Hazardous Materials Read Online Free PDF

gone. Where he’d knelt at the pool was a growing slick of blood.
    â€œThey can change,” the boy said. “The demons. They can make us see what they want. See what we want. It was a gift from their masters. A gift for them. A curse for us. A weapon.”
    â€œWeapon . . .”
    The boy clamped down on Jarrod’s hand. “The end is coming. You need to prepare.”
    â€œThe end of what?”
    â€œUs,” Ludwig called from the other side of the rink, laughing. “Us. Them. Difference does it make?” His cigarette dropped from his hand. Small flames sprouted from where it landed on the carpet.
    â€œDon’t listen to him,” the boy insisted. “You know what you need to do.” He pointed past Ludwig to the door of the arcade. Through the arch, Jarrod could see shadows flitting back and forth. Behind them was the Polybius. “You can stop them.”
    Jarrod felt hot. Sweat beaded his brow. He wiped it away, turning to see Ludwig trying to tie on his roller skates while an inferno raged around him. Smoke choked the air. Fire ate at the walls, taking big, greedy bites.
    â€œTold you you were gonna smoke,” Ludwig said, his head on fire. “Told you you were gonna burn.”
    The fire was suddenly everywhere. A million invisible needles tore through Jarrod as the flames climbed his back, coiling around him. He watched his skin blister, turn black, and peel. It’s just a dream , he told himself. A dream . But the pain screamed differently.
    Melting flesh dripped from the boy’s charred face, his hair now a shock of fire. He turned to Jarrod, eyes accusing. “You can stop this.” His mouth was gone, his face just a leering skull. But the voice was inside Jarrod’s head. “You have to stop it.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œYou know who I am,” he answered. “You know what you have to do.” The boy let go of Jarrod and was lost to the smoke, lost to the fire.
    Jarrod raised his hand, nothing now but black bone and raw sinew. In it he held a gun. The barrel shone with a glow that was almost holy. He started walking toward the arcade door.

FOUR
    J arrod jolted awake.
    Knock-knock-knock.
    He lay sprawled out on his bed, his neck one solid column of agony, screaming at him as he tried to roll over. He tugged at his shirt, and found it glued to his skin by a film of sweat. Harsh splinters of daylight edged through his drapes, shanking his eyes. Dawn already? he thought. He must have fallen asleep. He’d had a dream. It was—
    Knock-knock-knock.
    The door. Who the hell is knocking this early? It was the weekend. It was his day off.
    Knock-knock-knock.
    â€œFuck! All right! Give me a minute.” Jarrod lurched for the door, easing off a leg that was more needles than pins. He gripped the knob, ready to put that whole turn-the-other-cheek thing to the test if he opened it to find a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses. He leaned in at the peephole, blinking away the light that skewered him straight in the optic nerve.
    It was his friend Geoff, fisheyed by the glass. Jarrod inched the door open. Daylight washed over him like a wave. He staggered back, nausea wriggling up his throat.
    â€œDude? Just about to give up. Been knocking for like five minutes.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Jarrod managed with a small belch, barely able to peel his swollen tongue from the roof of his mouth.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Geoff pushed his way inside. “Thought we were going out.”
    â€œRight, right . . . I forgot.” The truth was, it wasn’t that Jarrod had forgotten; it was that he didn’t even remember .
    Geoff was dressed in dark jeans, a striped Oxford shirt, and a velour jacket, his hair plastered back in a slightly fascist cut that was all the rage. Even through the fog, Jarrod had to admit that his friend seemed awfullyput together for such an early