Major Karnage

MAJOR KARNAGE
GORD ZAJAC
ChiZine Publications

Karnage woke strapped to his bed. It was a welcome change from
the straitjacket and the Hole, but the catheter still stung like a bitch
and he had to scratch his nose something fierce. The sickly pink
glow from the overhead fluorescents was giving him a headache. He
shut his eyes. The smell of rotting piss and shit from dirty bed pans
filled his nostrils.

So,
Karnage thought,
this is retirement.

He could hear Heckler’s hysterical laughter coming from
elsewhere in the ward. One of the nurses—probably Fridge—
barked at Heckler to shut the fuck up. There came a shout of “fuck
you” from Velasquez, followed by a much more colourful stream of
invectives in Spanish—the kind only Velasquez could conjure with
that magic vocab of hers. Fridge—it was definitely Fridge—shouted
at Velasquez. Velasquez shouted back. Karnage did his best to shut
it all out. He knew where it was all going to end: sooner or later, out
would come the stun gun, and after a long series of screams, Heckler
and Velasquez would be electrocuted into silence.

Karnage felt movement near the foot of his bed. He ignored it.
Whatever Fridge wanted, it could fucking well wait until he was
good and ready. Even if it meant getting electrocuted.

“Major?” a voice whispered. It was Cookie. What was he doing out
of bed? Karnage squinted one eye open. Cookie stood over Karnage’s
bed, leaning on his IV drip, his head wrapped in bandages.

“Major,” Cookie whispered, “are you awake?”

Karnage half-opened his eyes. “Sit down next to me. Try not to
be noticed. I don’t feel like dealing with these assholes yet.”

Cookie gave a half-nod and sat on the bed near Karnage’s head,
turning his body away from Fridge.

“What’s on your mind, Corporal?”

“I finally got it figured out, sir.” Cookie looked around, making
sure Fridge was well out of hearing range. He leaned in closer and in
a low voice said, “I’m not crazy.”

“That a fact?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about them voices you been hearing in your head?”
Karnage said.

“That’s
what
I
figured
out.
They
ain’t
voices.
They’re
communications.” Cookie tapped his bandages. “Figure it’s got
something to do with these electronics in my head.”

“I thought the doc said those things’d clear up them voices?”

“Nah,” Cookie grinned. “They just clarified ’em. Cut out all the
background noise.”

“That a fact?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Hmm,” Karnage said. “What sort of communications you been
getting, Corporal?”

Cookie leaned in close to Karnage’s ear and whispered. “They’re
from outer space.”

“Outer space, eh?”

Cookie’s face fell. “You don’t believe me.”

Karnage looked Cookie straight in the eye. “Cookie, you ain’t
never lied to me yet. No matter how crazy they say you are, and no
matter how much they muck with your brain, I reckon you ain’t never
gonna be able to tell a lie with a straight face. But I’d be lyin’ if I said
I weren’t sceptical. Keep going. Communications from outer space.
You been interceptin’ communiques from enemy spy satellites?”

“No,
sir.
See,
this
is
where
it
gets
interestin’.
These
communications? I think they’re comin’ from . . . aliens.”

“Aliens, eh?”

“I mean the extraterrestrial kind, sir.”

“I had a feelin’ that’s what you meant,” Karnage said. “What
makes you think these communications are extraterrestrial in
nature?”

“Well, sir, I done cracked every code known to man—from
Navajojibwe
to
SuperSanskrit
—and this ain’t like nothing I ever seen
before.”

“Now that’s sayin’ something,” Karnage nodded. “Wait a minute.
What do you mean ‘seen’? You been writing this stuff down,
Corporal?”

Cookie took one last look around before rolling up his sleeve.
Lines of jagged squiggles ran up and down his arm. “I been
transcribin’ these here messages, Major.”

“They look like squiggles,” Karnage said.

Cookie nodded. “That’s exactly what they sound like, sir.”

“They sound like squiggles?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I don’t know, Cookie. They all look the same to me.”

Cookie grinned. “That’s what I thought, too, at first. Just random
squiggly noises. But there’s a pattern to ’em. Took me forever to start
noticing ’em, but that’s what I been trained to do. There’s all sortsa
variations. You gotta listen carefully to pick ’em up.”

Karnage took another look at the markings on Cookie’s arm. They
were red around the edges, like Cookie had been pressing too hard
when he was writing it down.
Probably scribbling like a madman to get
it all down,
Karnage thought. He still couldn’t see any differences.
Karnage looked at Cookie’s earnest face.

“Cookie,” he said. “If anybody’s got the ears to pick up on that
sort of stuff, it’s you. Go on, Corporal.”

Cookie beamed. He wriggled closer to Karnage’s head and
pointed at the first squiggle on his wrist. “You see this here? This
is how all the messages begin. It’s like a greetin’ or something. And
this one right next to it? That always comes next. I think it’s a kinda
confirmation code. Lets the sender know the transmission’s bein’
received.”

“They look the same to me,” Karnage said.

Cookie’s head bobbed up and down like a parakeet. “That’s what
I thought, too. At first. But the second is tilted just three degrees to
the left. See?

Karnage looked again. “Yeah, now that you mention it—wait a
minute. This is all in your own handwritin’. How do you know it ain’t
just yer scrawl that’s gone and tilted three degrees?”

Cookie stiffened. His voice was clipped. “Sir, I transcribed it
exactly as I heard it, sir.”

“You mean to say you can hear a three degree tilt?”

Cookie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Karnage looked Cookie up and down. “Cookie, you are impressin’
me all over again.”

Cookied relaxed. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He
warmed to the subject. “I can’t make much sense outta the rest of
it yet. Just seems like a lot o’ gobbledy-gook. But there’s certain
patterns that keep popping up. I think it’s a numbering system.”

“Numbers, eh? Numbers for what?”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say they’re co-ordinates.”

Karnage’s pulse quickened. “What kind of co-ordinates?”

Cookie shrugged. “I don’t right know, Major.”

Karnage strained against his bonds. He desperately wanted to
grab Cookie by the shoulders. “Could it be military targets? Some
kind of tactical strike?”

Cookie hesitated. “I-I don’t really want to guess here, Major—”

“Guess, Corporal! Guess!”

“Now you gotta realize I’m just conjecturin’ here. . . .”

“Cookie!”

Cookie leaned in within inches of Karnage’s ear. “Well, if I had to
guess . . . I’m thinking these are plans for some kind of . . .” Cookie’s
voice became the barest of whispers. “. . . invasion.”