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

much time or opportunity for sex even when others in the group didn’t seem to struggle with the same dilemma. It didn’t mean she had stopped wondering about the carnal act. In fact, recollections of life and love crept in most when she could be dead in the next few minutes.

Reign it in. This is crazy. An apocalypse can do that to a person.

“Did you say something?” Caleb asked.

“No.” Shut down the stupid one-sided conversation. Talking to yourself makes you look insane. You don’t want to appear that way in front of Caleb. Stop it. Focus.

With Streakers trying to kill them, she couldn’t go into a fight flustered. This little game of words was her mind’s attempt to stop her from obsessing about what was going to happen in a few minutes.

“Focus, damn it.” Jenna couldn’t banish the ridiculous notions.

His eyes met hers and his words turned soft. “You are talking to yourself. Don’t worry, I’ve seen you kick Streaker ass. You’re a superhero too, but superheroes still need to take care. Someone has laundry duty tonight if I remember the schedule.”

She watched Caleb’s lips form words and considered what it might be like to nibble on them, hearing little of what he had said.

“Right.” Heat rose the length of Jenna’s neck.

Did he discern the recent moment of weakness about him? That’s all it was, a stupid moment before she faced possible death. It was a normal reaction.

She filled her head with Rachel Platten’s Fight Song. Remembering the lyrics, a damn miracle, but one that kept the focus on staying alive and ignoring Caleb.

“Ready?” Stepping around him, she fiddled with the lock.

The double doors cleaved open. Sunlight spread throughout nearly half the huge foyer. Sprinting into the gloom, Jenna found her place at the bottom of the stairs. The smell of rotten meat wafted inside with the shambling monsters.

Hoisting her weapon, she focused on the entrance. Her first shot went wide. She huffed a breath and steadied the gun in shaking hands.

A streaker, flesh ravaged and shredded, advanced.

Caleb attacked the living dead, a hawk ambushing a mouse. The lethal machete caught the sun with each downward stroke. The long blade was sharp and longing for blood. The fight blurred, a photo out of focus.

Violence seemed easy and effortless for Caleb and he did it well. The head of a Streaker flew across the room. Another monster entered, putrid and skeletal. The Streaker was held together by little more than muscle and mucus, dirt, and dried blood. It jerked closer even with a dangling, stump for a foot.

Two more creatures stumbled across the threshold after it, their clothing in tattered remnants. Breasts careened sideways like green and gray pendulums.

Jenna dropped to her knees and gagged at the appalling stench the long-dead brought with them. Wiping tears from her eyes and spit from her lips, she rose.

Three. They had to fight three at once. One down. Seven total to kill.

Another shot. She stepped back with the recoil. The Streaker didn’t react. She let bullets fly as they shambled at Caleb.

She aimed and disposed of a zombie at the door, keeping it from passing the entryway. Body parts and blood sprayed the walls and littered the floor.

The clack of metal on the floor drew Jenna’s attention. Caleb had dropped the machete. He wrestled with a Streaker in the middle of the room, ripping it limb from limb.

Jenna fired at another, cursed how resilient they were. The bullets like bee stings for the undead. She dropped the ammo-depleted gun.

“Watch out.” Primal moans soaked the air. Another Streaker crushed the remains of its kind, demanding entrance.

How many were still out there? Had seven been the wrong count. That kind of a mistake could lead to death—hers and his.

She grabbed a lengthy. solid block of wood.

Jenna ran to Caleb. Darkness and rage had overtaken his face.

Not so beautiful now.

“Call for help.” She huffed.

A Streaker wobbled close.

“We need backup.” She wanted him to shout for reinforcements, but Caleb’s pride would keep it from happening. That, she was sure of.

“Stay out of the way.” His eyes focused on the decayed target.

“F- you.” Two-by-four secure in her hands, she sidestepped Caleb and moved into the sunlight the open doors let in.

Thwack. She enjoyed the suck of flesh coming loose and crunch of breaking bone. The creature dropped in front of her, stymied by the blow.

At the same time another Streaker wobbled through the open door, glass sprayed from the window. Pinpricks of pain embedded in her cheek. Her jacket had protected most of her upper body, but the harsh lash of fragments whipped her face.

The Streaker thrust through the broken glass in the window. Bits of flesh sliced away as it tumbled onto the tiled floor.

The undead stood and then in a macabre dance, the monster advanced. It sniffed Jenna out through rotted nostrils. Exposed bones had started to chip away while the remaining muscle oozed yellow pus. Jack-o’-lantern lips revealed a skeletal smile.

The makeshift staff carved the air. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her arms ached as she hoisted the weapon once again. The Streaker was undeterred. Teeth gnash inches from her face.

With a wolf-like snarl, Caleb grabbed the machete off the ground and then twerked the arm of the offending Streaker.

Jenna heard the blade whip through the air before the undead fell. A quick pivot, and Caleb’s fist drilled into the remnants a lumbering Streaker’s skull. When Caleb drew back, the monster froze and then dropped.

They both turned towards the open doors, but only a breeze entered. With the last zombie disposed of, the bird songs erupted outside like a Disney movie.

Cadavers littered the floors, most headless. An arm twitched in the corner.

The street was clear of the undead for now, and her group would be safe for a while.

Jenna sank into a crouch, adrenaline leeching from her body.

Caleb offered a hand. “Your face is cut. I’d get Emma to doctor you. Don’t let it get infected.” He brushed a few stray hairs out of the bleeding scratches.

She lifted