Major Karnage (12 page)

Stumpy looked fearfully into the distance, then down at his
stump. He set his jaw, and rose to his feet. “No, sir. I’ve come this
far, I’ll go the rest of the way.” He saluted.

Karnage returned the salute. “Good to hear, soldier.” He turned
to Sydney. “And what about you, Captain? You gonna behave or am I
gonna have to knock you out?”

Sydney gaped at Karnage. “You don’t think you’re taking me with
you?”

“I am,” Karnage said. “I ain’t about to leave an officer out here to
die of exposure.”

“So instead you’ll get me killed on this fool’s mission. Well, you
can forget it. I won’t—”

Karnage cracked the butt of his rifle across Sydney’s head,
knocking her out cold. “Suit yourself.”

Riggs lounged in the backseat of the limo. He leaned against the
ravaged remains of the mini-bar as he drank his third martini. His
silk shirt and matching pants were cool against his skin. He looked
down at his
Tommy Dabney
shoes. They sparkled so brightly they
practically winked at him. He leaned back into the plush leather of
the seat and sighed. He was drowning in luxury and he was going to
savour every second of it.

Riggs watched Patrick drive. Patrick hadn’t acknowledged Riggs’s
existence since they had left the precinct. Riggs leaned forward and
tapped on the glass divider. The divider sank down behind the seats,
and Patrick’s goggles appeared in the rear view mirror. “Is there a
problem, sir?”

“No. No problem,” Riggs said. “Just wanted to talk is all.”

“I see.”

Riggs pulled himself up and rested his head on the back of the front seat. “Let me ask you something, Patrick. Are you happy?”
Patrick considered this. “Happy, sir?”

“Yeah. Happy.”

“Do you mean with life in general?”

“Huh.” Riggs thought about that. Was that what he had meant?

He snapped his fingers. “Yeah. In general. Like life. Family. Career.
All that stuff.”

Patrick stayed silent a long while, watching the road. Riggs
started to wonder if he had somehow offended him. Finally, Patrick
replied. “All things considered, I suppose you could say that.”

Riggs slapped the back of the seat. “Exactly! That’s the way it
should be! Everybody’s always bitchin’ about how everything sucks.
This sucks. That sucks. Everything used to be better. Fuck that—
pardon my French, Patrick—but fuck that! Things are good. Things
are great! Look at the two of us! Happier than a couple of clams in
shit.”

“Pigs.”

“Sorry?”

“I believe it’s ‘pigs in shit.’ Clams don’t require shit to be happy, sir. They just are.”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Riggs looked at his half-empty martini glass.
He wondered if it truly was only his third. “Well, you know what I
mean.”

“I do. And may I say, it’s refreshing to meet such an optimist,” Patrick said.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Riggs leaned back in his seat, then leaned
forward again. “It sounds pretty exciting though, doesn’t it?”

“What does, sir?”

“This job. This new gig.”

“I suppose.”

“Malcolm Riggs: fast, free-wheeling consultant.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Hot and cold running booze.”

“They may prefer you not to drink on the job.”

“And the babes, Patrick. The babes!”

Patrick smiled. “You might find it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,
sir.”

“Oh, let me dream, Patrick. Let me dream.”

“Dream all you like, sir. I just wouldn’t count my chickens before
they hatch if I were you.”

Riggs swished a mouthful of martini in his mouth, then
swallowed. “Good point, Patrick. Good point. Wouldn’t want to end
up with a basket full of rotten eggs, right?”

Patrick nodded. “Or something other than chickens.” Patrick
pulled the car over to the side of the road, and shut off the engine.

“Here we are, sir.”

Riggs looked outside. Nothing but empty desert stretched out in
all directions. “Where?”

“Your destination.”

“But there’s nothing here.”

“No,” Patrick said. “There isn’t.”

Riggs stared at Patrick blankly. “You’re just going to leave me
here?”

Patrick nodded. “That’s what I’ve been asked to do, yes.”

“But . . .”

“But what, sir?”

“There’s nothing here!”

“I believe we covered that already.”

“You . . . you can’t just leave me out here!”

“I can.”

“I’ll die!”

“You won’t.”

“I will!”

Patrick let out an exasperated sigh. “Trust me, sir. If Mr. Dabney
wanted you dead, I would have made that happen quite some time
ago.”

Riggs did a double take. “What? Wait a minute. What are you
saying? Did you . . . did you just threaten me?”

Patrick checked his watch. “I’m sorry, sir, but I just don’t have the
time for this.” Patrick leaned forward. His expression hardened into
an ice sculpture of cold hate. “Exit the vehicle, Captain.
Now.
”

While Patrick hadn’t raised his voice, something in its tone came
out so hard and sharp that Riggs practically tripped over himself
as he scrambled out of the car. Before he even realized what was
happening, he was standing on the side of the road, watching the
car speed off down the highway, leaving a cloud of choking dust in
its wake.

Riggs was alone.

He could feel the sun beating down on him. He could feel his shirt
already starting to stick to his sweaty back. He wiped his forehead.
This is just great,
he thought.
What a hell of a first impression I’m going
to make.
He looked down and realized he still held the remnants of
his martini in his hand. Just looking at it made his mouth go dry.
Should he drink it now? Or save it for later?
Oh hell, what does it
matter anyway?
Riggs threw his drink back.

Violent winds picked up around him, blowing sand into his
mouth. Riggs spat sand out of his teeth, and looked up. The sky had
gone pitch black. Flickering panels of light ran up and down the sky.

Riggs dropped his glass.

A panel opened directly above him. A giant phallic object emerged
from the hole, crackling with green energy. Riggs turned and ran.

“Major!” Riggs screamed. “MAJOR!”

Riggs’s world filled with an intense painful green.

The closer Karnage got to Camp Bailey, the more alien the landscape
became. The tar pits became a thick, black marsh covered in a crosshatch of orange and pink. The squiggly cries of The Worm became
more frequent. With each cry of The Worm, Stumpy grew paler and
shakier. The only thing that kept him going was Karnage’s steady
banter. So long as Karnage reminded Stumpy that he was at his side,
he knew Stumpy would find the resolve to keep going. He hoped
things would improve once they reached Camp Bailey.

But Camp Bailey was anything but reassuring to either of them.
They reached the base after dark. The stoic buildings looked like
giant tombstones against the starry night sky. As their eyes adjusted
to the gloom, details of the buildings emerged from the darkness.
Orange creeper covered everything. The roads were covered with
pink and brown scrub. Orange vines slithered across the road from
one building to the next. The whole base looked infected. Bits of
crumpled paper blew by on the wind. In the distance, they could
see the faint orange glow of campfires. Stumpy’s eyes locked on the
fires. “Spragmites,” he whispered.

“Good news.” Karnage grabbed Stumpy’s shoulder and gave him
a shake. “The fires are on the west edge of the camp. The Godmaster
Array is to the east. All we gotta do is stay quiet and lay low. Those
Spragmites won’t even know we’re—”

The trunk exploded with an ear-splitting bang. The duffel bag
flew out and twisted across the road.

“Sonofabitch!” Karnage exploded out of the car. He chased after
the squirming bag and stamped a boot on it. He ripped open the
zipper. Sydney’s head flew out.

“You picked a hell of a time to wake up,” Karnage hissed.

“Why?” Sydney said. “Because you haven’t got us killed yet?”

A squiggly torrent of sound shot across them, shaking the
windows in the cruiser.

Stumpy’s head appeared out of the car, his eyes wide with fear.
“Major?” He whispered.

Karnage jerked a thumb at the car. “Break out the supplies,
Corporal. We’re gearin’ up.”

Stumpy saluted and got out of the car.

“You’re just going to get yourselves killed,” Sydney said.

Karnage didn’t answer. He walked to the car, and took the keys
out of the ignition. He walked back to Sydney, and tossed them
beside her.

“What’s this?” Sydney asked.

“This is where we part company, Captain. From here on in, you’re
on your own.” Karnage turned his back on her.

“That’s it?” Sydney asked. “I’m free to go?”

“That’s it,” Karnage said. “Try and chase us down if you like. But
somethin’ tells me you’re gonna want to steer clear o’ this place.”

“Aren’t you going to at least untie me before you go?”

Karnage turned and smiled. “Give me a little credit here, Captain.
You probably got yourself at least half untied already. I’d do you the
honour of untying you myself, but I think it’d be better if me and
Stumpy were well clear o’ here when that happens. Somethin’ tells
me the blast radius is gonna be pretty big.”

Sydney smirked. “Maybe you’re not quite as crazy as they say you
are.”

A violent torrent of squiggly sound hurtled across the landscape.

Karnage’s face darkened. “Don’t be so sure.” He saluted. “It’s been
an honour, Captain.”

He walked back to Stumpy. Stumpy had arranged their equipment
in rows on the ground. Karnage surveyed the collection of goober
rifles and grenades laid out before them. All of it was non-lethal. He
picked up a goober grenade. Dabby Tabby’s grinning face had been
etched into its surface. Karnage hefted it in his hand.
Not even a
goddamn pistol.

“Pack light, Corporal.” Karnage clipped the grenade to his belt.
“We’ve got to stay mobile. Get in, get out. We fix up the Godmaster
Array, find out what those alien bastards are up to, then get the hell
out. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“All right, let’s move out.”

They slipped through the front gates into the camp. Each of them
had a row of goober grenades clipped to his belt and a goober rifle
slung over his shoulder.

Karnage led Stumpy through the camp towards the massive
crater that housed the Godmaster Array. As they approached, the
strange desert foliage grew thicker and thicker. The entire outer
surface of the crater was covered in orange creeper and pinkstink. As
they climbed the surface of the crater, they crushed the vegetation.
Brown juice squirted out that stank of gasoline and cigarettes. The
smell reminded Karnage of the smoke from the hoverballs.

They pulled themselves onto the rough lip of the crater. Below
them was the Godmaster Array. The mirrored dishes spiralled out
from the centre of the crater in a pixelated whorl, reflecting the
night sky.

“So far, so good.” Karnage pointed across the crater to a row of
squat buildings glowing in the moonlight. “Control station’s over
there.”

Another squiggling torrent of sound slammed into them,
threatening to blow them off the lip of the crater and into the dishes
below. The faint sound of cheering echoed in the distance. Stumpy
froze in his tracks, staring out at the campfires, eyes wide with fear.
Karnage grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. “Corporal?
Corporal, look at me.”

Stumpy tore his gaze away from the campfires and looked
at Karnage. His face was so white it glowed as brightly as the
Godmaster Array.

“Corporal, we are within a hair’s breadth of our goal. Don’t go
AWOL on me now. Are you still with me, soldier?”

Stumpy blinked, and swallowed hard. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s the spirit, soldier. Let’s move out.”

They skulked around the perimeter—laying low to avoid being
backlit by moonlight—and approached the command centre. The
orange creeper grew thick on its walls. Karnage brushed it aside and
saw the windows underneath were still intact. Karnage grinned.
“Tempered bullet-proof glass. None of that consumer-grade stuff
like down below.”

Karnage felt along the wall until he found the door. Buried under
a tangle of creeper was a rusted padlock that still held the door
firmly shut. Karnage placed the butt of his rifle against the padlock
and waited for another blast of squiggly noise. When the noise hit,
Karnage broke off the lock with the butt of his rifle. The sound of
the metal snapping and his Sanity Patch buzzing was drowned out
by the squiggling and cheering. Karnage pushed open the door. He
and Stumpy snuck in.

Their eyes took a moment to adjust to the deeper dark of the
command centre. Papers were piled in crisp stacks on desks. Chairs
were uniformly tucked in to workstations as if they were still on
duty, patiently waiting for a command. Not a scrap of paper was out
of place. Not a speck of dust anywhere.

Karnage grinned. “Whoever was the duty officer here ran a tight
ship.”

“Couldn’t have been much tighter from the looks of things,”
Stumpy said. “You wouldn’t guess this place was abandoned for
twenty years.”

“He was full-on military, right to the end.” Karnage ran his
fingers along the edge of a desk.
Wonder if they locked him up in a
padded cell, too?

Stumpy tried a switch. “No power,” he said.