One Night in Las Vegas

Copyright PennameWombat April 2019

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

*****

The Strip

"... danger ... haboob ...," the radio's speaker devolved from static with the occasional word to complete static.

"This is Armadillo 2, base, please repeat," Jason Jacques spoke into the microphone as he worked the frequency dial, "you're breaking up."

"Ali, stop here," Kate Mason said firmly from the front passenger seat, the six large tires of the all-terrain transport skidded on a rare, unbroken section of the old highway. She and the five forward-facing crew members behind her pushed against their seat belts. The trailer it towed skewed to push the transport's tail to the right a few inches.

"This is Armadillo 2, base, please repeat," Jacques spoke into his microphone again, the lack of movement allowed no improvement.

"Take it off speaker, Jacques," Mason said, "but keep trying to raise them."

Absent the static the team sat in silence and contemplated the constant pings of sandblasted transport and the howl of the wind itself. Jacques' voice repeated his mantra.

"Rafe," Mason spoke to her second, seated in the rear row where he looked at the map and compass in his lap, "how far to the shelter?"

"45 minutes," his gravelly voice as his fingers traced paths on the map, "straight one mile, take that left, it'll take us down the old 160."

"You heard the man, let's go," Mason tapped her driver on the shoulder, he nodded and set off, his eyes squinted momentarily.

"838," he said softly, his eyes locked to the road, alert for pavement too broken for even this tough vehicle.

"Two hours to sundown," Rafe said as he looked up, Mason nodded, then turned back to help Ali watch the road, "but the haboob is getting worse. Be too thick to see well before that."

"Wait," Sandy Anderson, her shoulder-blade length blonde hair in a ponytail, streaked with dust from being outside, she was in the left-side middle seat, just behind Jacques on the radio, "we can't go that way. That's..."

"Las Vegas," said Tom Worley, seated next to her. Two years older than the eighteen year old Sandy this was his third time with the Explorer squad, like Jacques. That was twice more than Sandy, Jessica and Julio. Explorer was a prestigious position, there were no guarantees any of the youngsters would stick. Despite the wear and danger it meant freedom, adventure, new and different places and people, not being stuck on a tractor or in front of a screen, neither programming nor piloting was an interest.

In reality, only the Chief and Rafe had been on more than a handful of missions. Real missions. That said, Tom liked sitting next to Sandy, even in her protective coveralls it was obvious she had quite the figure and he felt the tall, cute blonde matched well to his near six feet in height.

"Yeah," Sandy's voice strained, "it's haunted. No one's supposed to go there!"

A snort. From the back. Rafe.

"Haunted? Yes, it is," Mason said, she looked back and smiled softly at Sandy, then continued as she turned forward, "but there's also a supply cache there the Rangers maintain. Food, water, first aid gear, fuel... With this storm we won't be able to see and the filters will get clogged before this finishes. We can shelter there, get out. We have no other good options."

In confirmation they could hear the whine of the filter fans growing as they fought with the increased sand being blown at and around them.

"You haven't seen haunted," said Tom slowly, "until you look over the LA basin from Big Bear or Pasadena mountains."

"LA got nuked," Julio Peredes asked, "right?"

"Just downtown," Tom explained, "melted towers. Rest, just crumbled buildings and bones from the mountains to the ocean."

"There," Mason pointed forward and Ali nodded, slowed, made the left between two small hillocks and descended with the road, "good. Keep an eye, a few twists for a mile."

"Yeah, got 'em," Ali's voice steady but strained.

"Jacques," Mason said without turning, "stop until we're down on the flat."

The radio operator went silent, as did everyone else as the transport leaned to one side and then the other as Ali followed the road but with extra jinks thrown in to avoid the largest potholes. A final left and the transport emerged from the little valley it had followed down.

"Shit," his knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel and recovered to get the transport straight again. Out of the protection of the terrain the wind hit them with full force and shook the vehicle. His single word was echoed by most of the young crew members.

"Jacques, go, just repeat we're headed for Refuge Pyramid," Mason said without looking back, "Ali, see that pavement ahead?"

"Yes, Chief."

"Turn right when you get to it."

"Wow," Ali's soft voice. Mason heard "shit," and more "wows" from everyone except for what she took was a soft laugh from Rafe.

The wind hadn't quieted its howl but the flying sand suddenly cleared and in the distance they saw through the large windscreen the broken tower. Originally over a thousand feet tall the thin structure had snapped in the middle with the bulbous cap now half-buried as the former top half of the tower had fallen to lean against the stump, a perfect right triangle before the vehicle turned a few degrees.

"See the point of that black pyramid?" Mason pointed out the windscreen as she spoke to Mahood as he drove, "We're going there."

From the large, pink building next to the pyramid and toward the tower triangle the team saw a row of tall, thirty, forty, fifty story sandblasted buildings, windows broken and missing, structures on top and around collapsed. Most of the buildings themselves still stood, many scarred by fires that had likely burned out of control in the years since, floors collapsed. To their left as they neared their destination they saw fewer towers but miles of abandoned, burned and buried one, two or three story buildings and what had likely been people's homes.

And nowhere any sign of human or animal life, just tough, stringy plants and the stereotypical blowing sagebrush.

Mason's shoulders tightened slightly as she recalled her first missions as a teen the age of her charges, their early searches just after they'd emerged back onto the surface. The nanomachines that had been so efficient at killing had also been efficient at preserving the bodies, some side effect of their heritage as medical miracles turned against their creators. Shutting them down had freed the surviving remnants of humanity but had also, finally, allowed those bodies not in reach of scavengers to decay.

Now, nothing but bones.

Almost as quickly as it had cleared the sand returned to again hide the distant triangle and most of the apparently total devastation all around them. Mason's shoulders relaxed. She listened to the whine of the air filters, knew they were nearing their limits. A grinding whine indicated the drive motors were likewise under stress, not to mention the gauge showed the radiator for the alcohol-fueled generator they were forced to run with the solar panels out of commission was almost ineffective.

"Rafe and I have been here before," Mason said slowly, and heard a grunted acknowledgement from the backmost row, "this place was a monument to wild excess before the Disaster. Giant fountains of water in the desert. Lights, lasers. But now it's empty. Everything except the bare bones of the buildings themselves been picked over. Can't farm here, nothing to hunt, no reason to be here. That's why we built the refuge in there."

She went silent, listened to her vehicle's complaints, then continued, hoped to ignore the complaints and to keep her young team's minds occupied.

"It's said that the brightest light in the world shined out of the top of that pyramid. Could see it from space the records say. But yeah, people see lights, other things. It's just raiders, bandits. And a few tricks we plant there."

"We help spread the rumours," Rafe said, his rough voice almost light, "keeps people from wandering in."

Young heads turned to Mason, then Rafe, mouths open and brows knitted as they understood.

"Ali," Mason said as she turned forward again, "left just ahead. There. After that, you'll want a right in half a mile. Take us in."

Refuge

The lights of the transport shined on a section of wall that was part of a partially-collapsed garage.

"Looks secure," Mason looked through the windscreen, "Jacques, any reply?"

"No, Chief."

"Okay, just say we made it to the refuge. They know about the storm, we're on our own."

"Crew, goggles, sand masks," they prepped their gear, the transport slightly protected from the worst of the wind by the structure, "Worley, Peredes, you two with me and Mason. Grab sand shovels once we're out."

"Yes, sir," stereo responses muffled by the breather masks.

"Zhang, Anderson, ten and two at back of van, watch for anything approaching. Sand means the sensors are useless."

"Sir," two more responses.

"Jacques," Mason said as she climbed out of her seat and pulled on her own goggles and mask, "button up once we're out. Ali, once we open the refuge door drive in, turn left as soon as the trailer clears and park."

"Chief," final two responses.

A quick count verified eight personal radios worked. Worley hit the control and the side of the transport slid open, blowing sand enjoyed its sudden access. Rafe was out first, he stepped to the back, the others followed, Mason last one out. Sandy Anderson and Jessica Zhang held their rifles at low ready positions and walked to each back corner of the trailer and scanned. The sand hurt even in the lee of the structure, the wind a roar.

Mason held her wrist to the slab, it beeped.

"Seal's good," she said, nodded slightly as Rafe shined a light about three feet to the left.

"Popping physical lock," Rafe said, a chunk more felt than heard.

Mason gave up on voice as the wind kicked up another notch, used gestures to direct Worley and Paredes where to aim and they used their broad shovels to clear the front of the slab. She tapped shoulders after a few minutes of hard graft and motioned them to step aside. She and Rafe placed their wrist pads to each end of the slab and it swung out and up to reveal a gap just larger than the transport, headlights revealed a large space and an interior, concrete wall.

Mason used her hand to tell Ali to follow her as Rafe walked back to get Zhang and Anderson. The driver pulled in and turned left, brought the transport to a stop six feet from another wall. The shovel team followed, trailed by Rafe and the guards. The Chief slid her palm across her throat and the guttural whines of the abused transport went silent, soft lights in the ceiling replaced the glare of the headlights. She caught Rafe's eye, he nodded, they touched their wrists and the exterior slab closed with a deep thud.

"That's better," Mason said over their radios the newly-discovered quiet, "leave the transport for now, let's get something to eat."

Rafe stepped to the side wall to the right of the transport and another wrist tap opened a human size door into a deeper room. He looked through, stopped, pulled off his goggles and mask, his black face for the first time in quite a while smiled.

"Home away from home," he led them through.

R & R

"I need to look my girl over," Ali said, "I didn't like some of the sounds she was making those last few miles."

Sandblasted coveralls off, wearing beige field pants and tees or tanks. they were sitting on benches and chairs in two connected rooms of the refuge built into the old parking garage. Each was about twenty by thirty feet, with metal folding or office-style chairs, tables with connected benches and closets with multiple cots stood on edge, two chemical toilets along the furthest wall. One wall was storage with vacuum-sealed food packets, bottled water and a variety of toiletry and first aid supplies. Fortunately all that was needed were light creams where blowing sand had found gaps in clothing to strike skin directly.

"I agree," Rafe said to Ali, "I'll help. The back wall hides tools and supplies. Hopefully nothing we can't clean or fix, long walk back to Henderson."

Ali stood, dumped the dregs of his tasteless vacuum-packed meal into a carton for them to take. He was thin and wiry, forearms strong from wrestling the often recalcitrant transports across dubious surfaces. He was proud he'd been entrusted with one of the still-rare machines and the thought of returning it damaged left him miserable. Rafe was broad and solid and had six inches on the driver. His black skin mottled by years under an unforgiving sun and an ozone layer not yet fully recovered from too many shocks.

"Does this connect to any of the casinos?" Tom Worley asked, his brown hair askew, his face smooth and friendly, tanned but not yet damaged, "I've seen videos of the old days. These were quite the places. That was one of the reasons I asked to be on the exchange here. Wanted to see this place!"

"Me too," Julio Peredes echoed, his accent wavered, they'd found he could play up his Spanish-speaking heritage when the mood struck him, but now his English was clear, "nothing like this around old Phoenix."

The others nodded, they were locals but none of the younger members of the crew had made it even close to the abandoned city, much less entered it. Their current hideaway a total surprise.

"Yes, it connects," Mason said, all eyes went to her, "like we said on the way, we've planted sensors and surprises. There's little reason for anyone to come here anymore, unless they want to dismantle a building for materials. That happens, but we know about that. Mostly, we just want to keep bandits from setting up nests."

She was not overly tall but she carried herself with a quiet authority. Her snug tank top showed her broad, muscular shoulders and arms, her once-pale skin gone mahogany and rough, scars where cancer had been caught early. Her hair was faded brown and cut short. She looked at her second.

"Rafe, how about I take the crew on a circuit, I'll show them the basic setup close by. The sensors," she indicated a screen set in the wall, "aren't showing much, couple spots look like wall or ceiling collapse, we'll check those out. But nothing big, so hopefully no surprises. Tomorrow, before we leave, we'll go up top and clean the solar panels. All of this is on batteries, it'll last for days, but even if not damaged the storm might've buried the panels. This whole mission is for training, so let's do some training."

She led them into the room where the transport rested, Worley opened the trailer and everyone pulled on beige, short-sleeved shirts to go with their beige field pants and donned head-mounted lights. He handed the Chief a set of night vision goggles and took a pair for himself.

"Everyone," she directed, "just sidearms. If we need more than that, we're running away and hiding here. We have surprises in the connecting tunnel if it comes to that."

Looks amongst the crew, Rafe smiled.

Chief Mason led her charges back to the other room. She played with her wrist pad and after a moment six wrist pads chirped.

"You all have the codes to get back into here," she announced, "in case I meet a rich high roller playing blackjack who'll take me away from all of this! You also have a map that'll guide you back to this spot if you get separated. Or, like I said, I'm swept off my feet."

Light, uncomfortable chuckles.

"What, and leave all this?" She swung her arms to include the dusty confines. She smiled and her eyes twinkled in her lined face.

She tapped on her wrist and a door slid opened, soft lighting barely illuminated the first twenty feet of a downslope into a tunnel.

"Let's move, Worley," he nodded, "you're point. The lights are on sensors, they'll turn on just in front of you. Zhang, rear."

The wiry, exotic girl nodded, her black hair in a long, complex braid. Her skin had a natural tone similar to the Chief's but without the damage, her figure slender and sleek.

Players of Games

"Shit...," Sandy Anderson said softly, dragged it out. Sub vocal sounds from the other young crew members indicated they felt the same as an expanding circle out to about a hundred feet of the old casino floor was dimly illuminated as Chief Mason tapped her wrist pad.

"These are slot machines," Mason said as she tapped a bank of machines just inside the entrance from the tunnel, "remember these superheroes, they're the only ones and they mark the tunnel."

Another tap and the panel closed, an additional bank of superhero slot machines for camouflage.

"No bodies," said Jacques, "no bones. No one died here?"

"Oh hell no," Mason said with a heavy exhale, "come on, this way."

She led them into the casino, faded green topped tables with various markings, stools, even piles of playing chips, all covered in generations of spiderwebs.

"Blackjack section," Mason said, "but, plenty of people died here. Everything in this city was captured on video, the last weeks were documented quite well. That's why the first ones in the holes, the arcologies, our great-great-grandparents, saw people die to preserve this data."

"Or triple great," the youngest ones nodded at Zhang's comment.

"Indeed. You kids the first born on the surface in a century."

"My mom claims I was the first one conceived 'under the real sky,'" said Worley with a wink.

Mason sniffed, a few chuckles.

"Might as well have been you," her comment.

"This is a roulette table. If you recall from school," Mason continued as she stood next to and set her hand the table, "the worst thing about the nanos was how random they were."

Nods and grim smiles.

"The person next to you would drop over dead, you might survive a week, two weeks, months. People felt they might actually survive outside, rumors some did, hidden away, waiting to reveal themselves."

She shrugged at that.

"But with all else crumbling Vegas stayed open for business. We have video from this and the other casinos, not videos in general circulation," she looked at Worley and he nodded, "people gambling at slots and hundreds of tables in all of these places, this table, that one, until they literally dropped dead. They died clean, but they died. Apparently the protocol was the people sitting next to them would split the victim's chips with the casino. Carts came by to collect the bodies, anyone alive kept playing."

Her face was hard, her eyes focused, her audience rapt.

"The fucking nanos seemed to know. They kept the casino workers alive, didn't kill them, to the point where people begged to be hired, thinking they'd be left alive. But once Vegas began to run out of gamblers, the workers died too. All of it recorded. But not that many died HERE in the casino, once the gamblers were gone and it was clear coming to work wouldn't save you anymore, they simply stayed home or went to the lake or wherever they wanted to be to die."

Mason looked around the room as her charges did the same, she gave them a minute of silence, the only sounds shuffled feet and some hard breaths. She wondered what went through their imaginations.

"It was a perfect example of how people can just ignore things that are too big for them to comprehend," she broke the silence, "but also how we can persevere when we have hope. Any hope."

"Ok," her voice changed from grim pedantry to firm command, "Worley, I just gave you the map to one tripped sensor. You take Jacques and Anderson, Zhang, Peredes, you're with me."