Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) (20 page)

"I saw the second poster,
Cowboy
." He
flinched. "I know John raised the bounty. But I can tell you right now,
he's not a rich man. Just a farm doctor who gets paid in chickens and eggs. He
doesn't have that kind of money. I doubt you would've even seen a penny of
it—"

"I don't want the money," he said, cutting her
off. "For the last time, that's not why I'm here. Not now. Not for quite
some time."

Her stomach twisted in on itself as a painful ache grew
inside her. "Then why are you here?" It came out in a whisper.

"I think you already know. It's the exact same reason
why you haven't shot me already."

She relaxed her hand and her finger fell away from the
trigger.

In that instant of hesitation, Trace grabbed the pistol and
tossed it to a safe distance. He cupped her upper arms before she could move
away and pulled her against him, chest to chest. She held her breath, not yet
willing to give in, even as he placed his forehead against hers.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Then why keep them?"
She unconsciously slipped her hands around his waist. "The posters."

Trace tipped her chin up so their lips nearly touched, and
wove his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck, drawing her closer
still. "Because of your name."

"My name?"

"You wouldn't tell me your name. The posters did."
He held her face just inches from his own. "Elisabeth, I'm not going
anywhere. Not without you. Shoot me in both legs if you must, but I'm telling
you right now, I'll find a way to crawl after you."

Red closed her eyes and tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I love you," he said. "Maybe it didn't start
out that way, but that's why I'm here now, and why I'm not leaving without
you."

She wanted to hear it, needed to hear it, but now leaving
would be even more painful. To stay in his arms and feel his breath on her skin
would've been the easy thing to do, but it also would've been wrong.

She angled her head away from him. "It's not safe for
you to be with me."

"Don't I know it." He dragged his thumb along her
cheek, her eyes, and her lips.

She looked up into his smiling face and knew he didn't
understand the gravity of her words. "No,
I'm
dangerous. In
here." She slipped her hand across her chest and pressed it against her
beating heart. "I feel it, and... I think it's getting worse."

His smile faded. "What do you mean? How are you
dangerous?"

There it was, the question she'd been avoiding.

"What's going on, Red? Talk to me." He held her at
arm's length and searched her face for answers.

She lowered her eyes, unable to meet
his gaze, unable to imagine speaking the words.

"Just tell me what's going on. Let me help."

She shook her head. "You can't."

"At least let me try."

"It's not something you can change or fix. It's me.
It's done. I'm one of them and there's nothing anyone can do about it. I've
become like the walkers."

"Whoa." He took her by the shoulders and turned
her to face him. "Wait a minute, what are you talking about?"

She swallowed. "The zombies, Trace. Can't you see it?
I'm just like them." Saying the words made it feel more vile and, worst of
all, concrete.

Trace pulled her close and placed his palm against her
chest. "I can feel your breath. I can feel your heart beating beneath my
hand. The undead can't do either of those things."

She pulled away from him and rose to her feet. He'd tethered
his horse to a tree several yards away, but as she approached, the animal began
to kick at the snow and pull against the rope in an attempt to free itself.
Even though she expected the horse to behave that way, it hurt to see it played
out. She didn't go any closer, not wanting to distress the horse any more than
she already had.

"So why does every animal react this way to me
now?"

Red turned around and waited for him to reply, but he
didn't. His eyes danced from her to the horse and back again.

"Do you want to know how I
killed them all? It was actually quite easy." A chill ran up the length of
her back and she shivered. "I walked right into the middle of them. They
brushed their rotting limbs against me as though I wasn't even there. I was
within inches of them and they did nothing."

Trace stood and closed the distance between them. He took
both her hands in his and led her away from the agitated horse. "You're
telling me you walked among them and they didn't do anything?"

She nodded, hesitant. "I killed them, but I had no
reason to. None at all. They didn't attack me. They didn't even notice
me."

He pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest.
"You're not like them, Elisabeth. You wouldn't be holding me like this if
you were."

She pressed her face into his jacket and sobbed. Her
shoulders quaked and trembled, and he held her tight.

"Your heart beats. Your mind thinks. Your soul
feels." He kissed the top of her head. "If you were like them, you'd
be trying to eat me right now."

She tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold.

"Whatever change occurred to make the walkers believe
you aren't worth eating is more remarkable than you can imagine. I don't know
how it happened, but Elisabeth"—he lifted her chin and looked into her
eyes—"you have the ability to do something no one else can do. And that's
pretty damn impressive."

"I don't want this. I don't even know if I can control
it. Because, I feel it." She pointed toward her chest, to the spot where
the monster lived. "I can feel it inside, pushing me to do things I don't
want to do. If I stay, I might hurt you."

"You won't."

"Trace, you don't know that."

"Yes I do. I know
you
. You're not like the undead,
no matter what you may think."

"But I also know I'm not like you, or Caroline, or Wen
either. I'm different."

Trace released his breath with a slight chuckle. "From
the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that was true."

"I'm serious."

"I am, too." He wrapped his hands around her
waist, pulled her body against his, and bent his mouth next to her ear.
"I'm not leaving you. I can't do it. So don't bother asking me to."

"You're making a mistake—"

"This is
not
a mistake. Nothing has ever felt
more right in my life."

His hand flattened against her back and she folded into him,
inhaling his scent. "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"How can you be certain?"

"Nothing is certain. That's the way life is, and what
makes each day interesting." He cupped her face again. "I don't know
what tomorrow's gonna bring, or the day after that. But right now, I'm asking
you, Elisabeth Story Monroe, to choose me. I promise you that as long as we're
together, everything else will work itself out."

"I want to believe you, but—"

"No. No buts. Just believe."

Trace kissed her forehead, then released her and took a step
back. He held his hand outstretched, leaving her with a decision to make.

She didn't know if she could control the monster that lived
inside her. It was so new, so foreign, and the idea of hurting the people she
loved terrified her. Her mind whirled with indecision. No matter what choice
she made, she'd hurt someone either way.

"It would be easier if you let me go."

"No, it wouldn't." He kept his hand stretched out
between them. "It wouldn't be easy at all, and you know that."

She stood motionless. To take a step forward would require
more bravery, more trust, than she could muster.

"Come on, Red." He lowered his arm just a little.
"I can't do this without you, and I know you don't want to do this on your
own—not when you have me. Just take my hand."

Red squeezed her eyes closed. Her heart begged her to take
his hand, hold onto it, and never let go. She wanted to trust him, but how
could she do that when she didn't even trust herself?

"I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"You sure about that?"

A hint of mockery met her ears, and she opened her eyes,
desperate to understand how he could be so certain, when she felt as though she
might implode.

He stood dangerously close to her, their chests nearly
touching and their breath tangled up together. The space that had separated
them just moments before no longer existed.

Trace smiled as he squeezed her hand. He hadn't moved an
inch.

The only footprints in the snow
belonged to her.

~~~THE END~~~

I hear voices. Tiny fictional people sit on my shoulders and
whisper their stories in my ear. Instead of medicating myself, I decided to
pick up a pen, write down everything those voices tell me, and turn it into a
book. I'm not crazy, I'm an author.

For the most part, I write contemporary Young Adult novels.
However, through a writing exercise that spiraled out of control, I found
myself writing about zombies terrorizing the Wild Wild West—and loving it. My
zombies don't sparkle, and they definitely don't cuddle. At least, I wouldn't
suggest it.

I live on the benches of the beautiful Wasatch Mountains
with two lovely children, one teenager, and a very patient husband. I graduated
from Utah State University with a B.A. degree in English, not because of my
love for the written word, but because it was the only major that didn't
require math. I can't spell, and grammar is my arch nemesis. But they gave me
the degree, and there are no take-backs.

As a child, I never sucked on a pacifier; I chewed on a
pencil. I've been writing for that long. For the past few years, I've pursued
it professionally, forged relationships with other like-minded individuals, and
determined to make a career out of it.

You can find me at my website (
http://www.WhimsyWritingAndReading.weebly.com
),
where I blog obsessively about my writing process and post updates on my
current works. I'm also on Twitter
(
@whimsywriting
) and 
Facebook
(
http://www.facebook.com/AngelaScottWriter
),
but be forewarned—I tweet and post more than a normal person.

This Upper YA/Women's Fiction adventure, a sequel to the
critically-acclaimed
Desert Rice
, is coming from
Evolved
Publishing
on January 15, 2013.

~~~~~

Bodies have a canny way of finding Samantha Jean Haggert—the
first, the dead body of her mama; the second, a naked man in the middle of the
Arizona desert. For Sam, dealing with one dead body in her lifetime was more
than unfair. Two is downright cruel.

Seven years after running from West Virginia, Sam's now a
young woman of nineteen, trying to put the pieces of her life together with the
help of her family—Jacob, Boone, and Laura. But the naked man in the desert
spirals her world out of control, resurrecting past hurts and revealing old
secrets. It also pits against one another the two men who vie for her heart:
Carson, her friend, her first kiss, and the one man who knows everything about
her past and loves her despite it; and Turner, the stranger who knows nothing,
but who excites and frustrates her all at once.

When bad choices made as a child lead to more bad choices as
a young adult, Sam finds herself at a crossroads, forced to face her demons
head-on if she plans to have any future at all—with Carson, with Turner, or
with anyone. But fixing the wrongs of the past takes time, and learning to
forgive one's self is damn near impossible.

Visit old friends in this harrowing sequel to
Desert Rice
,
in which award-winning author Angela Scott brings back the characters so many
readers have loved.