by Gord Zajac
“That,” Sydney said, “was The Worm.”
“Oh fuck me.” Stumpy buried his head in his hands.
Sydney looked around. “We must be a hell of a lot closer than I thought.”
Stumpy turned to Karnage, his face white. “Major, we got to get out of here. There’s got to be another way. Another old army base. Camp Casey is just another few hundred klicks away. We could make it. I know we can!”
“Listen to Stumpy, Major,” Sydney said. “If the Spragmites find you out here—”
The sound tore through them again, raking up and down Karnage’s spine like an electrified cheese grater. It was so jagged. So angry. So unlike anything he’d ever heard before. And yet, at the same time, it felt so familiar. Like something from a dream. Or a faded memory. A jagged black line etched in skin, slightly red around the edges from being pressed too hard.
And that’s when it hit him: the noise wasn’t jagged at all.
It was squiggly.
Karnage turned to Stumpy. “Camp Casey’s no good to me. I need that Godmaster Array, worm or no worm. Cult or no cult. Camp Bailey is our only option, and that is where we’re headed.”
Sydney looked at Karnage, aghast. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Every one of ’em.”
“And you’re still going in there?”
“I am.”
“You’re crazy!”
“I been told that before.”
“You’ll die!”
“I been told that, too.” Karnage looked at Stumpy. Stumpy sat there, leaning against the car, staring into the distance, rubbing the end of his stump. “You ain’t gettin’ cold feet on me, are you, Corporal?”
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.”
CHAPTER FOUR
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.
CHAPTER FIVE
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.”
CHAPTER SIX
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.
“Can’t say I’m too surprised,” Karnage said. “If I get you power, can you get this system up and running?”
Stumpy ran his fingers over one of the consoles. “Running? Hell, I can probably get it to do backflips.”
“I’ll settle for a good steady jog,” Karnage replied. “I’ll try the emergency generators. See if they got any juice left in ’em. The second you get power, you get this thing up and running. Don’t wait for me. And Corporal?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Barricade this door when I leave. No matter what happens—no matter what you hear goin’ on outside—you stay put. Do not open that door f
or anyone ’less they give you the password.”
“What’s the password, sir?”
“Mayhem.”
Stumpy saluted. “Won’t open it until I hear the password.”
Karnage returned the salute. “Good luck, Corporal.”
“You, too, sir.”
Karnage slipped outside. He heard the scrape of desks being pushed up against the door as Stumpy barricaded himself in.
The Godmaster Array glowed brightly before him, returning diffused moonlight heavenward. Karnage unholstered his goober gun and stared fiercely at the orange fires burning brightly in the distance.
He hadn’t had the heart to tell Stumpy the generators were deep in the Spragmite encampment.
MK#5: PRAY FOR KARNAGE
CHAPTER ONE
Karnage crawled over a gnarled orange hedge at the base of the crater. The hedge contained the remains of a once mighty electrified fence topped with razor wire. It had long ago lost its battle against the invading onslaught of creeper. Karnage hoped he would fare better against the Spragmites.
He found himself facing a sea of cookie-cutter townhouses buried in orange creeper. He was on the outskirts of Camp Bailey’s housing district.
Karnage felt a momentary pang of yearning. He wanted to find his old barracks. To check out the dumpsters behind the Mess where he and his buddies used to hide from annoyed drill sergeants and furious MPs. The military had been a lark back then. Duty something to be shirked. Work to be skirted at all costs. That was before they had been shipped out. Before their first big foray into . . .
The War!
Fresh-faced recruits bein’ shoved into that meat grinder of death. Black smoke chokin’ your throat and burnin’ your eyes. Voices screamin’ all around you, prayin’ to gods of every stripe, shape, and colour. Nothin’ answerin’ those prayers but the hot spray of bullets and explosive death. And when the smoke cleared, the field was thick with charred, twisted bodies. Nothing moved. Nothing moaned. Nothing left alive. Nothing but a single, snivelling recruit hiding under his buddies’ corpses. A cowardly little bastard who hadn’t had the guts to fire one single shot.