Hazardous Materials Read Online Free PDF Page B

hour.
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œDude, it’s like five o’clock.”
    â€œCan’t be. Sun’s up.”
    â€œYou on the crank or something? Five o’clock . . . in the p.m .”
    â€œFive p.m .?”
    Geoff waved at the air as he walked past Jarrod. “Dude, you reek.”
    â€œCan’t be,” he repeated.
    â€œSorry, bud. You reek. Like reek reek.”
    Jarrod fanned his shirt, catching a whiff of his own funk. Geoff was right. He didn’t just reek.He stank as if he’d bedded down in a sewer. But five in the afternoon? That can’t be right. He dug a chunk of sand from one eye, then pulled his phone from his pocket. 4:50 p.m . Right there on the screen, along with a listing of four missed calls, three from Geoff and one from Ludwig.
    â€œWhoa!” Geoff said, eyeing the Polybius. “Where did you get that thing? From that shitty job with the porno-stache guy?”
    â€œYes.”
    The screen was black. Jarrod tried to remember when he’d stopped playing, when the game had ended and the dreams had begun. He dug deep but came back with nothing.
    â€œDoes it work?” Geoff was already rooting in his pocket for some change.
    â€œNo. No, it doesn’t.”
    Why did I say that? Jarrod wondered. Yes was what he thought he’d said, but his ears heard the same no that Geoff’s must have.
    â€œShame.” Geoff walked to the bathroom. Jarrod heard the shower tap twist open with a rusty squeak. A rush of water followed. “Dude, you better hop in that. No way we’re pulling trim with you smelling like my uncle Alastair’s colostomy bag.”
    Jarrod wilted onto his bed, a ring tolling in his ears, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t even imagine submitting to that shower’s punishing stream, no matter what he smelled like. And the last thing on his mind was chasing “trim.”
    â€œDude? You cool?”
    â€œNope,” Jarrod admitted. “I don’t think I can go out tonight, Geoff. I’m broke as that camel . . . you know, the one with the straw and all that.”
    â€œCome on, man. You know I got this.”
    Jarrod did know. Geoff had a solid job as a programmer. Nine times out of ten, he’d pick up the tab before Jarrod could even reach for it. The tenth time, he’d pick it up after Jarrod made a halfhearted grab. “. . . I don’t know.”
    â€œCome on. Not like you’re a charity case. I need a wingman; think of it as freelance work.”
    That only made it worse. Was that what he was? A rent-a-friend? A freelance wingman?
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œI had this nightmare,” Jarrod said, as much to the ceiling as to Geoff. “It was awful. This . . .” He reached into his mind, trying to grasp the images, but they slipped away like silk on satin. “Never mind.” He stood up, clutching his head. Fighting the urge to throw up, he crossed to the sink and poured himself a tumblerful of metallic tap water.
    â€œDon’t read too much into nightmares, bro. Nothing there but bad wiring.”
    Jarrod drained the cup in a single long swallow and refilled it. And drained that one, too. “I know, but—”
    â€œEase up on the H-two-O, bro. Save some room in that bladder for beer.”
    â€œRight,” Jarrod said. He dropped the cup into the sink and stumbled toward the bathroom. “Think you can entertain yourself while I clean up?”
    â€œSure. I’ll just whack off thinking about you naked.”
    Jarrod shut the door on the image and on Geoff. Steam had fogged the mirror, so he didn’t have to face his reflection. He brushed his teeth, twice, and it still tasted as if he’d taken a shit through his mouth. He couldn’t shake the dream. The images came at him from odd corners, a piece here, a piece there. The mural. Ludwig. The fire. The demons. The gun. And the