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

He smiled at her reaction. “Let Emma know in the kitchen, so she doesn’t send the search party out for you too.”

She stalked to the kitchen.

Quentin gazed at the landscape hoping to recognize anything familiar.

Must keep going.

The intense neck and face pain turned the journey grueling. All the trees and landmarks blurred and the compass he carried destroyed in the scuffle. It wasn’t like there were any marked paths this deep in the forest.

Would it ever end? Could he make it back or should he just wait? Wait for what? Rescue? Death?

He leaned on a tree, inhaling painfully, and staggered forward, hand dropping from the wound on his neck, arm numb and tired.

Let it bleed. One more step. The inn must be close.

His head throbbed. Unwilling legs shuffled onward. Every ragged breath and little movement caused a cloud of pain. After a dozen or so steps, one knee hit the ground before he dropped fully.

Can’t move anymore. Head hurts. Done.

But after a few minutes, the pain receded. With the aid of a low tree branch, Quentin heaved himself upright.

A few more steps. Almost there.

He tottered forward. Afternoon shadows created impressions of demons on the ground. A raven screamed in the trees above. If pain had not already convinced him of his lack of luck, he might have believed the bird a bad omen.

He dropped to the ground for the second time.

Not going to make it back to the inn. This is as good a place as any to die.

Blood seeped unrelenting from his wounds, trickling along his neck, and dampening his shirt. The self-loathing of letting the damn Streaker overtake him back in the woods clashed with the pain. He crawled against a tree and closed his eyes.

If this was the end, then so be it.

His vision faded to black.

Jenna was leaving Emma in the kitchen when commotion erupted. “Let’s see what’s up.”

The two women headed for the front door.

George and Ford carried an unmoving, bloody Quentin between them. Wounds on his face and neck trickled red covering his shirt the same color.

Momentarily paralyzed, Jenna’s fear engulfed her.

She could not lose someone else she cared about. This could not happen.

Emma ran to the dying man’s side.

“He must have been ambushed by a Streaker,” George said.

“Where’d you find him?” Emma searched for a pulse.

“About a mile from the inn. He’s been bleeding for a while. I don’t know how bad it is, or how long he was out there like this.”

“Get some towels.” Emma met Jenna’s deer in a headlights gaze. “I need something to stop the blood and lots of clean, warm water. Now!”

“Where should we put him?” George asked.

“Follow me,” Emma replied.

Jenna was weary to the bone. She slouched on the couch in the main room. Three days since the attack on Quentin, and he was not getting better. In fact, he appeared much worse. She’d nursed him day and night, but nothing brought the fever down or woke him from a perpetual state of semi-consciousness.

The tranquil setting of the main room, now often called the great hall, contradicted the heated discussion. The group had worked hard to make the common area homey since their arrival. Beth, Jackie, and some of the New Race, had created a sewing circle and made new pillows for the couches and chairs. They were now working on couch covers.

How stupid. Nothing really mattered. Let them make their dumb-ass covers. When we are extinct the Streakers can enjoy them.

She stared with distaste at an old DVD player and DVDs Caleb had found and brought back to life. As a treat, the group could watch a movie since they had a gasifier and generator as power sources.

Let’s enjoy a romantic comedy while someone dies. What a treat.

The group planned to scout for solar panels to increase their efficiency and offer an alternative source of energy.

None of it mattered anymore. We probably won’t make it through the winter anyway. If we do, there’s always more Streakers ready and waiting.

All the members of their small group, except for the two youngest boys, Josh and Kyle, were in mid-meeting. The group came together in what was now known as the Counsel. Votes decided important questions and problems, and everyone received an equal say in the final decision.

“Assholes,” Jenna muttered under her breath, daring someone to contradict. The audacity of what people suggested was stunning, but her only recourse was to destroy the couch, picking out the stuffing from the mouse holes to occupy her hands. So, she did, to avoid strangling every naysayer in the room.

No one addressed her directly, but no one stopped the destruction. With all the controversy, she’d end up picking every strand of white fluff from every single usable piece of furniture.

“Should we make a final decision about what to do?” Peter’s words were kind if the vote was not.

“We should leave him. Close the door, walk away, and then bury him or shoot him when it’s over. I guess it depends if he turns or not,” said Aiko.

Most heartless bitch on the face of the earth.

“Aiko.” Beth’s face drained of all color. “He’s someone’s son. He’s our family. You don’t need to be rude. This is a serious and sensitive matter.”

“I’m honest about the situation, which is more than most of you are willing to be,” she replied, scanning the room rebelliously.

Jenna exploded off the couch. “We can’t just let Quentin die. It’s inhumane and wrong. We must do everything possible to save him. Quentin’s one of us. He got us here in the first place! We have to do the right thing.”

“He’s only human. If he was of the New Race, he would have survived this without a problem,” Aiko’s words lacked any emotion.

Jenna stepped toward Aiko, fingers fisting. Emma reached out, grabbing an arm to hold her back.

“Quentin needs more medicine than I have. The few antibiotics left aren’t working on him. They weren’t strong to begin with.” Emma faced off with Aiko. “We know