Animal Theater

The Accompanist

The whole town was contaminated with uranium, dangerous levels the medic said, but just barely, we'd be okay if we washed regularly. We marched down the strip at dawn, a couple of hours behind the tank brigade, and by the time we got there those motherfuckers had taken all the good rooms at the Luxor and MGM Grand.

Most of the strip was in our control, but up past the Wynn was still un-cleared and considered hostile territory. My unit was assigned to the Tropicana, but they had units at New York-New York, Caesars Palace, and what was left of the Flamingo. We were the third military occupation of Las Vegas in as many years. It started with the Mormon Militia, affectionately known as the Youngsters, then it was the Well-Armed, who moved in when the party decided to crush the Mormon state in its infancy. Finally it was our turn. I marched into Vegas with the Pacifica National Guard.

The idea was to clear and hold the city so they could use it as a staging ground against Phoenix. If we held Las Vegas and Phoenix, then with LA we would have San Diego surrounded. All supply lines to the militias holding San Diego would be cut off, except from the south. It would force Mexico to either openly side with the party, or stop the supply-lines that everyone knew had to be coming through Tijuana. Liberating San Diego was seen as winning the war in those days, and liberating Las Vegas was the first step to make that happen.

It's axiomatic in the military that any action will either be a lot easier or a lot more difficult than you think it will be. We expected Vegas to be hard to clear and easy to hold, but it was the other way around. We had almost no resistance coming into the city, but that preceded nine months of skirmishes, mostly in North Vegas against small groups of guerillas. They were old Youngsters who had joined the buttons and were just fighting to justify receiving the supplies they needed to survive. They'd been fighting in Vegas for years by then, so they had home field advantage.

Anyone who was a part of that mess, anyone who was honest, would tell you that neither side was truly committed to the fight anymore. The enemy was attacking just enough for us to know they were there, and we were doing just enough to keep the sirs happy. It was like we had an understanding, we were all sleeping in beds and had access to food and booze- winning or losing would put an end to it. The sooner we had Vegas under control, the sooner we'd all be back in the desert, cowering under camo-tarps and hoping not to be annihilated by wandering clouds of nanobots.

I think some of our commanding officers felt the same way. It was technically a warzone, but after six weeks or so we all treated it as a break from the war. The locals who we came into contact with were solicitous and friendly, as no doubt they had been for the previous armies. Any civilian with any sense had already headed to points east, or had gotten to California somehow, so what was left were a bunch of sleazy entrepreneurs trying to get rich in what was left of paradise.

One such denizen of the wasteland was Carrie Masters. She must've been in her late forties when I first met her, but surgeries and injections kept her ageless if not young-looking. She was like a work of art that would've been a masterpiece if the artist had known when to stop. I guess you could say she used me, but I liked it, and I got something out of the deal too.

Spitz introduced me to her in the hall outside my room. I was heading out to scavenge some abandoned houses with my little crew. She was dressed like a celebrity who didn't want to be recognized, she was wearing sweats and sunglasses. "Matt tells me you play the piano." She said.

"Yeah I play." I said. "Or I used to. I haven't been able to practice much."

"We don't need a concert pianist or anything. Can you play cocktail-style?"

I laughed. "Are you a singer?"

She nodded and smiled at me. "I do mostly standards and ballads and things."