Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One) by William Esmont

pair of battered New Balances. She was almost ready. Dipping her finger into a gallon-sized Ziploc on the nightstand, Hollister scooped out an ample pinch of cocaine. She put her finger to her left nostril and snorted, drawing the fine white powder deep into the recesses of her sinus cavity. Her heart responded immediately, hammering in her chest like a caged animal. The room jumped into a sharper focus; energy welled from deep within.
    Fortified, she headed for the door. Her heart skipped a beat as she almost collided with Andrew Pollard, who had been waiting on the other side. Had he been listening the entire time?
    She scowled. Pollard shot her a half-salute on top of a knowing leer. “I’ve got some news from the scouting party,” he said.
    She pushed past, jostling his arm in the process. Papers fluttered to the floor, and he bent to retrieve them.
    “How long have you been here, Andrew?” she said, stopping and turning to face him.
    “Not long.” He’s lying.
    She paused for a moment, thinking back to the young man who had just left. “Please dispose of…” She couldn’t remember his name. “The one who was just here. I’m finished with him.”
    “Consider it done.”
    She had a new toy in mind. “And make arrangements to bring me someone new tomorrow, maybe the Asian kid that came in with that group from Colorado last week.”
    “Of course,” Pollard said. If Pollard had any reservations about serving as her pimp, he didn’t let on. To the contrary, he seemed almost too eager.
    “Okay. Let’s hear about the scouting run,” she said, taking off down the hall.
    Pollard launched into a rundown of the mission. Fort Huachuca was a sprawling base nestled up against a mountain range, providing a natural barrier for the undead swarms migrating from south to north. Still, the post was a scene of devastation. Abandoned vehicles, flattened fences, and burned-out buildings dominated the landscape. Expended shell casings glinting like discarded diamonds lay scattered across the sun-baked desert floor, evidence of futile battles against an army that never retreated.
    As with the military and police installations they had inspected as they traveled through Mexico, it appeared civilians had gravitated to the base in a last-ditch bid for protection. It had been the wrong choice. The soldiers were under orders to protect their base at all costs. Unfortunately for both parties, once the undead infection began spreading through a crowd, the chance of others in the crowd becoming infected grew exponentially. Everyone died. And then they came back.
    Weapons and ammunition were readily available, Pollard reported, as was food.
    The journey from decorated submarine captain to post-apocalypse survivor had not been without its challenges. When Hollister had grounded the Wyoming in Ensenada, she gave her crew the choice of either following her or going their own way. Most struck out on their own, embarking on personal suicide missions to find their families or die trying. Once the deserters were gone, Hollister had turned to her remaining crew and congratulated them on their decision. And then she laid down the new law of the land. She had executed all but seven of this original group within the first week, solidifying her role as alpha bitch of the new world. The remaining crew had fallen into line, afraid to question her, and now afraid to strike out on their own.
    Hollister had the beginnings of a new army. She followed this strategy with everyone they encountered, offering protection and support in the form of food and weapons in exchange for absolute loyalty. Word of mouth served as a powerful motivator for new recruits. She had only executed two others since that day.
    They reached the outside door of the warehouse, and she pushed through. Pollard followed, kicking a wedge of wood under the door to prop it open. Hollister fished a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and shook one out. She didn’t offer one to Pollard.