Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1) by Lisa Acerbo (the best e book reader txt) 📗

see them inside either.” Quentin huffed the words.

She prayed they hadn’t been trapped by other Streakers inside.

The rest of the group had vanished, except for Quentin who’d remained in step with her.

“Next door.” He dragged her along. “Inside.”

“What if we get trapped?”

Ducking inside a Quick Mart, he grabbed an empty magazine rack, hauling it in front of the door. “Have to hide somewhere. Outside we’re too unprotected, and noise from a fight will bring more of them.

There wasn’t a lot of room in the small store. She kicked away empty cigarette packs, plastic bottles, and discarded remnants of lotto tickets. There was a kiosk where coffee had once been prepared. Remnants of shattered pots melted together with brown stains, but at least no high shelving.

A flimsy barrier wouldn’t stop the Streaker for long, but it might allow for a few extra seconds for them to prepare or find another way out—the difference between life and death.

She sprinted to the rear, Quentin on her heels, his breath blowing down on the back of her head in short puffs.

The creature crashed against the door.

My fault, Jenna replayed the conversation in her head. Goofing around in the grocery store was a rookie mistake.

Bantering with him had been enjoyable, something that hadn’t happened since high school pre-pandemic. She should have stayed serious and remained with the rest of the group.

Discipline would be a priority if she got out of this mess, but the situation could turn problematic if more Streakers arrived. Too many people died this way.

Quentin thrust her into a corner and signaled for silence.

He inched back toward the front door, the baseball bat high overhead, ready to swing.

Another boom echoed, and the door slammed open an inch. The barricade between safety and the Streaker weakened.

Jenna watched from a crouch, realizing she’d soon be in serious trouble.

No longer did a single dead thing ram the barricaded door, but two.

Quentin readied his bat, but unlike the New Race, he couldn’t kill two Streakers on his own. She searched for another way out. No windows. There was an exit sign in the back, but someone had barricaded it with a coin exchange machine. She couldn’t push that aside on her own, and Quentin was otherwise engaged.

She moved to join him in the fight, hoisting her bat.

The undead rammed the barricade again and shambled through the door. Missing his tie and most of what might have been a designer suit, his engorged, distended belly exposed bowels through the tattered remains of a button-down shirt.

A second Streaker stumbled through the opening, an elderly female corpse, composed of little more than muscle and bone, wearing remnants of a long dress. What little remained of the creature tangled itself into the tumbled magazine racks and fell to the ground.

Its wormy body continued to slither across the floor, pus oozing, teeth snapping maniacally, skeletal hands clawing the tile. It inched closer.

Spokes of the magazine rack held the creature back, but by the squeal of metal against the tile, the undead would not be long delayed. The resounding slam of the front door trapped them inside.

Jenna slid behind Quentin, who hit the man’s skull dead center, producing a cracking echo.

The wooden weapon popped back, glistening with blood and gray matter.

He slammed it in short, measured strokes. Upon the bat’s final release, the pucker and slurp of brains competed with his heaving breaths. The body collapsed to the floor.

The old woman remained tangled, slowed by a mess of fabric trapped in a metal magazine rack, but that no longer stopped her from gaining ground. Like nails on a chalkboard, the screeching rack scraped as the creature gained inches.

Jenna sidestepped in front of Quentin, bat at the ready. A third corpse dove against the door. Bloody fingers shoved through a gap, forcing the way open. Another of the evil dead had arrived.

This one will be the end of us.

A horn honked. The monster in the door disappeared, spurred on by the loud noise. The tangled Streaker on the floor eyed Jenna with menace, but the repeated bleating created a beckoning cacophony outside.

The commotion caused the creature to heave itself out the door, leaving behind only the discarded magazine rack.

Gunshots rang in quick succession.

She made the sign of the cross even though she no longer believed in a God.

Someone took the Streakers down. We’ll be okay.

The hum of a motor idled in the street. With Quentin at her side, the two ran for the entrance.

Whatever waited for them outside was better than what they had just faced. She hoped it turned out to be her friends.

Billy, Jackie, and Emma greeted them from the back of a Ford 350 flatbed truck. Gus was at the wheel. They hopped in, and the truck roared to life, heading along the road.

“We were overrun. Had to call for back-up.” Jackie patted her walkie-talkie like a beloved pet. “Gus to the rescue. He drove in from camp to save our asses.”

“How’d you find us?” Jenna focused on slowing the ragged breaths escaping her mouth.

“We searched for the Streakers. Duh.” Billy’s eyes glazed with excitement. His speech sounded like machine gunfire. “Better than any video game I ever played. I can’t even remember the names of them, but this was real. So intense. When I lost sight of you two.” He pointed at Jenna and Quentin. “I vowed to stay and fight every last one of them to get you out.”

Emma crossed her arms. “We’re moving out tonight. It’s too crowded around here for us.”

6

The camp at the school was in disarray by the time the group returned. Quentin wandered off to get his belongings. Jenna ran into Caleb and Aiko.

Aiko displayed her curves as often as her kukri knives. Today the tight T-shirt appeared a few sizes too small.

Did she grab a child size?

With the world at an end, Jenna could hope Aiko would have the decency to throw on a baggy sweatshirt like the rest of them now and again, but no. Her long, plaited hair accented