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

herself after a moment, face aligning with his broad shoulders and studied him. Caleb appeared rested, possibly revitalized by the fight for survival. He looked like he’d spent the first part of the day training for a triathlon and the afternoon at the spa.

“Yes, sir.” Jenna replied, but he’d turned his back to her.

She heard footsteps on the stairs.

Victor, a tall, broad-shouldered man, clomped down the dark steps. “Quentin,” he called. “Can you get people to take the bodies outside and burn them. After, we need to shutter the window again?”

“On it.” Quentin nodded and sent the other man a thumbs up. “Come on mates. Let’s get to today’s dirty work.”

Billy, Eric, Jody, and George hustled down the steps and into the light. They carried hammers, pliers, and canisters of nails, which they set down at the entrance. George handed Caleb a hammer before grabbing a severed arm and leg and hauling them outside.

The joy of living like roaches, she thought as people performed various tasks in a choreographed ballet. Scurrying from dark corner to dark corner in empty buildings and abandoned houses.

Jenna found the strength to move and the search for Emma began.

She reached the top of the stairs and spotted the other woman.

“I need some assistance.” Jenna touched her face. Sappy blood blotted her fingers.

“I see. What caused those scratches? They don’t look like they came from Streakers.” A physician’s assistant in her past life, Emma had taken over caring for the crew.

A shadow streaked across the floor, catching the corner of her vision.

“Jenna got scratched when a Streaker crashed the party through a window,” said Caleb. “All the damage was caused by flying glass, but she might need antibiotics, so she doesn’t get an infection.”

Where’d he come from?

“No shit, Sherlock.” She dusted the glass from her jacket, pricking her fingers in the process. “I can tell my own story.” Jenna used a cloth Emma handed her to wipe brain fragments off her face. “I’m sure our industrious physician’s assistant can determine a treatment plan.”

“Hello to you too, Caleb.” Emma pulled Jenna towards the gym, where she washed and dried her hands before forcing Jenna down in a chair. “I’ll do my best to take care of Miss Jenna here. Thank you for following up on her medical care so promptly.”

“Glad to help.” Caleb shot Emma a smile but didn’t leave. His squinted, a scowl replacing the smile when he addressed Jenna. “Later, you and I need to chat. You risked your life. I told you stay back, but, as usual, you didn’t listen. I had it handled.”

“I can handle myself.”

He ignored her and stalked off.

Jenna sank into a chair and dug into her pocket to return the Army dog tags.

At least she wasn’t dead. That’s something.

“They were my husband’s. He survived four tours in Iraq but couldn’t defeat the zombie hordes.”

Emma grabbed iodine and dabbed the burning liquid on her cuts.

More pain. Yup. That’s how life is. Suck it up buttercup.

“Ouch.” She pushed away, avoiding contact with the medication-infused cloth. “You’re supposed to be a caring medical professional.”

“What a baby.” Emma handed over some hard-to-obtain antibiotics. “Swallow these.”

3

Oppressive air swirled. The night was similar to a thousand others that had preceded it and yet the intensity of the dream was like nothing she’d experienced. Jenna squirmed in her sleep, on the verge of waking. A moon in bloom cast an ominous glow.

“Jenna.”

Darkness wriggled like a worm from the corners of the room. Sprawled on her makeshift bed comprised of a ratty, patched sleeping bag, mismatched blankets, and a torn pillow in a flowered case, she tossed, voices all around.

“Please save me.”

Shooting up, the smell of rotting flesh met her. A Streaker lumbered into view.

“Too late. Evil is coming for you.”

She bolted from knotted blankets, shifting into consciousness.

A dream. The same one had plagued her for months.

Wiping at the sweat stinging her eyes and dripping between her breasts, she flicked back the hair obscuring her view.

A gunshot fired through her sleep-muddled brain. The noise erased the nightmare lurking seconds before. Awareness washed over. She smoothed the disheveled bedding.

What’s wrong? Why the nightmares? Isn’t reality bad enough?

Body rigid with fear, the questions refused to leave until another gun blast shook the stillness and Jenna out of her malaise.

A moment of silence. Another bang echoed off the concrete walls.

She rolled on her side, her face to the wall, not ready to embrace the morning.

It had been a few days since the attack. She conceded panic had lodged in her mind since.

Whatever’s happening outside isn’t my problem. Practice? Wolves? Bears? Stop worrying. Let other people deal with it. No use.

She was awake and staying that way.

Jenna swung into a sitting position, feet anchored against the wooden floor. The scuffed surface held rusted soda bottles and plastic bags. Mildewed textbooks had been chewed through by mice, some still using the tomes as a place to reside. A large plastic banner held the school motto, “A family of learners.” Much of the debris had been pushed against the walls, but it felt like a fashion statement for the new world.

Though the survivors had hauled and lugged, dumped and discarded to make the large room habitable, the loud scurry of rats collided against the quiet steps of the inhabitants.

Vermin thrive while humans barely survive. New school motto right there, Jenna thought.

On autopilot, her hand searched under her bedroll for the flashlight. Flicking the switch, the dim beam provided enough light for her to locate the rough leather boots perched at the edge of her sleeping bag and slip them on. The beat-up camouflage jacket came next. Torn and stained, it was still protection and comfort, even in the heat. Knife and gun waited by her bedside, both never far. She secured the smaller weapon in her jacket pocket.

Dirty little beasts. She kicked out at a rat. It scampered away unconcerned. She hated vermin almost as much as she hated Streakers.

She put her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. Pinpricks of pain