Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1) Lisa Acerbo (debian ebook reader .TXT) 📖

the highway once again, Caleb turned around in his seat, surveying the scene to make sure it was free of undead. The caravan advanced along the dark roads unencumbered for many miles. Jenna relaxed, able to laugh when she heard Caleb’s snoring from the backseat.

“I’m glad you still see the humor in this situation,” Emma said.

“What do you mean?”

“You are always so serious. I thought the fact we were almost eaten by Streakers might put you in a bad mood.”

“Bad mood?”

“Euphemism. I was being nice.”

“I’m not so horrible.”

“You’re able to laugh at poor Caleb snoring when he’s sound asleep.”

“That’s different. I’m relieving the tension from almost being killed tonight.”

“It was stressful for everyone. We fought hard to survive.”

“We? I don’t remember seeing you out on the main lobby fighting the undead.”

“I was there in spirit.”

“Big help.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would believe, Ms. Jenna, are giving me attitude.”

“Maybe you should just rest too. Quiet like Caleb.”

“Definitely attitude. Perhaps I will remove my stimulating conversation since you cherish it so much. Will you be all right behind the wheel? You haven’t had a lot of sleep.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Emma gave Jenna a quick kiss on the cheek before closing her eyes. The hum of the car’s engine and the textures of the night washed over her. For a moment it was peaceful but then Eric’s face surfaced.

She let him fight, which made her responsible for his death. She should have said something and forced him back into the small theater and away from the fight.

The back seat had gone silent. She glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure the patient was still alive.

“Thank you.” His gaze trapped hers for a second. “For everything. I owe you so much for today.”

“I didn’t do anything. You had plenty of volunteers offering to nurse you back to health. You’re popular that way.”

“Thank you anyway.” He closed his eyes.

She’d bet her life on the fact he wasn’t going back to sleep.

12

Jenna woke. Early morning sun drifted through the curtains. She sat, alert and then yawned and stretched. She’d slept on a real bed with sheets, pillows, and blankets.

True, the blankets had moth holes and the pillows had mouse droppings on them when they arrived a few weeks ago but making it to High Point Inn had changed everything. She wasn’t afraid to face the day and hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks. But it hadn’t all turned out good.

A five-minute hot shower waited, one of the new luxuries she was both excited and thankful for. Hot water came via the generator at the inn but plans for a better system were under discussion. With ingenuity, heat and electricity would never be lacking.

Jenna could only describe John as a post-pandemic hipster. But no matter his fashion sense, he’d turned out to be exceedingly knowledgeable about so many useful things.

An engineer in his former life, he fashioned a gasifier, a gas generator, which turned wood into energy. The group ran appliances like the stove with it, heated the water for the showers, and powered the cars without gasoline. Making additional units took time, which meant everyone cut and hauled lumber daily to get them through the winter with heat and power.

She twirled, enjoying the luxury resort room she’d claimed. The top floor, corner room held a gorgeous view of the lake and a sense of security. A faded oriental rug rested under a huge bed. The walls were a rich, warm, taupe brown, accented by heavy drapes.

The goal today—clean the grimy window coverings.

They needed a good thrashing. She dragged them off the rods, choking on the plumes of dust smog filling the air.

She’d beat the drapes using a broom—to within an inch of their lives if she must. She’d have to borrow a broom from the supply closet.

This simple task reminded her so much of former times. When the drapes were dust-free they’d hang again and should keep the room shaded in the early morning and insulated when winter arrived. A mundane task, something deplorable in her previous life, brought joy and a little nostalgia.

Her room. A space to find solitude.

There were two large chairs. While Jenna had never been a person happy to remain idle for long periods, she hoped to start her journal again and record what went on at the inn. The chairs and the small center table between them, would be the perfect place for her to write.

She meandered into the hallway in a pair of ratty pajamas the group scavenged from some of the nearest homes though they were few and far between. The pajamas were bright purple plaid, not what the fashionista inside her would have chosen, but the soft flannel was comfortable and reassuring. Jenna came to an unexpected halt. “Caleb.”

He stood at the door to his room, avoiding the milky lights filtering through the windows. “Hi.” His greeting fell flat.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Need anything.”

“No.” He turned away.

Since arriving at the inn, Caleb had been silent and moody, if not downright rude. And she had no idea why. Could Eric’s death have devastated him? Caleb avoided her. When chance brought them together, conversations were brief and strained. Exactly like this one.

“Sorry for interrupting the important business of heading into your room.” The words lashed the air. “Go get some sleep and forget I ever said anything. Just forget I exist.”

“Fine.” He turned the knob to open his door.

“You are so frustrating.” Tears threatened. “Is it strange I care about how you are doing?”

Jenna stalked outside, banging the front door shut and sprinted from the porch of the inn through the meadow, running from the rage within. Since settling into the High Point Inn, she had the luxury of getting mad at the living rather than the dead. With over 350 acres of forests and the natural boundaries, the inn was perfect for defending against Streakers. Dense woods on one side and the reservoir on the other, provided protection from roaming undead. The inn only had one, twisty main road and