The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(112)
“Like a milking stool?” the prisoner suddenly inquired.
“Yes, you could say that,” Wells conceded, irritated by this interruption from the apelike man.
“With something dangling from the top like a . . . tentacle?” the oaf inquired again.
“Yes, from which it shoots its deadly ray,” Wells snapped.
“In that case, we have a problem,” Mike said, motioning with his chin toward the window.
Wells and the inspector turned as one and saw behind them a tripod approaching along the road. Although it was still far off, the three men realized in horror that with its huge strides it would soon overtake them.
“Good God!” said Clayton.
For a moment, the inspector appeared mesmerized by the terrifying vision before his eyes.
“I don’t think your pistol will be of much use now,” remarked the man with the ape face.
Ignoring his comment, Clayton slid open the hatch and yelled, “Have you seen what’s coming after us, Murray? Drive the horses on! Make them fly, damn it!”
A few moments later, they felt a violent jolt and gripped their seats for dear life. The millionaire was urging on the horses hard now, trying to whip into them the power of flight. The lovers’ jaunt was at an end. This was a desperate race to reach the safety of the hills before the tripod hunted them down. Boxed in between Clayton and the prisoner, Wells could not help letting out a cry of anguish as through the rear window he saw the machine gaining on them, kicking up fountains of sand and gravel each time its powerful legs sank into the ground.
“Faster, Murray, faster!” Clayton shouted.
With a fresh leap that made the earth shudder, the tripod came to within twenty yards of the carriage. Wells could see the tentacle sway in the air, and a feeling of dense, viscous panic clogged his veins: he knew what that familiar rocking movement meant. And this time there would be no escape. As the tentacle took aim, he resigned himself to perish in the coming moments, together with the prisoner and the smuggest inspector in Scotland Yard. Just then, they heard a deafening blast. But to their amazement, it was the tripod that received the hit. Its monstrous head shook violently, and one corner shattered into a dozen metal shards that scattered to the ground like a deadly shower of pollen. A splinter hit the tail end of the carriage, causing it to veer momentarily from its path, but Murray swiftly regained control. They heard a second blast coming from a different direction than the first, and the tripod shook once more, but this time the shot glanced off its left side. Wells saw the tentacle turn away from them, seeking out its aggressors—no doubt the cannons Clayton had told them about. These must have been positioned among the stands of trees toward which the carriage was rattling, now managing to outstrip its monstrous pursuer. The tentacle fired, and with a disquieting hiss the powerful heat ray spat out a shaft of fire to its left, blasting a dozen trees into the air. Wells had the impression that it was firing blindly, rousing his hopes that the duel might have a favorable outcome. Just then, the carriage must have crossed the line of defense, for all of a sudden they found themselves in the middle of a bewildering battle scene: dotted all around were various munition carts, dozens of heavy cannons, behind which gunners were hard at work, and a multitude of soldiers camouflaged behind trees and hillocks. The scene was one of total chaos, in which Wells hoped some order existed. With a violent jerk, Murray halted the carriage as they passed the last group of cannons. With surprising agility, he leapt from the driver’s seat and helped the girl down.
“Is everyone all right?” he bawled, in order for those inside to hear him above the deafening cannon fire.
Wells, Clayton, and the prisoner all nodded, though none of them stepped out of the carriage, preferring to follow the progress of the battle through the rear window. From what felt like a relatively safe distance, they watched the tentacle launch another shot, much more accurate this time. The heat ray sent half a dozen heavy cannons flying into the air, along with their respective gunners, many of whom, reduced to charred lumps, thudded into the trees. A dense odor of seared flesh floated over the battleground. The tripod, it appeared, was not willing to lay down its arms. Then, all of a sudden, whoever was in command, or perhaps an inspired gunner, fired at the legs of the machine, striking one of them and shattering it instantly. The tripod’s colossal head appeared to bob before lurching forward slowly and crashing to the ground a few yards away from a battalion of terrified soldiers.
“My God, they’ve shot it down,” Wells murmured, exhilarated by the brutal heroism of the confrontation, but most of all by its outcome.
“If the Creator had considered it wise to put a three-legged creature on this Earth He would have done so, but obviously the design is flawed,” Clayton remarked with his habitual pomposity.
After the felling of the tripod, the roar of cannons halted abruptly, and a dense silence descended, which all were too abashed to break. Then, somewhere amid the smoking ruin of the tripod’s head, what looked like a hatch opened, and from it emerged the pilot.
Gilliam Murray’s first impression was of a giant cockroach made of thick pea soup. But as his eyes grew accustomed to what he was seeing, the thing took on the appearance of a giant maggot, whose segmented body moved with suppleness, almost undulating across the ground, suggesting it had no bones or any kind of frame inside holding it up. The thing was roughly the size of a rhinoceros, and its outer layer put Murray in mind of the skin on certain poisonous toadstools. Somewhere on that amorphous body he thought he glimpsed a cluster of orifices and slits, which he assumed must be its head. Dotted over its pliant body he also thought he saw clusters of fine tentacles that seemed to give off a bluish glow and an occasional spark, like an electrical charge. After moving a few yards, the lump came to a halt, keeling over on one side, and seconds later the flesh stopped rippling, and it remained chillingly still. In its own way, the thing had perished before their eyes.