Major Karnage Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.”
    “You got the cojones, sir!”
    “You got that right, Velasquez.”
    “You’ve got it in you, sir!”
    “Amen to that, Koch.”
    “I’ve got faith in you, Major.”
    “Is that you, Heckler?”
    “You bet your ass it is, John.”
    Karnage grinned. Now he knew he was hearing things. Old
Heckler hadn’t spoken a word in years. Not since that day in
Kandahar, the worst day of—
    The War!
    Battle and bullets and flames! Bombers buzzing as they fly overhead.
Their payloads whining as they hurtle towards the scorched earth. The
night sky strobin’ and flashin’ and pulsin’ like a goddamn disco inferno.
Debris and dirt and mud and pain and screams flyin’ in all directions.
Forward march, soldiers! Forward! Take ’em all! Shoot and fire and kill
and die-die-die—
    Karnage slapped himself. The Sanity Patch crooned “Citrus
Blast” as the visions of battle faded, returning to the black expanse
of starry night.
    A single flickering light refused to clear from the sky. Karnage
stared at it, trying to will it out of existence. It disappeared. Then, a
second later, it flashed back. It didn’t look anything like an explosion
or muzzle flash. In fact, it looked more like—
    Letters! Pink and green neon letters winking in and out of
existence. Were they real? Or was he finally losing his mind?
Karnage squinted, trying to see them better. The flickering letters
coalesced into words. “Upchuck Charlie’s. Good Eats!”
    Slowly, ever so slowly, the road curved towards the sign. If he’d
had the energy, Karnage would have cheered. Step after agonizing
step, the sign grew larger before him. His body ached more than
ever. On some primal level it believed it was already there. That the
mere sight of this sign was salvation enough. He could stop fighting
now. Lie down, close his eyes, and—
    Karnage let out a short grunt as he jerked himself forward. Keep
moving, mister! You ain’t saved yet! You got a ways to go! Don’t give up on
me now! Lift those knees!
    Karnage’s feet stepped off the road and onto the smooth
pavement of the parking lot. The diner was a dark shadow of chrome
and mirrored glass beneath the flickering sign. A smaller neon sign
hung in the double glass doors of the entrance: OPEN.
    A feeling of relief washed over Karnage. Just a few more steps,
and he’d be back in the welcoming glow of civilization. His eyes
caught a second sign hung beneath the OPEN sign. “No shirt, no
shoes, no service!”
    Karnage checked his reflection in the glass. His eyes were sunken.
His cheeks hollow. The stubble on his face was thick. Karnage
buckled up the straitjacket and tucked it into his pyjama pants. He
ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times, trying to work
out the knots. There wasn’t much he could do about the slippers. He
hoped there was enough of them left to constitute shoes. He braced
the golf club against his shoulder, thrust out his chest, mustered
what he could of his military brace, and marched into the diner.
    Inside, the diner was bright and gleaming. All chrome and
glass shining off a polished floor of black and white checkerboard
linoleum. A blue-haired waitress—whose name tag proclaimed her
to be Darla—was sitting at a booth, stuffing napkins into dispensers.
A grime-covered short order cook mopped behind the counter. The
bell above the door tinkled as Karnage walked in. They looked up
and stared. Feeling conspicuous, Karnage gave his straitjacket one
last smoothing down before mustering enough saliva to speak.
    “Evening,” Karnage said.
    “Evening,” Darla said.
    “Mind if I sit down?” Karnage asked.
    The short order cook loudly cleared his throat. Darla looked at
him. He shook his head madly. Darla