Authors: Angela Scott
Anyone?
ANYONE?
Copyright © 2014 Angela Scott
Cover Art Copyright © 2014 Mallory Rock
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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622538625
ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-862-1
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Editor: Stevie Mikayne
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eBook License Notes:
You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any
part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal
Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it
may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share
this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase
your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them
fictitiously.
~~~
The Desert Series
Book 1 –
Desert Rice
Book 2 –
Desert Flower
~~~
The Zombie West Series
Book 1 –
Wanted: Dead or
Undead
Book 2 –
Survivor Roundup
Book 3 –
Dead Plains
Special Omnibus Edition –
The Zombie West
Trilogy
~~~
WANTED: DEAD OR UNDEAD
“
It was well written, well plotted and VERY
entertaining (even the lovey dovey aspects of it!). If you like a good shoot
out, and zombies trying to eat your brains for brunch, pick it up... you won’t
be sorry.”
–
KindleObsessed Reviews
“I gave this book five stars, because it was a total
surprise. I thought - Zombies - Wild West - where can she go with this. And she
took me on a ride through towns, prairies, hot and cold and everything you can
think the Wild West would include. Except for the Zombies. A unique read and I
am always happy to come across a book that surprises me and takes me off on a
new and different adventure. This was a quick read. Gripping from the first
pages. Once I started it, I couldn’t put it down.” –
Sherri Fundin, Amazon
Reviewer
DESERT RICE
“I seriously still have chills on my arms!! Angela Scott has
some of the best first chapters and mid book twists that I have ever read.”
–
Booklover Blogger
“To see the love of a big brother, Jacob, for his little
sister, Sam, unfold as they try to survive after a horrible ordeal was
mesmerizing. This is a mystery, a thriller, but above all, for me, a story of
love and how far someone will go to protect that love. Scott’s characterization
and pacing is sensational” –
Michaelreviews, Amazon Reviewer
“I’m a VERY difficult reader to please and this isn’t a book
I would typically read, but I read it and boy was I blown away. This novel
captivated me, not from the first page but from the very first sentence, where
we are brought smack in the middle of the action.”—
Moslimah
For my husband and three children.
I dedicate this book to you, despite knowing you will
most likely never see this dedication.
Especially, since not one of you has read ANY of my
previous books.
I expect this will be the same.
~~~
This is book number seven after all.
I will say this, though: whether they read this
dedication or not,
I still appreciate their unwavering support and
oodles of love.
I know they think having an author for a wife and
mother is pretty darn cool—except for the times they go without being fed so I
can reach a deadline.
The blast rocked the house on its foundation, imploding the
windows. I covered my face with my arms and dove onto my mattress as tiny
shards of glass pricked my skin and sprinkled through my hair. A loud rumble
washed over me, almost deafening. I didn’t dare raise my head, but when the
shaking subsided a minute later, I peeked between my arms.
What in the world
is that?
Pictures had fallen and now lay broken on my carpet. The
wall shelf dangled by one hook and swung side to side like a pendulum, with all
my trophies and souvenirs lying scattered below. My desk chair had tumbled over
and large snowflakes flittered in through the broken windows to melt to death
on my warm floor. My curtains danced with the winter breeze.
Dad came to a skidding halt at my open door, his hands
gripping the frame. “You okay?”
Unsure, I took a moment to examine the cuts on my arms and
legs—mostly scratches, nothing serious—before nodding.
“Then grab your bag, Tess! Grab it now!”
“What’s going on? What was that?”
“Just do it!” He disappeared down the hall.
Maybe I didn’t need to know what was happening or maybe he
didn’t know either, but either way, being told to grab my seventy-two hour kit
was enough.
I wasted no time sliding to my knees next to my bed and reaching
underneath to pull out the emergency duffle bag—clothes, toiletries, blanket,
MREs, my own compact Smith & Wesson I’d been given almost seven years ago
for my tenth birthday—a gift I remembered being quite pissed about. I’d wanted
an American Girl Doll and was given a gun instead. Every little girl’s dream.
I tugged my winter boots over my bare feet and threw a
jacket over my nightgown just as Dad stopped in front of my door again. Instead
of looking at me, he stared off down the hallway, looking both ways, then waved
me toward him. “Let’s go!”
I hitched my bag onto my shoulders, but a tiny
meow
stopped me before I took Dad’s outstretched hand. The orange and white ball of
fluff trembled in the corner of my closet amid the large pile of dirty laundry I
kept swearing I’d wash but never seemed to get around to.
“Come here, Callie. Come here girl!”
“Leave her, we’ve got to go!” Dad still wouldn’t look at me.
I took a step toward the closet, ignoring him. “Come on,
Callie. It’s okay. Come on now.”
“Leave the damn cat! We don’t have time for this.”
“She’s scared. I can’t leave her!”
How could I leave her
to fend for herself when she could hardly remember to use the litter box on her
own?
Dad released his breath and pushed me aside, then reached for
the four-month-old kitten and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. He shoved
her into my arms as she fought against his rough hands, squirming to get away. “Can
we go now?”
I nodded, and he slipped his own bag onto his shoulder and
darted down the hall.
I wrapped my coat around my terrified cat, doing my best to
ignore her frantic clawing as she wriggled around, seeming to find safety in
the pit of my arm—a very sensitive place to keep a cat.
Dad had already taken off for the front of the house, but
when I stepped into the hallway, my breath caught in my throat and my feet rooted
me in place. Down the far end of the hall, the outside wall lay in a crumbled
mess, covering Dad’s bed in sheetrock and aluminum siding. Snow blew in through
the giant hole and dusted his overturned dresser. The ceiling lamp dangled from
an electrical cord.
“Tess!”
I found my feet, turned in the opposite direction, away from
the destruction, and followed after his voice. Most of the windows in the
living room and kitchen were shattered, and my boots crunched the glass into
the wooden floor as I passed. The microwave had fallen from the counter and
crashed onto the dishes and food that had been dumped from the cupboards. Family
pictures had slipped from their nails.
Mom’s treasured curio cabinet, with all the knickknacks she’d
collected before her death, lay face down—bits of broken ceramics and blown
glass figures mixed together. I fought the urge to right the curio and save
what I could—save her memories—but Dad called me to follow him.
He climbed out the sliding door toward the backyard. “Watch
yourself!”
I angled my body sideways and avoided the jagged edges. I’d
barely stepped onto the patio when he grabbed my hand and yanked me across the snow-covered
grass.
Callie dug her claws into my side and hung on to my ribs.
A yelp escaped my lips, but Dad didn’t stop dragging me away
from the house, and Callie adjusted herself again, her sharp nails tearing even
further into my cold flesh.
Maybe trying to save her had been a huge mistake.
Another
boom
caused the ground to tremble, and I
nearly lost my footing, but Dad held me upright and dragged me after him. Dark
clouds mushroomed a few blocks away and rose into the sky. The crackling of
fire and the smell of smoke rattled my senses as wisps of snow twirled around
me, licking my lashes and stinging my eyes. Gray ash mixed with the falling
snow.
He didn’t have to tell me where we were headed. When he
knelt over the square metal door, partially hidden by shrubs and wild trees, a
great sense of gratitude flooded over me for my doomsday father and his insane
need to prepare for every possible end-of-the-world disaster. Only now, he didn’t
seem so insane.
He brushed the snow aside, popped the hatch, and lifted the
door that led down into the darkened shelter. He tossed his bag inside and it
landed with a resounding thump against the metal floor. “Go on!” He urged me
forward. “The generator switches are on the left.” He grabbed my bag and tossed
it into the hole too.
I tried to shift Callie, but she wouldn’t retract her claws,
so I ignored her the best I could and climbed down the ladder into the dark
metal tube.
“Can you find the switch?”
I ran my hands over the cool interior of the bomb shelter,
searching for the elusive switches that would bring the whole thing to life.
The metal reminded me of a green bean can with all its rolling bumps—life in a
giant vegetable can.
My fingers ran over the switches and I flipped them both
upright. The florescent lights flickered, and it took a moment for my eyes to
adapt to the harsh light.
“I got it!”
The air system started to whirl, bringing fresh air from the
outside into the underground bunker.
Callie finally released her mad grip on me and ran down my
side to disappear under the couch. I couldn’t have been more pleased.
Dad knelt near the opening and looked down at me. “Don’t
open this door for anyone, do you understand? Not anyone.”
“Wait! What? You’re leaving me?” Panic gripped my chest and
crushed my lungs. I reached for the ladder, determined to climb back out. I’d
rather fight against whatever was happening outside than be left alone down
here.
“I’ve got to go for Toby, and once I find him, we’ll be
back.”
How could I have forgotten my brother?
Maybe because
he was a giant asshole to me and an even bigger one to Dad, but whatever, he
was still my brother—even if the idea of spending any amount of time with him
in an underground bunker sounded torturous.
I let go of the ladder. Of course, Dad needed to find him,
wherever he was. At his girlfriend Kenzie’s? Behind the MoviePlex smoking with his
stoner friends? Or maybe hustling pool at Parker and James’s bar? It shouldn’t
be that hard to find the loser.
“We’ll be back, I promise. It won’t take long. Don’t open
the door unless you hear this.” He gave the metal door a rap with his knuckles—my
name in Morse Code. “Don’t you come out, Tess. You stay put and we’ll be back.
Promise me you won’t open this door.”
I nodded.
“Promise me!”
“I promise.”
He paused, his hand on the square hatch. “Lock it from the
inside. Every latch.”
Panic began to rise in my chest again. “I will.”
“I love you, Tess.”
“I love you too.” Tears welled in my eyes. “Please hurry.”
With that, he lowered the door into place.