moment’s hesitation I wriggled after him, scratching my wrist on a bramble.
He whispered, “I’d forgotten how comic it looks—like a mechanical clown.”
The three legs, swinging in succession, produced a motion which was a cross between lumbering and mincing. It did look ridiculous. And even though each stride covered ten or more meters, its progress seemed slow and laborious. The thumping rhythm was louder, and I caught the buzz of a helicopter, presumably shadowing it. I thought of the grace and speed of a Harrier fighter plane, and couldn’t understand why this ugly thing was being allowed to bestride the land—why no one had ordered a strike the moment it moved away from its Trippies. Then, as it got closer, I could see the small specks clinging to the gigantic feet. It had brought its disciples with it. And I could hear them, singing and shouting, the words indistinguishable but the voices wild and cheerful.
“How are they managing to hang on?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know.” A foot slammed down, another lifted and soared across the sky, and my stomach lurched with vertigo. “I think it’ll miss us by quite a bit.”
I was relieved, though, when Andy nodded agreement. “By a hundred meters, I’d say. But keep your head down.”
I didn’t need telling. We watched the Tripod hammer its way across the valley between us and Todpole. A foot landed in water which jetted up, sparkling like diamonds. The Trippies burst into what sounded like a hymn. Then, as the next foot reached its high point, something detached and fell. The singing didn’t even check as a figure dropped to earth in the next field, like a stone.
We waited till the Tripod was out of sight before going to see. It was a girl about sixteen, wearing jeans, her legs horribly jumbled. I thought she was dead as Andy bent over her. But she wasn’t quite. She whispered “Hail the Tripod.” Her lips barely moved, but she was smiling. The smile faded, and she really was dead.
• • •
The Tripod furthest from London had moved first, the others setting off in turn in what appeared to be a concerted march on the capital. The one on Farnham Common was the last to go, and that was when the air force was let loose. They didn’t show anythingon the news, but it was announced that all Tripods in Britain had been destroyed. They added that similar action had now been taken in other countries. The crisis was over. The world was finally free of Tripods.
I guessed why, although the attack on the first Tripod had been televised, these weren’t. It had been a desperate decision to make. Many of the Trippies clinging to them must have been killed, and they wouldn’t want to show that. It was awful thinking about it, especially since some of them could have been people I’d known. There had been no news of Andy’s mother, for instance. The fact that they probably died happy, like the girl in the field, didn’t make it any less terrible.
Over the next few days things were claimed to be returning to normal. It was odd, though, that so little was being said, when one remembered the fuss after the first invasion. I supposed it was to do with censorship. But why was the censorship still necessary?
Wild rumors started. One was that the royal family had Tripped and barricaded themselves inside Windsor Castle, where they were building a landing pad for the third wave of Tripods. Another said the third wave had already arrived and taken over an entire country, France in one version, the United States in another. As Pa said, censorship encouraged people to believe nonsense.
But, apart from the rumors, strange things were happening. People were still disappearing. In Boulder,the nearest market town, more than a hundred went at a single
He whispered, “I’d forgotten how comic it looks—like a mechanical clown.”
The three legs, swinging in succession, produced a motion which was a cross between lumbering and mincing. It did look ridiculous. And even though each stride covered ten or more meters, its progress seemed slow and laborious. The thumping rhythm was louder, and I caught the buzz of a helicopter, presumably shadowing it. I thought of the grace and speed of a Harrier fighter plane, and couldn’t understand why this ugly thing was being allowed to bestride the land—why no one had ordered a strike the moment it moved away from its Trippies. Then, as it got closer, I could see the small specks clinging to the gigantic feet. It had brought its disciples with it. And I could hear them, singing and shouting, the words indistinguishable but the voices wild and cheerful.
“How are they managing to hang on?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know.” A foot slammed down, another lifted and soared across the sky, and my stomach lurched with vertigo. “I think it’ll miss us by quite a bit.”
I was relieved, though, when Andy nodded agreement. “By a hundred meters, I’d say. But keep your head down.”
I didn’t need telling. We watched the Tripod hammer its way across the valley between us and Todpole. A foot landed in water which jetted up, sparkling like diamonds. The Trippies burst into what sounded like a hymn. Then, as the next foot reached its high point, something detached and fell. The singing didn’t even check as a figure dropped to earth in the next field, like a stone.
We waited till the Tripod was out of sight before going to see. It was a girl about sixteen, wearing jeans, her legs horribly jumbled. I thought she was dead as Andy bent over her. But she wasn’t quite. She whispered “Hail the Tripod.” Her lips barely moved, but she was smiling. The smile faded, and she really was dead.
• • •
The Tripod furthest from London had moved first, the others setting off in turn in what appeared to be a concerted march on the capital. The one on Farnham Common was the last to go, and that was when the air force was let loose. They didn’t show anythingon the news, but it was announced that all Tripods in Britain had been destroyed. They added that similar action had now been taken in other countries. The crisis was over. The world was finally free of Tripods.
I guessed why, although the attack on the first Tripod had been televised, these weren’t. It had been a desperate decision to make. Many of the Trippies clinging to them must have been killed, and they wouldn’t want to show that. It was awful thinking about it, especially since some of them could have been people I’d known. There had been no news of Andy’s mother, for instance. The fact that they probably died happy, like the girl in the field, didn’t make it any less terrible.
Over the next few days things were claimed to be returning to normal. It was odd, though, that so little was being said, when one remembered the fuss after the first invasion. I supposed it was to do with censorship. But why was the censorship still necessary?
Wild rumors started. One was that the royal family had Tripped and barricaded themselves inside Windsor Castle, where they were building a landing pad for the third wave of Tripods. Another said the third wave had already arrived and taken over an entire country, France in one version, the United States in another. As Pa said, censorship encouraged people to believe nonsense.
But, apart from the rumors, strange things were happening. People were still disappearing. In Boulder,the nearest market town, more than a hundred went at a single
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