Hollister put down her report and ran her fingers through her greasy, disheveled hair.
“Fuck me,” she muttered with a frown. She poured two fingers of tequila into a red plastic cup and swirled it around before downing it. Then she poured two more. There’s no way these numbers are right. Three more people had vanished overnight. Counting the group she had executed on Friday, she was down twelve people for the week. She needed to grow her forces, and she needed to do it fast if she wanted to maintain her momentum. Unfortunately, she was going the wrong direction. The ungrateful bastards. The deserters pissed her off like nothing else. She took them in, fed them, and protected them, and all she asked in return was a little loyalty. Sure, life was tough right now. It was tough for everyone. But she didn’t ask anyone to do anything she wouldn’t do herself.
Except maybe cutting rings and jewelry off of the fingers of the dead. She smiled. That job she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Pollard had asked her once why she wanted the jewelry, useless as it was in today’s world. The truth was, she didn’t really know. She didn’t have a good reason to collect it other than it made her feel good. For some reason, seeing the dead adorned in the accoutrements of their former life triggered an overwhelming sense of loss within her. The only way to make the feeling go away was to remove the jewelry, to take it from the dead and put it somewhere safe.
She supposed she was sick. No. More than ‘supposed.’ She knew she was sick, but who wasn’t? And besides, she couldn’t march down to the ship’s counselor and schedule a therapy session, now could she? No. All she could do was run with it, see where it took her and trust it would turn out all right. There was a knock at her door.
“Enter!”
Pollard came in and stood at attention before her desk. He was a vague shadow of his former military self in stained jeans, a slightly less stained t-shirt, and scuffed brown cowboy boots. Thick leather gloves protruded from his pocket.
“What is it?” Hollister asked impatiently.
Pollard cleared his throat. He seemed to be having a hard time reverting to military formalities, as if it was some foreign concept rather than the lifestyle under which he had invested greater than half of his life. “I just got word from the radio room that one of our scouts spotted survivors in Tucson.”
Hollister raised an eyebrow and sat up straighter. This could be a solution to my personnel problem, she thought. Right out of the blue. “Really? How many?”
“Four vehicles, heading north on the southeast side. They were traveling in formation, according to our scout.”
“Interesting…” She stood and went to the far wall where a map of southern Arizona was plastered. Tiny blue pins covered areas she had cleared. Yellow pins indicated areas yet to be investigated, and red indicated sectors deemed too dangerous, areas overrun with undead or too radioactive. There were a lot of red pins on the map. Tucson however was represented by a single yellow pin. It was the great unknown. She couldn’t have asked for better results.
“How did the city look?” In her mind’s eye, she saw a burnt-out shell seething with undead. Although the bombs hadn’t rained down in this part of the state, it seemed that human nature in the face of crisis was to destroy everything, like a small child who destroys his own toy rather than share it.
“Mostly intact, believe it or not,” Pollard answered. “A fair amount of undead. Nothing we can’t handle.”
Hollister’s mood brightened. Although they were in a highly defensible location in Sierra Vista, well off the major undead swarm paths, she was very interested in securing a supply route into the sprawling Tucson metro area. Very interested. Food, weapons, and supplies would be abundant in the former city of a million. Sierra Vista, while well-stocked, just didn’t have the same depth to offer. Tucson also offered control over the main east-west transit route through this part of the country—Interstate 10. She turned to face Pollard.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”
Pollard gave her a tight grin. “I’m already on it. We’re pulling together an armed squad to go in and find out who these people are and where they’re located.”
Hollister thought about this for a moment. She held up a finger. “No. I’ve got a better idea.”
Pollard’s face clouded over, his idea scuttled before it left the ground.
“If they’re mobile, then they probably have good resources, both people and materiel. I’d like to send in a mole, someone discreet who can figure out who’s who and what their true strengths are, before we go up against them. A spy.”
In truth, she was primarily interested in keeping her army intact, in not losing any more people, until she figured out a way to turn things around. She had to act fast to prevent the people in Tucson from learning about them, from presenting a more attractive destination for her people.
She chided herself. She didn’t know anything about these others yet, and she was already making plans, getting ahead of herself. They could be stronger than her, though. She shuddered at the thought.
“We need to tread carefully here, Andrew. I want to take these people, whoever they are, but I want to do it with minimal casualties on our side.”
Pollard nodded. “I like it.” She could tell he was warming to the idea.
She gave him a final nudge. “You can do this, Andrew. I know it.” He stood up straighter.
“Find someone you can trust. Give them a radio, and send them over. As soon as possible, tonight if you can.”
Pollard chewed on his new orders for a moment before a big grin blossomed on his face. “I’ve got just the man.”
“Keep me posted,” Hollister said as she poured herself another shot of tequila.
“I will.”
She held up a finger. “And one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“What about that boy you were going to bring me? Woo?”
Pollard gestured at a chair. “Do you mind if I sit?”
Hollister was curious. “Feel free.”
He settled into the chair facing her desk. “I think I have a better use for him…”
Twenty-Six
Fire: The Collapse Page 26
