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

how many are around by taking one out and drawing them here. No lectures from you, old man.”

The twins pushed away from the building ledge in unison, and one of them muttered from behind her. “The undead always find us. It doesn’t matter what we do to keep them away or how quiet we try to be.”

She couldn’t tell who said it, they sounded so similar.

Jenna cocked her shotgun, aimed, but didn’t fire. “We try our best but what will be will be.”

More Streakers stumbled into sight, hugging the building, clawing at the windows and exterior walls. They’d find a way in, always did even if it took weeks.

She hoisted the gun resting on the roof ledge. “I’m going to get a plan in motion.” Nodding at Ford and the twins, Jenna departed, heading downstairs.

Streakers threw humans into panicked action. Caleb’s response would be different.

As if reading her mind, he met her in a dark pocket of the corridor.

“You don’t need to warn anyone. The New Racers heard you shout from the roof and filled in the humans.”

Jenna, as always when she saw him, squinted to ensure he was real.

A member of the New Race, he was an anomaly caused by the pandemic—strong in a time when humanity scurried like dirty vermin on a dying planet. And beautiful. He was so damn lovely. While the New Race were intoxicating, Jenna had serious concerns about their disposition, having stepped closer to the Streakers in nature if not in appearance.

With midnight black, shoulder length hair and unblemished, pale skin, Caleb radiated a movie-star persona, but those eyes.

Who has red eyes? What else has changed with the New Race? They can’t read minds, can they? You’ve lived with them for four month so no. You’d know by now. Shouldn’t be contemplating this just in case. Think about anything else. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

She began to list the weapons needed to fight the undead. “I’ll get ready.” Jenna hurried away.

Exchanging the shotgun for a semi-automatic pistol from a stash of weapons, she checked to ensure it was ready and full of ammo.

Caleb inched close. “Good?”

A shiver itched her back. “Yes.” The grumbled word escaped her lips, then she turned. “As good as a girl can get with Streakers beating down her door asking for a dinner date.”

“You might want a bigger gun.” The smile made him no less intimidating or more human.

“Not if we’re inside. This one is accurate in small spaces.”

He watched her, unblinking. His eyes spiraled into liquid pools of blood.

Creepy. Hate when that happens. Is he full of a dark hunger like the other humans say? How can there be an understanding between the races? Stop thinking about this.

He signaled them forward with a wave of his hand. Without the aid of lights, the darkened corridors of the former school were labyrinths.

She rounded the corner, and the crunch of glass bloomed loud underfoot.

“Keep it down,” he joked.

It didn’t matter if the Streakers heard them downstairs. The monsters would make their way inside no matter what, but her pride was injured.

Who was he to chastise her even jokingly? She shook her escalating emotions away. Fighting the undead did that. She needed to focus before the battle. Can’t blame him for the differences. I’m sure the freaking New Racers lost their social skills along with their humanity. They can’t be all bad, right?

Memories of the day in the graveyard when Caleb found her surfaced.

After long, fear-filled hours waiting for Streakers to attack, sleep had inched in and formed a cocoon around her.

Dead to the world, the fire burned to embers. In the smoky darkness, those intense, red eyes had been her awakening. A demon, she believed, had risen to claim her soul. When other voices encircled her, she’d brandished the knife nestled in the coat pocket.

Ford had knelt next to her, a gentle hand on her arm. He told her he was part of a group of sixteen people trying to find a place to settle. Water and food were offered. She’d joined them and they’d become her family, coexisting with the New Race, although at times tenuously. The pandemic that run amuck, bound humans and the New Race together for a chance at survival.

Faint footfall whispered from behind her and brought her back to the present. Turning, Jenna peered up at Quentin’s sincere smile. Large and scruffy, his arrival reminded her of an endearing Golden Lab ready to show some love.

“Emma wanted me to give you this.” He handed Jenna army dog tags and shrugged. “She said it was for good luck.” Emma, who took care of the sick and the wounded, liked to play mom, but she was tough as nails and serious about her science and medicine.

Jenna accepted the gift, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. “You know those healers and how they’re into all that voodoo and mysticism.”

Quentin smiled at her joke and Jenna felt a wave of nostalgia. He should be catching a wave not sending her off to battle with good luck chachkas. In another world, she’d be happy to join an attractive mid-twenties surfer with an I-don’t-care attitude in doing exactly that.

What were they all doing here? How did this happen?

“Good luck.” He merged back into the darkness.

“Thanks,” she called after him before taking a step in the opposite direction. Another crunch of glass detonated under foot. “Damn it.”

Caleb’s smirk left her with an overwhelming desire to smack it away. How was he able to sidestep every obstacle while she flailed about, clumsy? All thanks to those gifts he never earned. Envy made the silence simmer between them.

Not a liability. The thoughts bounced through her mind. Can’t sell myself short.

With the aid of a watery light seeping through boarded-up windows, his back her guide, they treaded forward.

A laugh tickled her dry throat, and she bit hard on her lip to stop it from escaping.

The march toward possible death continued.

If the Streakers weren’t enough for the humans to deal with, the New Race