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

was simple, but he worried about scaring her. Figure out how to get past all the reservations and find out more about her raging emotions.

While Jenna would disagree, friends at the inn had noticed their time together and considered them a couple. There were subtle signs. Two seats were always available together at dinner and meetings. Someone else coordinated their schedules. It was fun to be together, but cleaning bathrooms was anything but picturesque or passionate.

Not an everyday romantic, Quentin vowed to cook a gourmet dinner. They’d dine without prying eyes and he’d find out exactly what was going on. Hopefully, he’d like the answers.

Introspection running amuck, he hoped the group would be prepared for the upcoming winter because he had daydreamt the two of them cozied up by a fire. He knew everyone, with John at the forefront, was working on a system to keep heat and hot water flowing throughout the year, and they’d need it. Virginia winters, while by no means extreme, could include cold weather and snow. While this might be a great deterrent to Streakers, it was also harder on humans. The New Racers showed little interest in temperature changes.

He wandered. The variety of tasks he needed to complete in the next few days and into the weeks collided with daydreams of his future with Jenna. A fence stood in front of him, one portion plied open. Examining the wreckage, the damage appeared purposeful.

Time to head back and tell someone. He didn’t have the tools to fix the damage.

Silence ruled the forest around him. No bird songs, no squirrels rattling through the trees. Odd.

His heart pumped in his ears, drowning out the scattering leaves and twigs. Rot and decay flooded his nostrils moments before the Streaker fought its way through the thicket to the right, moving slow, dragging a broken, gangrene leg.

Quentin retrieved the rifle slung over his shoulder and aimed.

The recoil threw him back, but no bullet fired.

Jammed. No time to fix it now.

Flinging the rifle to the ground, he grabbed the large knife out of its sheath, ready to battle. Moving close, circling, he watched for the best angle to attack.

“Arugula,” the Streaker wailed.

Hysteria bubbled in Quentin’s throat. Did the monster ask for lettuce?

The Streaker clearly wasn’t a vegetarian. As he moved in, the undead took on gigantic proportions, towering, arms raised. A black tongue flickered out between gaping holes in putrefying lips. Broken teeth chomped. A cacophony of grunts, whistles, and groans emerged from a mouth forever shaped into a perpetual joker’s grin.

Moving behind, he attacked from the rear, gripping the zombie’s hair. The blade resonated against skull bone, but not deep enough. Pulling it out, he plunged again but the blood caused the knife to slip and slice the monster’s neck. Black rancid goo ran down the Streaker’s body and onto the blade and his hand and arm. The Streaker twisted. The knife tumbled out of his grasp.

He dove to the left at the same time the corpse reached a long, skeletal hand to his face. Rolling away, Quentin thought he’d found freedom, but the creature latched on to his leg. Pant leg inches from the creepy smile and jagged, masticating teeth, he used all his strength to kick the Streaker in the mouth. The second time, his boot clapped against the creature’s jaw. With a giant shudder, it fell to the ground, sludge spilling over his pants. Crab walking away, he put needed inches between his flesh and the Streaker who regained its footing.

Quentin stood on shaky legs, searching for his knife. It perched behind a stump on the ground a few feet away.

Dodging left, the massive Streaker followed Quentin’s lead. Evil reached out to him once more. Death stung the air. He dropped, found the blade, and twisted. His fingers glistened with slime as the knife blade dug deep into the undead’s eye socket. The Streaker leaned into the knife, teeth angling for human flesh. With both hands and the last of his remaining strength, the blade found the corpse’s decaying brain.

Pain surged from his cheek and neck. Fresh blood from Quentin’s wound mixed with the black ooze of the Streaker. The lifeless corpse pirouetted before crushing him.

Using the last remnants of his strength, Quentin tilted the lifeless, mushroom body to the side. A release of gas and fluids had him heaving the contents of his meal.

At last, he stood and staggered into the forest.

Jenna bit hard on her bottom lip.

Pain to avoid the real pain. Quentin should have been back by now. Everyone from his watch shift had already returned and it was getting close to evening. Not like him.

She cornered Gus on the porch where she sat vigil. Watching the rich blue sky fading to indigo behind the line of ancient conifers, the end of the world a distant memory. But it was attacking again. The apocalypse came with a lot more than the undead. “What are we going to do?”

The hug offered comfort and reassurance.

“I know you are worried, but Quentin is a big boy. He might have wandered a little too far and it’s taking him longer to get back than expected. That boy loves him some nature and tends to roam. Maybe he forgot to check in and he’s at the barn.”

“I checked the barn, Empty. This is not like him. He’s a good soldier and obeys orders. If he wanted to walk in the woods, he’d do it on his own time.”

“The watch went out a little while ago. If he’s around, they’ll find him.”

“I want to go out again.” The words were rapid fire. “It doesn’t matter I was out on patrol this morning. He means something to me. You all mean something to me. But you get it, we’re close. He’s a close friend.”

“It’s okay, Jenna. I won’t stop you from searching, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I need to do this.”

“It’s getting late, but if you must, I won’t be the one to hold you back. You’ll be unbearable.”