Super Trick or Treat System

How do I understand accuracy.

After learning a sudden lesson about the power of land weapons, the Martians retreated to their original position in the Hallspool Community. Without a doubt, they ignored many wanderers and trivial victims like me, who were hurriedly haunted by the wreckage of their crushed companions. If they leave their comrades in arms and advance immediately, there will be only a series of twelve-pound guns between them and London, and they will definitely rush to the capital before taking action. Their arrival was sudden, terrifying and destructive, like the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago.

But they are not in a hurry. The cylinders follow the cylinders during interplanetary flight; they are strengthened every twenty-four hours. At the same time, the military and naval authorities are now full of vitality, exerting the immense power of their opponents, and they are energetic. Fresh guns are in place every minute, until dusk, every grove on the hillsides around Kingston and Richmond and every row of suburban villas concealed an expected black muzzle. Pass through a burnt and desolate area-about 20 square miles in total-around the camping Martian camp, through a burnt and tattered village among green trees, through a blackened smoking arcade still pine a day ago Thorn, climbed up to the special scouts with helicopter maps, these helicopter maps now warn the gunner Martian's approach. However, the Martians now understand our command over artillery and the dangers of being close to humans, and no one has ventured within a mile of the two cylinders at the expense of their lives.

These giants seemed to shuttle back and forth in the early afternoon, transferring everything from the second and third of the second and third cylinders to the original pit where they were above. Above that, the dark heathers and destroyed buildings stretched far, and one of them stood like a sentry while the others abandoned their huge fighter jets and descended into the pit. They worked hard until late at night, and from the hills around Melo and even Bansted and Epsom Downs one could see the dense green plumes of smoke rising from there.

When the Martians behind me were preparing for the next assault, humans gathered in front of me, and in countless pain and toil, came out from the burning Weybridge to the flames and smoke of London.

I saw an abandoned boat, small and remote, drifting downstream. Throwing away most of my wet clothes, I chased it up, bought it, and got rid of the destruction. There are no oars on the boat, but I tried my best to paddle, as my cooked hand allowed, it was very cumbersome to follow the river to Harryford and Walton, and I kept looking behind me, as you might be It's easy to understand. I follow this river because I think that if these giants return, then water gives me the greatest chance of escape.

The hot water from the Martian overthrow drifted downstream with me, so for most of the mile, I could hardly see any embankments. However, once, I drove a string of black numbers from Weybridge's direction and crossed the grass. Harryford seemed to be empty, and several houses facing the river were on fire. It is strange to see that this place is very quiet and desolate under the hot blue sky. Smoke and a small bunch of flames directly enter the high afternoon heat. I have never seen a house burning without the company of a crowd. On the dry reeds on the banks of the river, smoking and smelling a little fragrance, a line of fire in the interior steadily moved forward across a field of dry grass.

I drifted for a long time, and after experiencing violence I felt so painful and tired, and heated the water so strongly. Then my fear made me better again, and I started rowing again. The sun scorched my back. In the end, when Walton's bridge was faintly visible at the turn, my fever and fainting overcame my fear, and I landed on the banks of the Middlesex River, lying in the long grass, seriously ill. I think the time is about four or five. I stood up now, walked half a mile without encountering a soul, and then lay again in the shadow of a hedge. I seem to remember talking to myself wanderingly during the last sprint. I am also very thirsty. It is a pity that I no longer drink water. It is strange that I am angry with my wife. I can't explain

I'm not sure about the curator's arrival, so I may have fallen asleep. I realized he was the figure sitting on the sleeve of a soot-stained shirt, his upturned, shaved face staring at the faint flickering sky. The sky is the so-called mackerel sky-rows of faint feathery clouds that happen to be the midsummer sunset.

I sat up and he looked at me quickly in the rustling rustle.

"Do you have water?" I asked suddenly.

He shook his head.

He said: "You have been asking for water for the past hour."

We remained silent for a while and counted each other. I dare say that he found a naked enough stranger, except for my water-soaked pants and socks that were burned, and my face and shoulders were smoked black. His face was rather weak, his chin retracted, and his droopy forehead was curled with almost flax. His eyes were large, light blue, staring blankly. He spoke suddenly and looked at me blankly.

"What does this mean?" he said. "What do these things mean?"

I stared at him without answering.

He stretched out a thin hand and spoke almost in a complaining tone.

"Why are these things allowed? What sin did we commit? The morning service is over. I was walking on the road to clean up my brain in the afternoon. Then there were fires, earthquakes, and death! It seemed like Sodom and Gomorrah! All of us No work done, all the work-what are these Martians?"

"What are we?" I answered, clearing my throat.

He stayed on his knees, turned and looked at me again. Maybe for half a minute, he stared silently.

He said: "I'm walking the road to clean my brain." "Suddenly-fire, earthquake, death!"

He returned to silence, his chin almost sinking to his knees.

Now he started to wave.

"All work-all Sunday schools-what did we do-what did Weybridge do? Everything is gone, everything is ruined. The church! We rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Go! Why?"

After a pause, he broke out again like a dementia.

"The smoke from her burning will always be smoke!" he shouted.

His eyes gleamed, and he pointed his slender finger in Weybridge's direction.

At this time I started to take his measures. The great tragedy he was involved in-obviously he was Weybridge's fugitive-drove him to the brink of his reason.

"Are we far from Sunbury?" I was telling the truth.

"What shall we do next?" he asked. "Are these creatures everywhere? Has the earth been given to them?"

"Are we far from Sunbury?"

"Until this morning, I did not preside over the early celebration-"

"The situation has changed," I said quietly. "You must be vigilant. There is still hope."

"hope!"

"Yes. Hopeful-destroy everything!"

I began to explain my views on our position. At first he listened, but as my interest grew stronger and stronger, his gaze began to shift to their previous gaze, and his expression drifted away from me.

"This must be the beginning of the ending," he interrupted. "End! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When people are to summon mountains and rocks to fall on them and hide them, hide them from the face of the Lord sitting on the throne!

I began to understand this position. I stopped the laborious reasoning, struggled, stood up, and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Be a man!" I said. "You are witty! If religion collapses in a disaster, what good is religion? Think about the earthquakes, floods, wars, and volcanoes that have been done to mankind before! Do you think God exempts Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent. "

For a while, he sat in silence.

"But how can we escape?" he asked suddenly. "They are invincible, they are ruthless."

I replied: "None of them, and maybe neither of the other." "And we should be stronger, more sensible and vigilant. One of them was killed three hours ago."

"Kill!" he said, staring at him. "How to kill the preacher of God?"

"I saw it happen." I continued to tell him. I said: "We have the opportunity to participate, nothing more."

"What is the flash in the sky?" he asked suddenly.

I told him that this was a signal from a helicopter recorder, and it was a sign of human help and effort in the air.

I said: "We are in it and it is very quiet now. Flicker in the sky flickers and flickers. I think it is a Martian and a Londoner, where hills rise around Richmond and Kingston, covered by trees, Earth was thrown, guns were placed. For now, Martians will come in this way again."

When I was speaking, he stood up and blocked me with gestures.

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