Deadlocked 5 by A.R. Wise Read Free Book Online Page A

always bring such a healthy rebirth. For the first few years it was foolish to stand in the rain because there was a good chance it was acidic. Despite what some of the survivors believed, acid rain doesn't come from green clouds and stink of sulfur; it looks and smells just like regular rain, but it can peel the paint off houses and crumble statues if enough of it falls. I traveled through hundreds of miles of farms decimated by acid rain, the vegetation blackened with rot after just a single storm. In those early days, one of the most useful things in my gear was a battery operated Oakton pH tester. 
    After the first few years, the acid rain ceased, at least in the areas I traversed. No one knew what the world was like in the fallout regions of the eastern states.
    The trip down to the industrial area was a steeper slope than I'd anticipated. It made the hike easier, but the walk back would be strenuous as the rain slickened the dirt. We continued on and I noticed a surprising change in the field ahead. The grass was shorter than expected and the ground looked mangled, as if a herd of some sort had passed through recently. I glanced behind me, back toward our temporary home, and saw that the downgrading hill blocked my view. We were heading down into a valley, which made me wonder why Stubs chose such a difficult path to flee. If he'd taken nearly any other path, he would've been running on flatland, but heading south forced him to climb the hill to the road, a feat his tiny legs must've struggled to achieve.
    Fat raindrops struck the dirt with heavy thuds as the storm rolled overheard. I set Stubs down and we made our way into the field where the grass had been shorn. It was clear that cattle had grazed here. I could see their tracks and recognized their droppings, several of which still attracted flies. I hoped that Stubs would take the lead, perhaps eager to return to where he came from now that we were in a place that was familiar to him, but he lingered at my side, fearful and cautious.
    That's when the sweet smell of death struck me. A gust of wind carried the scent out from the nearby industrial zone. It was faint, as we were still a couple hundred yards away, but it was unmistakable. Some people theorized that humans have a strong reaction to the smell of rotting corpses as a defensive mechanism that we evolved because rotting meat carries with it a host of diseases. In this new world where corpses hunt the living, the ability to smell death was an invaluable sense.
    I should've turned around. I hadn't survived twenty years past the end of days because I took chances. There was nothing to be gained by moving on except the useless answer to where Stubs had come from. This wasn't part of my mission. There was no reason to keep moving, but I did.
    My Glock was chambered and ready to fire. My poncho was sleeveless and I held the pistol under it to keep it from getting wet. I wasn't worried about the rain affecting its ability to shoot now, but getting water into the mechanisms of a gun is something that's always good to avoid if possible.
    Raindrops pounded the earth with growing frequency. I regretted bringing Stubs as he sauntered along behind me, frightened of both the storm and what he knew we were walking into. I was hoping he could help me track down where he came from, but he would rather crawl in a hole and hide from the storm than anything else. Every crack of thunder caused his back to arch as if he were trying to tuck his stubby tail between his legs in terror.
    "Come on then," I said and scooped him back up. There was a pocket on the outside of the poncho that was large enough for him to fit the majority of his body into. His head and two front paws poked over the edge and I had to pull on the left side of the poncho to straighten it out after his weight dragged it off balance.
    The industrial plant was fenced off, and it was hard to tell what sort of facility it had been before the apocalypse. I wasn't as