Major Karnage

by Gord Zajac

  And then the bodies were pulled away, and that recruit found himself staring into the face of Uncle Stanley himself! An enemy officer—with uniform so crisp, you could cut yourself on the crease of his pants—staring down at him through sightless, unseeing driving glasses. Big black pits of shine that reflected nothing but the gore around him, and the frightened face of that chickenshit little private. The officer aimed his pistol at the private’s face, and squeezed the trigger—

  —and nothing happened! No roar. No searing flash followed by pain, coldness, and death. Nothing but the tiniest click. The officer looked at his pistol, then at the recruit. The officer’s lips parted, exposing jagged yellow teeth and a voice like crushed gravel poured out: “Looks like today’s your lucky day, kid.”

  And he turned and walked away! Left that chickenshit little recruit to wallow in the rot and the filth, huggin’ his knees to his chest, gazing out at the churned mass of blackened, twisted corpses, vowin’ it would never be like this again never again never again never again—

  The hallucination shattered as Karnage’s hands found a wall to slam his head into. His Sanity Patch buzzed.

  “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Sandy Dreams. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”

  Karnage scowled. He had barely begun, and was already burning through Sanity Levels. He had to keep a better handle on things. Too much was at stake. Too many lives were at risk. Cookie. Velasquez. Heckler. Koch. And now Stumpy, too. They were all counting on him. He wouldn’t let them down. Not this time.

  Not ever again.

  “You all right, buddy?”

  Karnage looked up. Two men stood before him. The one who spoke was moving towards him. He wore a tuxedo jacket over a flower print dress. The other wore a shirt made of orange creeper with a pinkstink boutonniere. He held a thin slab of smooth plastic in his hands. Images flickered across its back, lighting the man’s frightened, bulbous eyes. “Carlos!”

  The one moving towards Karnage turned and looked at his companion. He pointed at the plastic slab. “Why are you shooting my feet?”

  “Carlos, look at—”

  Carlos pointed to his face. “Here, Simon. Shoot here. I can’t use this if all you get is my ass.”

  “But—”

  Carlos moved back to Simon and grabbed his hands. He lifted the tablet so it pointed at Karnage. There was a lens on its front in the shape of a D.

  Carlos moved back beside Karnage. “Am I in the shot?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. Now shut up.” Carlos turned towards Karnage, but kept his face pointed at the camera. This meant he was only looking at Karnage with one eye. “Are you all right? You sounded like you needed help.”

  “Carlos!” Simon hissed.

  Carlos kept his grinning face on Karnage. He hissed at Simon through his teeth. “What?”

  Simon pointed at Karnage. “His clothes, Carlos. Look at his clothes!”

  Carlos looked at the open jacket of Karnage’s police uniform, the leather straps of his straitjacket just visible underneath. Before Carlos could register the string of goober grenades on his belt, Karnage struck out with his fist and caught Carlos across the jaw. Carlos staggered backwards and fell to the ground and stayed there. Karnage’s neck buzzed.

  “Warning. Sanity Patch upgraded to Lemon Breeze. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”

  Karnage turned his attention to Simon. Simon stood frozen in place, his eyes glued to the tablet’s screen. The lens still pointed at Karnage, albeit shakily. Karnage walked towards Simon. Simon stared at the screen, his hands shaking more and more violently with Karnage’s every step. Karnage pulled the tablet out of Simon’s hands. Simon looked up into Karnage’s face. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell to the ground.

  Karnage dragged the two men into the nearest townhouse. He stripped Carlos of his clothes, stuffed the unconscious men into a closet, and barricaded the door. Karnage threw the police jacket aside. He pulled the dress over his head. It neatly covered his belt of goober grenades. He slipped on the tuxedo jacket. It just covered his goober rifle. He took another look at Simon’s camera. The glossy plastic was covered in smudges and scratches. There was a Dabney Corporation logo engraved into its side. He flipped it over, and was greeted with a shot of his feet. A tiny red dot flashed in the corner. He couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. He tucked the tablet into his jacket, and headed into the Spragmite compound.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Creeper and pinkstink hung between lampposts like garlands. Hand-cranked lanterns hung from the creeper, their blue LED glow bobbed and swayed in the wind like drunken fireflies. Pink and orange topiary worms dotted the front yards of the derelict houses.

  People stood around bonfires in the streets, talking and laughing. Some toasted skewered lizards and bits of squiggly root over the fires. Everyone was dressed in the same haphazard improvised fashion as Carlos and Simon. Many of them carried D tablets similar to Simon’s. They were unabashedly recording any and all of the festivities. Seeing this, Karnage fished his D tablet out of his pocket, and used it to observe his surroundings. Occasionally someone would wave to him through the viewfinder, but beyond that, he was invisible.

  A squiggly screech pierced the air. Everyone stopped what they were doing, except those with cameras. Their lenses searched back and forth, as if looking for the source of the noise. Karnage found himself doing the same.

  A young boy came running down the street. “The Worm is coming! The Worm is coming!”

  The hairs on Karnage’s neck stood up. He turned his camera towards the end of the street.

  Another screech poured across the compound. It was followed by a chorus of drums. Their deep, pulsing beat throbbed through the air. People thronged to the edges of the street, staring eagerly into the distance. Karnage joined the throng. People happily moved out of his way when they saw his camera. He joined the other shooters at the front of the pack.

  Flickering lights and dancing shadows played across the street in the distance. An enormous shadow writhed into view, making giant squiggling patterns against the surrounding houses. Dancers twirling flaming batons moved in time with the drums and the wriggling shadows on the walls. Their writhing caused the flames to write in huge, angled squiggles. The shadows grew closer, and finally, the beast emerged from the darkness.

  The Worm was the size of a bus, writhing and wriggling as it squiggled down the street. A single horn protruded from its head, wobbling erratically with each thrust. The light from the flames reflected off the body in long, fluid sparkles. It was as if the beast was covered in tinsel. And as it grew closer, Karnage realized that it was.

  Dark shadows of human feet could be seen just under The Worm’s body. A whorl of cardboard teeth spun inside the worm’s open mouth as if on casters. Circling the beast was a man on a bicycle that looked like the bastard child of a tuba and slide whistle. A giant piston bolted to the rear tire ran into what looked like a bagpipe bag attached to the end of a giant tuba bell. The rider blew into a mouthpiece mounted above the handlebars. An oscillating squeal blasted out of the tuba bell: the same damn noise Karnage had heard earlier.

  Karnage nearly spat in disgust. Is this what it was all about? No aliens? No worms? Just a giant parade float and a mutant slide whistle?

  A jagged noise tore through the crowd that threatened to rip the pavement from the road. The worm dancers lost their balance. The slide whistle cycle went crashing to the ground. A hushed silence fell over the crowd. Even the crackle of the bonfires seemed to die down.

  A voice from the crowd shouted, “Spragmos has come!”

  The crowd broke out into a cheer. The dancers jumped back into their dance, more energized than before. The parade picked up its pace, and the crowd fell in behind and followed them. Karnage stayed with the throng. For better or worse, they were heading in the right direction: toward the emergency generators.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At the heart of Camp Bailey
was the Weapons Testing Facility: an exact replica of the Godmaster Crater. This artificial canyon was the military’s testing facility for the latest in Spragmos Industries’s military-grade weapons, hardware, and explosives. It had led to the facility being known as the WTF or the What-The-Fuck, as in “What the fuck was that?!”

  Orange creeper now grew from the top of the WTF. It had been neatly trimmed back to expose the mile-high SPRAGMOS lettering etched into the mountain’s side. Giant bonfires illuminated the lettering from below. Karnage was overwhelmed by its primal majesty. If he hadn’t known about the WTF’s history, he would have sworn it was built to be a temple.

  As they approached the WTF, people broke out into spontaneous song. To Karnage’s ears, the lyrics sounded like gibberish, punctuated with repetitive chants of “The Worm is the word! The Worm is the word!” followed with more gibberish. It had all the annoying catchiness of an ad jingle. Karnage caught himself humming along at one point. He vowed in that moment to track down whoever wrote it and knock out every one of their teeth before breaking a number of specially selected bones in their body. He stopped himself from determining exactly how many and which ones before he set off his Sanity Patch.

  The creeper on the buildings grew thicker as they approached. The buildings here looked like little more than giant hills of creeper and pinkstink. He felt like he was tracing the vegetation upriver to its source. Was it alien in nature? Or a military experiment gone wrong? He didn’t know. The only thing he knew for sure was how much it stank. It smelled like a giant mountain of burning metal, plastic, and tar.

  The creeper was trimmed back in a wide semi-circle around the entrance of the WTF. The giant bonfires framed its massive doors. As the crowd approached, the doors opened, and the parade made its way inside.

  Just beyond the bonfires, Karnage saw the emergency generator building. It was adorned with pinkstink garlands. A pair of sombre men stood outside the doors, wearing long dresses and leis made of pinkstink and creeper. They carried what looked like shepherd’s hooks with stylized worms on the ends. Karnage pegged them for priests. A long line of Spragmites were lined up outside the building. As people made it to the front of the line, they would kneel before the priest. The priest would place a hand on their heads, mumble something, hand them a slip of paper, then let them into the generator building. After a few minutes, the person would emerge, and the next would be allowed in.

  Karnage decided his best bet to get inside was to get in line and wait his turn. He took a place at the end of the line. The woman in front of him was reading a book. The front cover showed a bluehaired man wearing a bowler hat stroking his chin. The title read, “Awaken The Worm Within.” The woman looked up from her book at Karnage, and smiled.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Karnage gave her his best imitation of a smile. “Hello.” She cocked her head. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Funny. I was thinkin’ the same about you.”

  She gave a sheepish grin. “True enough. I mostly come on Arbiter’s Day. I find the line is just too long otherwise. I know we’re supposed to come more often than that, but . . . well, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  Karnage winked. “Won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thanks.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Reshmi.”

  “John,” Karnage said. He shook her hand.

  “How long have you been following The Worm?”

  Karnage shrugged. “A while now. You?”

  “Only a few months. But it’s really opened my eyes to how things work, you know?” She held up the book. “I used to be so confused about things, but now . . .”

  “It just all kinda falls into place, doesn’t it?”

  Reshmi beamed. “Yes! Exactly!”

  They were now at the front of the line. Reshmi knelt in front of the priest. The priest placed a hand on her head. “Are you ready to awaken The Worm within, child?”

  “I am, Presbyter.”

  The priest nodded, and handed her the slip of paper. “Go with Spragmos, child.”

  Reshmi winked at Karnage. “See you later.”

  Karnage gave her a nod and a smile. Reshmi disappeared inside. The priest gave a disapproving gaze to the swell in Karnage’s crotch. Karnage adjusted the material to hide the bulge of the goober grenade on his belt.

  “May The Worm be with you, Prez Bitter,” Karnage said.

  “And also with you,” the priest said. He looked ready to say something else, but Reshmi reappeared.

  “Fancy seeing you again so soon,” Karnage said.

  Reshmi smiled. “I was going to go check out the Finale.” She gestured towards the WTF. “Would you like to join me?”

  Karnage smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Great!” Reshmi did her best to look unexcited, failing miserably. “I’ll just be waiting out here, then.”

  The priest cleared his throat. Karnage took the hint and got on his knees, careful to keep his goober rifle from poking out from the top of his jacket. The priest placed his hand on Karnage’s head. “Are you ready to awaken The Worm within, child?”

  “I am, Prez Bitter.”

  The priest handed Karnage a slip of paper. “Go with Spragmos, child.”

  Karnage stood and winked at Reshmi. “I’ll try not to be too long.” Reshmi did her best not to beam, and Karnage did his best to ignore the priest’s disapproving gaze as he slipped into the generator building, and shut the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dried pinkstink and creeper hung from the doorway and ceiling. Karnage pushed through, and found himself in the main generator room. Pinkstink and creeper were stuck to everything. A table sat in the middle of the room, lit with candles. An altar on the table cradled a toolbox wrapped in vines of creeper. A cup of pencils sat in front of the altar. The generators themselves were jampacked with bits of crumpled paper. Karnage pulled out one of the papers and uncrumpled it. A child-like scrawl had written, “Great Spragmos, help me to awaken The Worm within.” He grabbed another one. “Guide me to the True Path.” And another. “Show us The Light.”

  You want light? Karnage crumpled the papers into a ball. I’ll show you light.

  He tore off his tuxedo jacket and whipped off his dress. He blew out the candles and cleared the table with a sweep of his arm. He jammed the table under the doorknob. Ripping open the toolbox, he found some duct tape and coiled wire. He slapped a goober grenade against the door frame and taped it in place. He looped the wire around the doorknob and tied it to the grenade’s pin. He made sure the wire was taut, then turned his attention to the generators.

  Karnage plucked the paper from the turbines. He tried turning the turbine on each generator. They were all seized except one. It turned with much effort and loud groans of complaint.

  There was a knock at the door. “Is everything all right in there, child?”

  “Everything’s fine, Prez Bitter.” Karnage worked the turbine back and forth until it turned freely. “Just working out what I’m gonna say.”

  “Speak from the heart, child.”

  “Will do, Prez Bitter!” Karnage grabbed the gas can from the altar. It was still full. He poured it into the generator, hoping these Spragmites knew the value of a good fuel stabilizer. Karnage said a little prayer of his own—“You better work, you dirty monkeyfucker”—and yanked the starter cord.

  The engine gave a surprised gasp, belched out a plume of smoke, and promptly died.

  The doorknob turned and rattled. The priest called to Karnage through the door. “What’s going on in there, child?”

  “Just conferrin’ with Spragmos.” Karnage gave the starter cord another yank. “Work, you sonofabitch!” Another gasp, another belch, another plume of smoke, then once again, death.

  The banging on the door grew more urgent and the priest’s shouts grew louder. Karnage ignored them. He pulled again and again on the cord. The engine grew louder and noisier each time. The banging on the door shook the table, threateni
ng to loosen it from under the doorknob. Karnage gave one final yank on the cord, and the generator roared to life.

  The room quickly filled with generator exhaust. Something wasn’t venting properly, but Karnage didn’t care. Light poured in through the windows, piercing the smoke in thick prismatic shafts.

  The table finally gave way, and the door burst open. A pair of priests stood agape in the room. “What in the name of Spragmos— AAH!” The goober grenade went off. Pink blossoms of goober engulfed the shrieking priests and filled the doorway.

  Karnage caught a glimpse of a shepherd’s hook outside the window. It reared back and smashed the glass. Karnage unholstered his goober rifle and fired, filling the frame with fast-hardening goober.

  “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Citrus Blast. Please—”

  Karnage turned to the last remaining window and threw himself through it. He landed in a circle of shattered glass and wood, his Sanity Patch buzzing.

  “Sanity Level upgraded to Peachy Keen. Please—”

  Karnage levelled the goober gun at the window and fired. The frame filled with goober, blocking the last entrance to the generators.

  “Sanity Level upgraded to Tangy Orange. Please—”

  “John!”

  Karnage looked up. Reshmi was running towards him. “What’s going—” Karnage levelled his rifle at Reshmi and fired. She flew back with a cry and disappeared in an expanding ball of goober. Karnage’s neck buzzed.

  “Sanity Level upgraded to Sharp Cheddar. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”

  Karnage cursed himself. He was burning through his Sanity Levels too quickly! He had to make each one of them count. Keep the Spragmites busy. Lead ’em away from the generators. Buy Stumpy time!

  Karnage ran out from behind the building. The doors to the WTF were open. Spragmites were pouring out. They caught sight of Karnage, and charged towards him. Karnage turned in the other direction. Spragmites poured out from behind and within other buildings. It was as if the creeper was giving birth to a raging, angry mob. They snarled, growled, roared.