Grave Intentions Read Online Free PDF

predatory interest. “Always plan your way out before you go in, kid. It’ll save you a lot of trouble in the long run.”
    With a shrill creak, the trailer door swung open and a couple of good old boys in faded jeans and ratty T-shirts emerged. The taller one held a can of Black Label beer in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other, while his short stubby companion carried two large jugs filled with a pale, murky liquid. They were arguing over the upcoming game between the Georgia Bulldogs and Florida Gators as they approached the shed and unlocked the double doors.
    “How do you think they’re going to die?” Adam whispered. “I put dibs on gunshot wounds.”
    “Out here, it’s a definite possibility.” David watched while the men tugged the doors open. The inside of the shed resembled a lab of some sort, packed with an odd assortment of beakers, plastic tubing, and five-gallon buckets. Along the back wall, homemade shelves housed a motley collection of glass bottles. “What the hell is all that for?”
    The scent eventually drifted over, a sickeningly sweet chemical odor that both enticed and nauseated.
    “Meth lab,” Adam said with a scowl. “We used to find these all over Chicago, in everything from college dorms to million-dollar homes.”
    “And they use drain cleaner to make it?” David’s upper lip curled in disdain. Most of his drug experience dated back to the sixties, during that brief stint where he buried his disgust and self-loathing under a heavy haze of heroin and alcohol. Good thing he was already dead; otherwise, the addiction would have killed him long before he finally kicked it.
    “You got it. Along with battery acid, dryer sheets, and damn near every type of cleaning product known to man. Oh, and cold medicines. We usually found the labs when one of the neighbors started bitching about the smell.”
    David watched while the short and stubby one began mixing a concoction of ingredients in one of the five-gallon buckets. The taller guy leaned back against the counter and drank his beer. When he finished, he tossed the empty beer can into a nearby cardboard box and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    “Can you sense it yet?” David asked, trying to gauge Adam’s capacity to detect a pending death. The talent developed at a different pace for each reaper. Some took to it like a duck to water, while others required months to hone the ability.
    As a seasoned reaper, David could feel death fast approaching; sharp and strong as it pulsed through his system like it was a part of him. Not much longer, he decided, his body nearly vibrating in anticipation. Probably within the next minute or so.
    “Yeah, I can feel it,” Adam replied with a nod, his narrowed eyes fixated on the pair in the shed. “But it’s kind of weak, like it’s way off in the distance.”
    “Not good, but it’s a start. Keep focusing on it.”
    Adam motioned toward one of the other rusted-out vehicles. “Maybe it would help if I got a little bit closer.”
    “No, wait—”
    Too late. The kid took off toward a two-toned Chevy pickup, crouched down like he was avoiding sniper fire. He was halfway there when the tall guy with the mullet pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Obviously not thinking about the volatile chemicals surrounding him, he stuck the cigarette between his lips and flicked a lighter.
    “Son of a bitch,” David said, just as the flame ignited the chemicals, creating a massive fireball that blew Adam back against a pea green Dodge Dart on blocks. He hit with a heavy thud, his face reddened and his clothes singed by the raw heat of the blast.
    Meanwhile, the explosion had reduced the shed to a mass of broken glass, splintered wood, and smoldering chemicals. One of the nearby cars had caught fire, sending a caustic cloud of thick black smoke into the air. The dog was awake and barking its head off, unhurt but panicked, yanking hard on its chain but unable to break