Jokers Wild(Book 3 of Wildcards) by George R.R. Martin
Prologue
There is Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Carnival in Rio, Fiestas and Festivals and Founders’ Days by the hundreds. The Irish have St. Patrick’s Day, the Italians Columbus Day, the nation its Fourth of July. History is full of mummers’ parades and masques and orgies and religious pageants and patriotic extravaganzas.
Wild Card Day is a little of all of that, and more.
On September 15, 1946, in the cold afternoon sky over Manhattan, Jetboy died and the Takisian xenovirus-known colloquially as the wild card-was loosed upon the world.
It is unclear just when the observances began, but by the late sixties, those who had felt the touch of the wild card and had lived to talk of it, the jokers and aces of New York City, had taken the day as their own.
September 15 became Wild Card Day. A time for celebrations and lamentations, for grief and joy, for remembering the dead and cherishing the living. A day for fireworks and street fairs and parades, for masked balls and political rallies and memorial banquets, for drinking and making love and fighting in the alleys. With each passing year, the festivities became larger and more fevered. Taverns and restaurants and hospitals did record-setting business, the media began to notice, and finally, of course, the tourists arrived.
Once a year, without sanction or statute, Wild Card Day engulfed Jokertown and New York City, and the carnival of chaos ruled the streets.
September 15, 1986, was the fortieth anniversary.