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

exploded from the lacerations. Schooling her lips into a straight line, she stretched and threaded through the maze of personal belongings and sleeping survivors. A few souls, roused like she by the noise, sat and listened, curious.

Jenna scouted the other early risers. Ford, Gus, Emma, and Jenna had taken to calling themselves the breakfast club and tried to meet each day— for what she wasn’t really sure. While she considered all sixteen members of this tribe family, Emma, Ford, and Gus had made her feel like she was home.

“How’s your face?” The dim light of Emma’s flashlight did little to illuminate the area.

In her late thirties, dressed in clothes the group scavenged along the way, Emma somehow managed to look fashionable. Long, golden curls piled into a bun at the nape of her neck, hanging like a heroine in a romance novel. Her husband’s army tags, the ones she’d loaned Jenna for luck, dangled from her neck.

Jeans, tattered and sitting tight on her hips, amplified a curvaceous figure. The oversized work shirt tied in a knot at her waist showed off a hint of flat stomach. Work boots, muddy and scuffed, looked less like a necessity and more like a fashion statement.

“Fine.” She peered down at her filthy jeans stained shiny by wearing them one too many days in a row. The green and brown pattern on her jacket had morphed into a dull gray.

I should try harder and be more like Emma, but there’s no need to care these days.

“There’s a little hot water by the portable stove if you need it.” The blonde thumbed over a shoulder, punctuating her comment. “Hurry. You know how quick people use it. I’m already behind. Let’s sit and chat tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” The final remnants of sleep fled.

Emma ventured into the sleeping commune, her handheld light source sent beams to lick over and around those who continued to slumber.

Jenna shuffled to the makeshift stove, poured tepid water to wash her face, then filled a cup.

She paused to make a mental note of the day ahead: join in the watch and the scavenging party, find wood, help Emma catalogue the remaining food, do laundry, and make a meal of whatever remained in the pantry. Of course, there was always the chance she’d have to kill something.

At one time, she might have mourned for those destined to receive the bullets, if they had not already been dead. Now emptiness filled her.

Mounting the stairs toward the roof, her neck tingled, goose bumps chilling her flesh,

A quick glance behind. Nothing.

The roof door opened to the morning air. She clicked the flashlight off to conserve batteries. They were harder and harder to find these days.

At the ledge, Jenna peered into the lingering shadows. She traced the remaining darkness from the sidewalk to the road and into a deep patch of woods surrounding the school.

She was thankful not to be outside at street level before the sun came up. Anything could be out there.

Safe now with the group. Anything evil, lurking close, will be taken care of. Why the shots? Find someone who knows.

At the corners of the building, stood a sentry with a shot gun. He stared, intent on locating anything dead moving below.

Gus, a stocky, bearded man, greeted her with a smile. He raised one hand for a high-five. His brown skin blended into the shadows.

She smacked her hand against his. “Morning.”

Jenna could never guess the elder’s age, but his grey whiskers, bald spot, and wrinkles suggested mid-fifties. What she did know was Gus was ex-military, and his training had saved the group many times over the last year.

“How are you?” His sincere, sweet manner opposed his military dress.

“I’m here.” Her hands reached out to capture the air.

“Doing okay, today?”

“Who was shooting?” She changed the subject.

“The twins. Billy and Eric are always up to trouble, but you got to love those two. Reminds me of my own boys. God, I miss my family more every day. Let’s hope I can share some of the good lessons I was saving up with those two scoundrels.”

The man is a saint, she thought.

Jenna chuckled before saying, “My world makes sense again. Who should I relieve?”

“No time to chat today? I can fill you in on the joys of deep-sea fishing.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Maybe never. Love that man, but deep-sea fishing, not so much. When would any of them have a chance to take out the yacht for a joy ride?

She couldn’t deal with excessive sympathy today, and Gus always had a kind word for her even when she was in dark moods, more often than not of late.

Stay tough.

Gus pointed at Caleb.

Of course, just the person to talk to at the crack of dawn.

She’d done so well to avoid him since the disposal of the Streakers.

“Should’ve known.” Jenna gave Gus’s arm a gentle squeeze, then moved on.

The moon drained out of an expansive sky. Morning would erupt momentarily.

How could something so beautiful occur in the middle of so much death and chaos?

The laughing and joking on the roof appeared unnatural, but Billy and Eric squabbled, play-fighting.

Forget that former life. College, friends, family, laughter and love no longer exist. Squelch those emotions. It’s all about killing another Streaker. Taking as many of them out before your time comes. That’s the focus of existence now.

Jenna marched over to the twins and put on a scowl. “You woke me up. Gus told me you’re the ones shooting things, and I got to say, I’m not surprised.”

The twins’ heads bobbed. Some of the youngest in the group, the teens were just learning how to shave, but for the most part, ignored the grooming ritual. Unkempt stubble and whiskers protruded on their faces.

While young, they were becoming skilled shooters and killers, both necessities these days. Still, for having tragedies equal to the rest of the survivors, the brothers made it to this point relatively unscathed, able to laugh and joke, to recognize some joy remained in the world.

“Sorry, Jenna,” their singsong reply harmonized.

“Be stealthy and quiet. You don’t