“Not yet, anyway,” Zuniga said.
Riggs turned around. He found himself staring down the barrel of a goober rifle.
“Just what in the—”
Zuniga fired. Riggs flew across the room. He slammed into a wall of shelves. Guns and ammo rained down around him as the pink expanse of goober swelled, pinning him to the shelf. His arms stuck fast to his sides. He kicked futilely, his feet a good foot off the floor.
Riggs heard a beep from the back of Zuniga’s neck.
“Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Frosty Pink. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”
Riggs’s eyes went wide. “Karnage.”
Karnage stood to his full height and removed his helmet. His voice dropped an octave. “You know, Roach, you’d think after serving with me for so long, you might be wise to some of my tricks.”
Karnage aimed the goober rifle at Riggs’s head. “Or were you too busy saving your own skin all the time to notice?”
Riggs swallowed hard. He adopted a calm, forceful tone. “Now, John, don’t—”
Karnage fired. Riggs’s world filled with dark angry pink. Over the crackle of the fast hardening goober, Riggs could just make out the words, “That’s Major to you.”
MK#4: KAMP KARNAGE
CHAPTER ONE
With the entire force out looking for them, Karnage and Stumpton marched through the halls of the precinct with impunity, saluting the occasional security camera along the way.
“Where we going now, Major?” Stumpton asked.
“Camp Bailey,” Karnage said. “You know the Godmaster Array?”
“I do,” Stumpton said.
“Think you can operate it?”
“You’re asking a communications guy if he can operate a communications array?”
“You ever worked it before?”
“No, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Good enough for me,” Karnage said. “Consider yourself drafted, Stumpton.”
“My friends call me Stumpy.”
“Does that mean you are offering me your friendship?”
“That I am, sir.” Stumpy put out his hand.
Karnage shook it. “Then I accept. Now let’s find ourselves some wheels.”
The only vehicle left in the parking garage was the captain’s cruiser. Stumpy hotwired it and the two of them took off across the desert. To avoid roadblocks and patrols, Stumpy steered them out into the open desert, avoiding the roads altogether.
“With hoverballs you technically don’t need roads at all,” Stumpy explained, tapped the dash. “Just got to be a bit careful over the bigger bumps. Don’t want to risk a flat tire.”
“You can get a flat with these things?”
“Kinda. You hit something hard enough, it can crack one of your hoverballs. Or worse, shatter it.”
“How do they work, anyway?”
“The hoverballs?” Stumpy shrugged. “Nobody knows.”
“You ever crack one open before?”
“Oh yeah. Huge mistake. Nothing inside but nasty yellow gas. Stinks something awful.”
Karnage pointed to the steering wheel. “Nice to see the cops get steering wheels.”
“Good thing, too. Those DabneyNet hookups won’t let you leave the road.”
Karnage looked at the mangled twist of wires that had been the DabneyNet screen. “You sure they can’t track us?”
“Not without that antenna we ripped off. I’m telling you, Major, we’re safe. They’ll never find us out here. Nobody even goes near the old army base anymore. Not even the Dabneycops.”
“Why’s that?”
Stumpy shrugged. “Nobody knows. But that makes our job easier. We can waltz in there and get that Godmaster Array up and running without worrying about any Dabneycops breathing down our necks.”
“Yeah.” Karnage wondered what else might be waiting for them there. “How long before we get there?”
“Should get there by nightfall. You just relax, Major. I got everything under control. Shit, you look like hell. When’s the last time you slept?”
“Does being knocked unconscious count?”
“Nope.”
“Then it’s been a while.”
“Maybe you should try and catch a few zeds while you can. Be all fresh and prepped for the mission ahead.”
“What about you?”
“Are you kidding? I haven’t felt this alive in years. I feel like I’m just finally waking up, and I’m loving every minute of it.” Stumpy gave a holler and pumped his stump.
Karnage smiled. He settled back in his seat, and closed his eyes. It was good to be back out under the sun again. And this time with purpose. He had a plan. He even had a platoon. Sure, his platoon consisted of a solitary one-handed rifleman, but it was a start. Progress was being made. He’d save his troopers yet.
Cookie. Velasquez. Heckler. Koch. Just sit tight. I’m comin’ for you. I’m comin’….”
CHAPTER TWO
Riggs blew his nose again. The tissue still came away pink. His body ached from being pinned against the shelves for so long. It had been hours before they had finally found him—another couple of hours before he was finally goober-free and sitting back at his desk, blowing pink goober into a thousand and one tissues, dreading the moment when that phone would finally ring. All the promises he’d made. The reassurances he’d given. How was he going to explain all this?
There was a knock at the door.
“What is it?”
Murtaugh stuck his head into the office. “Someone from head office here to see you.”
Riggs’s heart dropped into his stomach. They had skipped the phone call and gone right for the face-to-face meeting. He smoothed the wrinkles out of his uniform. “Send him in.”
A man in a chauffeur’s outfit entered the office, his coat buttoned from knee to collar. The visor of his cap sparkled. His boots shone. He wore elegant black gloves that came up to his elbows. Giant inkblack driving goggles covered his eyes. His tightly pursed lips carried the barest hint of a smile, as if he was amused by some private joke that only he was privy to, and had absolutely no desire to share with anyone else. He looked like a military officer come to deliver Riggs to his court martial.
“Captain Riggs?” The chauffeur extended a gloved hand towards Riggs. “I’m Patrick, Mr. Dabney’s representative.”
Riggs took the outstretched hand. “You’ll pardon me if I ask which Mr. Dabney you’re here on behalf of?”
The curled lips parted slightly—the movement reminded Riggs of a straight razor slicing open the soft white belly of a corpse—and Riggs caught the barest glimpse of teeth.
“Of course,” Patrick said. “There are so many of them running around that it’s hard to keep track. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Steve Dabney. Doubtless you’ve heard of him?”
Riggs’s heart dropped out of his stomach, through his lower intestine, then slithered down his leg onto the floor. He did his best imitation of a smile. “Of course,” he said.
Patrick reached into his coat. “Mr. Dabney sends his regrets. He wanted to deliver this message to you in person, but business has called him away.” Riggs half-expected to see Patrick pull a gun from his coat. Instead, he pulled out an interoffice envelope. He unwound the string holding it closed.
“I realize this all may seem a bit… dramatic, but he didn’t want to risk sending this through regular channels.”
Riggs nodded, pretending he understood. Whether the hatchet was delivered in person or by special courier, that blade was still whistling for his neck. It didn’t much matter how it was delivered.
Patrick flipped open the envelope and pulled out a tablet. He held it in front of his chest and flicked it on. Steve Dabney appeared on the screen. He wore his trademark blue turtleneck and corduroy pants. His close-cropped hair and wireframe glasses made him look much younger than he was. He flashed a smile so charming it could sweep the habit off a nun; it only half-worked on Riggs. He knew what the man behind the smile was capable of.