The Psychozone Read Online Free Page B

intense, he lost his grip and fell back.
    His knee stung as the water hit the wound. He reached desperately toward the edge and grabbed a handful of soft fabric. He pulled. The sheet ripped from the wall, revealing another crude, hand-painted sign.
    For an instant, Jason stared at the sign. For an instant, he froze. Maybe, if he had moved sooner, things would have been different.
    Large, red letters exclaimed: THE TERROR OF THE AMAZON. SEE THEM HERE. LIVE PIRANHAS. KILLER FISH THAT CAN STRIP A COW IN SECONDS. FEEDINGS AT NOON AND EIGHT. At the bottom, there was a painting of an animal, perhaps a cow, its eyes impossibly wide with fear, thrashing in a river while the water churned and boiled in fury.
    Jason felt a hundred sharp stings at once.
    Across the room, the man closed the door.

BURGER AND FRIES
    M y dad owns Jumbo Burger. This is kind of cool since just about everyone eats there. It’s also a pain at times because he makes me work on the weekends. Despite this minor violation of the child labor laws, our family was the picture of small town happiness, just me and Mom and Dad, living the good life selling fatty hunks of fried meat to the pleasant people of Spring Junction. Then, in less than one short month, everything changed.
    The first sign of trouble appeared when I was walking home from school with my friend Tony. “Hey, Jake, what’s going on over there?” Tony asked. We were passing the corner by Winchel’s Mini-Mart. The store had been empty for years, ever since the big supermarket opened up across the highway. Now, the whole lot was level.
Someone had come in with a bulldozer and scraped the building off the face of the earth the way you might scrape a scab from your arm.
    â€œBeats me.” I shrugged. “Maybe they’re putting in a new store.”
    â€œI hope it’s a comic-book store,” Tony said.
    â€œOr a hobby shop. You know—one with a slotcar track.” I thought about how great that would be. But it was more likely whatever they put up would be a convenience store.
    We walked past the spot, discussing all sorts of wonderful shops we’d like to see built there.
    â€œWant to grab a bite?” I asked when we reached Jumbo Burger.
    â€œSure. You don’t think I hang around with you for the company, do you?”
    â€œI always knew your friendship could be bought with burgers.” I also knew he was kidding.
    We went into the back and I grabbed a couple burgers from the grill. “Hey,” Davey, the cook, said. “Make your own next time or I’ll murder you.”
    â€œOkay. Thanks.” I liked Davey. He’d been flipping burgers for my dad for years. He must have been about eighty. He’d cook all day, just stopping whenever he could to sneak out back and smoke his awful little cigars. They smelled like burning skunk tails. I don’t see how anybody could do that for pleasure. His lungs must have looked like the inside of a fireplace. But he was a neat guy. He wasn’t just a cook, either. He could repair most of the appliances in the kitchen and do plumbing and wiring and all sorts of stuff. I once saw him
fix a customer’s car using nothing but a piece of tape and a plastic fork.
    I snatched a couple of sodas, with lots of ice to help us cool down from the heat. It was way warmer than usual for this time in May, and I was dripping with sweat after spending just a moment next to the grill. I took the food to one of the booths. Tony and I stuffed our faces, then headed out to see what was happening in town. When we went past the corner lot, there was a sign stuck in the ground: MONSTER BURGERS—COMING SOON.
    â€œMonster burgers?” I said, wanting to kick down the sign. I settled for throwing a clod of dirt at it. “They can’t do that. There isn’t enough business in town for another burger place. And we were here first.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Tony said, “no one will go