Major Karnage (4 page)

The buckles up the front of his straitjacket and the high-necked
collar had the look of a uniform. He saluted his reflection, tossed the
golf club onto the rear seat, and hopped into Flaherty’s car.

The dashboard was a smooth contour of white. There was no
steering wheel. No pedals. No instrument panel. Just a single blank
screen in the middle of the dashboard. A tinkly melody oozed from
the car’s surround sound speakers, and a series of hieroglyphs
appeared on the screen. They depicted a cartoon cat showing various
emotions: Happy, Sad, Angry, Embarrassed, and Petulant. A female
voice wafted from the speakers: “Please enter your password now.”

Karnage scowled. “Shit.”

A question mark appeared on the screen. “Have you forgotten
your password?”

“Yes,” Karnage said.

A hand print appeared on the screen. “Please place your palm on
the scanner for biometric identification.”

“One sec.” Karnage got out of the car, and scooped up Flaherty’s
severed arm. He hopped back into the car and mashed the palm of
the severed arm against the screen. The car sang a happy chime.
“Thank you, Dr. Flaherty. Please enter your new password now.”

Karnage punched in a new password—
Angry-Angry-HappyHappy—
and the engine whined to life. There was another chime,
and the screen showed a cartoon cat in a bright red convertible
driving off into the sunset. “Password reset. Thank you, Dr.
Flaherty. Welcome to the Dabney Motors X-500. Where would you
like to go today?”

“Can’t I drive this thing myself?”

“Please re-state your destination.”

“Take me to Camp Bailey.”

“Checking . . . your search for Camp Bailey did not match any
locations. Did you mean Campbell Dabney Hospital? Dabby Tabby
Summer Camp?”

“How can you not know where Camp Bailey is? It’s the largest
military base on the continent!”

“Your search for Camp Bailey did not match—”

“Is there some kinda manual override on this thing?”

“Please restate your destination.”

“Goddammit!” Karnage punched the dashboard. His neck
buzzed.

“Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to—”

“Shut up!” Karnage banged on the screen. “You know Globesat
coordinates?”

“Please enter Globesat coordinates now.”

“3-2-5-3-8-2-7. You think you can find that you lousy piece of . . .”

“Destination set. Globesat coordinates 3-2-5-3-8-2-7. Current
charge level is adequate for this trip. Would you like to relieve
yourself before—”

“No!”

“Please fasten your seat belt, and thank you for choosing Dabney
Motors.”

The car wound its way along bends and twists in the road, slowly
descending from the asylum’s rocky plateau to the main highway.
Flaherty’s car rode like a dream. Karnage hated it. He liked to feel
the terrain he travelled over. Every bump. Every pothole. Every bend
and dip in the road. But Flaherty’s car would have none of that.
It sailed across the pock-marked road like it was a sea of freshly
churned butter. The smooth ride made Karnage want to puke. As if
to urge his churning stomach onward, the centre console assaulted
Karnage’s eyes and ears with an endless stream of commercials.

“Nothing beats the smooth cool taste of a Dabney Cola. . . .”

“. . . tonight on DABNEYCOPS, law enforcement officers crack a
dangerous piracy ring. . . .”

“Hey.” Karnage knocked on the console. “Do you do anything
else in there besides play commercials?”

A question mark appeared on the screen. “Would you like to
watch a film?”

“No.”

“Would you like to hear some music?”

“No!”

“Would you like to play a game?”

“How ’bout I start askin’ the questions around here?”

A giant
DiN
logo filled the screen.

“The Dabney Information Network provides access to all the
latest sports and entertainment news, celebrity gossip—”

“You can start by tellin’ me why everything’s called Dabney.”

The monitor cleared itself, and a giant
DC
logo appeared on
the screen. “The Dabney Corporation, an advanced technology
company, was started in the basement of its founder, Galt Dabney,
where he created the first Dabby Tabby video game,
Dabby Stays
Home
. We’ve come a long way since Dabby first bopped across Galt’s
computer screen. Hard work, imagination, and a commitment to
bringing happiness and cheer to the world have helped us grow
into a company that touches more than ten billion people across
the globe. Headquartered in Dabneyville, the Dabney Corporation
employs 1.3 billion employees in its various sectors and—”

“All right, I get it. You’re big. What do you use for cash around
here? Never know when you can use some local currency.”

The screen changed, showing Dabby Tabby leaning against a
money bag and giving a thumbs up gesture. “Welcome to Dabney
Financial Services. Please place your palm on the scanner for
biometric identification.”

Karnage placed Flaherty’s hand on the screen.

“Thank you, Dr. Flaherty. Would you like to pay debt, refinance
debt, borrow funds, or check balances?”

“Borrow funds?”

“Please enter the amount you wish to withdraw.”

“I can do that in here?”

“Please enter the amount you wish to withdraw.”

“Well, if you insist.” Karnage punched in what he considered
a reasonable yet significant sum. The console whirred. A number
of thin purple bills emerged from the base of the screen. Karnage
grabbed them. The bills felt hot, like they’d been freshly printed.
They featured Dabby Tabby prominently on their faces. His arm was
wrapped around the shoulder of a man with a long face and pencilthin moustache. The words “In Galt We Trust” ran in a semi-circle
underneath them. Karnage rubbed the bills between his fingers. “Is
this legal tender?”

“Each Dabneybill is one hundred per cent backed by the Dabney
Corporation’s guarantee of—”

The console beeped. A surprised Dabby Tabby appeared on the
flashing screen. “I’m sorry. Apparently this vehicle has been reported
stolen. Please remain seated until an authorized representative can
verify your ownership. Thank you.” The car pulled over to the side
of the road and the engine turned off.

“Guess I’m hoofin’ it the rest of the way.” Karnage pulled on the
door handle. It wouldn’t budge. The console beeped again. “Please
remain seated until an authorized representative can verify your
ownership. Thank you.”

“Like hell.” Karnage reached into the backseat for the golf club.
The seatbelt tightened against his chest, pulling him out of reach.

“Please remain seated until an authorized representative can
verify your ownership. Thank you.”

Karnage sucked in his chest and stretched his arm into the
backseat. The belt tightened further, digging into his neck. Karnage
fought to suck air into his lungs. His fingers touched the cold metal
of the golf club’s head. He dragged it forward, then wrapped his fist
around the handle.

“Please remain seated—”

Karnage smashed the club through the driver’s side window. The
club shouted “Hook!” as the Sanity Patch crooned “Peachy Keen.” An
alarm blared over the car’s speakers, drowning out both the Sanity
Patch and the club. The monitor filled with a picture of Dabby Tabby
covering his mouth in an oops-like action.

“I’m sorry. Apparently the anti-theft device on this vehicle has
been activated.” The car hummed. Karnage felt the hair on his head
stand on end. “The chassis has been electrified with 200,000 volts
of electricity. Please stay clear of the vehicle until an authorized
representative can—”

“I dunno which of you is pissin’ me off more.” Karnage snagged a
shard of broken glass from the window and started sawing through
the seatbelt’s shoulder strap. “The one who wants to fry me alive
or the one who wants to blow my goddamn head off!” The shoulder
strap gave way. It whipped up into the harness. Karnage pulled the
limp waist belt off his lap.

“Please remain seated—”

“Fuck you!”

Karnage tossed the golf club through the window.

“Slice!”

He pulled himself into a squat on the car seat, and launched
himself through the broken window. He landed in a tuck-and-roll
on the pavement.

Flaherty’s car spasmed and rocked. Sparks flew across its hood.
Karnage watched from the shoulder on the far side of the road. He
rubbed his stubble-covered chin as the vehicle pleaded with its nonexistent passengers to please remain seated. He imagined Flaherty’s
arm flopping around on the passenger seat.

“This is where we part company, Doc.” Karnage saluted. “See you
in hell.”

Karnage stuck to the road. The slippers he wore were fine for
shuffling through hospital wards, but they’d be torn to shreds on
the desert terrain.

The pyjamas were fairly well suited for the desert, though. The
thin, loose-fitting fabric would promote air circulation and keep
him cool. The golf club made a fine walking stick.

The straitjacket was draped over his head to provide him some
protection from the desert sun. The heavy fabric would be a burden,
but it would help keep him warm during the cool nights.

The sun was still low on the horizon, but pretty soon the
temperature would go up and he’d start sweating. Sweat was the
enemy. He currently had no water nor means of getting any. He’d
have to do everything he could to keep his body temperature below
thirty two degrees. He couldn’t travel for long by day. The heat
would kill him. He needed to put a couple of klicks between himself
and Flaherty’s car, then find a well-camouflaged spot away from the
road to dig a shelter and rest until dusk. After that, he’d get back on
the highway and follow it until dawn, keeping an eye out for water
and any sign of Camp Bailey. He wished he had a compass or knew
what his current Globesat coordinates were. For now he’d follow the
highway and navigate by the stars.

His first night in the desert was easy.

The moon was full and bright, lighting up the desert landscape
in cool shades of grey and blue. If anyone drove by, he’d spot them
from miles away. But no one did. Karnage’s only company was his
Sanity Patch, cheerfully singing out notifications as his Sanity Level
dropped from Peachy Keen down to Frothy Cream. Occasionally he’d
swing the golf club over his head, just to hear its friendly voice yell
“Slice” or “Hook.” Once in a while he managed to get it to cry out a
triumphant “Bunker Busting Backswing!” But not often. Apparently
his sand trap skills still needed a lot of work.

Towards the end of the first night, Karnage found an empty
plastic water bottle lying in the gravel beside a half-eaten sandwich
still clinging to its plastic wrap. Karnage chucked the sandwich
(digestion wasted too much water) and added the bottle and plastic
wrap to his inventory.

He found a lush patch of desert brush near a dry creek bed. He
dug down with the golf club until he hit damp soil. Water filled the
base of the hole. He filled the plastic bottle with his hands, filtering
the water through the thin fabric of his pyjama top stretched over
the opening.
What I wouldn’t give for some potassium permanganate.
He chugged it down. The grit in the water caught in his teeth. He
hoped it wouldn’t give him the shits.

The shits never came, but by the end of the second night, he
hadn’t found another source of water. So he drank his own piss. Just
as dawn was about to break, he dug a hole in the ground and used
the plastic wrap and water bottle to create a makeshift solar still.

The still worked about as well as he expected, which was not
well at all. By the beginning of the third night, the water bottle was
barely a quarter full. He gulped it down, then filled the bottle with
his piss, and chugged it again. His piss was thick and orange, more
like a syrup than a liquid. He imagined the blood in his veins going
the same way, slowly turning to mud as the water drained from his
body. Muddying up his body. Muddying up his brain.

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to keep his faculties. If he
lost his mind, he’d lose everything.
Focus, soldier. Stay the course.

The cold desert wind whipped at Karnage’s face. His lips were
chapped. His eyelids felt like sandpaper against his eyes. His joints
were stiff. Every movement was sluggish. He felt as if he was slowly
drying up, like a ball of clay left out in the sun. He wanted to lie down
and curl up and sleep. Let the winds pull the last of the moisture
from his body, and let the rest of him crumble and blow away.

No. He had to keep going. He couldn’t give up. He forced his
screaming feet onward. Willed his stiffening joints to creak forward.
He squinted his eyes shut, relishing the discomfort. He
would
make
it out of here alive. He
would
find those squiggly alien bastards that
kidnapped his troops, and he
would
rescue them.

Failure is not an option!

Karnage hugged the straitjacket to his chest, trying to warm his
shivering hands.
Heckler. Velasquez. Cookie. Koch.
Karnage repeated
his comrades’s names as he marched on.
Heckler. Velasquez. Cookie.
Koch.
It became his mantra, his reason for being.
Heckler. Velasquez.
Cookie. Koch.
He could hear their voices cheering him on with each
agonizing step.

“You can do it, Major!”

“Damn right, Cookie.”