Read Online A Handful of Darkness by Philip K. Dick - Free Book Online

water types, incredible kinds and numbers that had never been catalogued, probably never would be.
    By the end of the War every surface inch was radioactive. A whole planet sprayed and bombarded by hard radiation. All life subjected to beta and gamma rays. Most life died—but not all.
    Hard radiation brought mutation—at all levels,insects, plant and animal. The normal mutation and selection process was accelerated millions of years in seconds.
    These altered progeny littered the Earth. A crawling teeming glowing horde of radiation-saturated beings. In this world, only those forms which could use hot soil and breathe particle-laden air survived. Insects and animals and men who could live in a world with a surface so alive that it glowed at night.
    Trent considered this moodily, as he made his way through the steaming jungle, expertly burning creepers and vines with his blaster. Most of the oceans had been vaporized. Water descended still, drenching the land with torrents of hot moisture.
    This jungle was wet—wet and hot and full of life. Around him creatures scuttled and rustled. He held his blaster tight and pushed on.
    The sun was setting. It was getting to be night. A range of ragged hills jutted ahead in the violet gloom. The sunset was going to be beautiful—compounded of particles in suspension, particles that still drifted from the initial blast, centuries ago.
    He stopped for a moment to watch. He had come a long way. He was tired—and discouraged.
    The horny blue-skinned giants were a typical mutant tribe. Toads , they were called. Because of their skin—like desert horned-toads. With their radical internal organs, geared to hot plants and air, they lived easily in a world where he survived only in a lead-lined suit, polarized viewplate, oxygen tank, special cold food pellets grown underground in the Mine.
    The Mine—time to call again. Trent lifted his transmitter. “Trent checking again,” he muttered. He licked his dry lips. He was hungry and thirsty. Maybe he could find some relatively cool spot, free of radiation. Take off his suit for a quarter of an hour and wash himself. Get the sweat and grime off.
    Two weeks he had been walking, cooped up in a hot sticky lead-lined suit, like a diver’s suit. While all around him countless life-forms scrambled and leaped, unbothered by the lethal pools of radiation.
    “Mine,” the faint tinny voice answered.
    “I’m about washed up for today. I’m stopping to rest and eat. No more until tomorrow.”
    “No luck?” Heavy disappointment.
    “None.”
    Silence. Then, “Well, maybe tomorrow.”
    “Maybe. Met a tribe of toads. Nice young bucks, eight feet high.” Trent’s voice was bitter. “Wandering around with nothing on but shirts and pants. Bare feet.”
    The Mine Monitor was uninterested. “I know. The lucky stiffs. Well, get some sleep and raise me tomorrow A.M. A report came in from Lawrence.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Due west. Near Ohio. Making good progress.”
    “Any results?”
    “Tribes of rollers, bugs and the digging kind that come up at night—the blind white things.”
    “Worms.”
    “Yes, worms. Nothing else. When will you report again?”
    “Tomorrow,” Trent said. He cut the switch and dropped his transmitter to his belt.
    Tomorrow. He peered into the gathering gloom at the distant range of hills. Five years. And always—tomorrow. He was the last of a great procession of men to be sent out Lugging precious oxygen tanks and food pellets and a blast pistol. Exhausting their last stores in a useless sortie into the jungles.
    Tomorrow? Some tomorrow, not far off, there wouldn’t be any more oxygen tanks and food pellets. The compressors and pumps would have stopped completely. Broken down for good. The Mine would be dead and silent. Unless they made contact pretty damn soon.
    He squatted down and began. to pass his counter over the surface, looking for a cool spot to undress. He passed out.
    “Look at him,” a faint faraway voice