Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1)

by Lisa Acerbo

  Long-dried blood smeared the rose-embroidered dress. Vacant eyes held no expression. Its mouth hung open in an eternal pout. But its upper lip was now mush and puss.

  The Streaker child stopped moaning and shifted its head pensive. It could not figure whether to attack Jenna who stood immobile in front of it or Caleb who had woven his way through the aisles to emerge from behind.

  Predator and prey faced off in the stale, still air. The creature charged at Jenna. Caleb grabbed an arm before the creature had darted two steps. Bits of flesh tore from the bone, slipping between his fingers.

  The undead turned, teeth snapping close to his flesh. Caleb shoved it back. It stumbled and fell. The baseball bat slammed into the Streaker’s skull and reverberated. A second blow lodged in its brain matter and the little girl collapsed to the floor.

  It could have been her lying on the floor, a monster lacking intellect and emotions.

  He yanked the bat out of the Streaker’s head. The slick, wet sound caused Jenna to squirm.

  “Good to go?” Caleb appraised her.

  “Can’t leave quick enough.” She moved along the aisle to the front door. Once at the exit, he held her back with his hand, peering into the night before signaling all clear. The two raced to the car.

  Huddled in the safety of the front seat and snuggled in the warmth of the camouflage jacket, she expelled a sigh of relief.

  From the blackness moans and grunts reached inside the car clashing with garbage cans crashing to the ground close by. A bloody hand smacked against the window. A body slammed into the taillight, then a Streaker lunged onto the hood of the car. Teeth gnashed against the window.

  Jenna suppressed a scream. “Go. Go!”

  The car squealed off the curve. The Streaker’s body flew off the hood. Seconds later the two were back on the road, heading out of Pittsfield, medication snuggled on her lap. Pride surfaced, surprising her. With Caleb by her side, they’d faced a challenge no one else had been willing to complete and it turned out successful.

  He glanced her way as if he could read the thoughts, which ran amuck. “Good work back there.”

  “Thanks, but it was all you. I just stood around and looked pretty.”

  “And deadly, holding a gun ready to shoot anything in the way of you bringing back the medicine.”

  “Don’t mock my bad ass persona.” Jenna wasn’t sure if she should be happy or mortified. “Look who’s talking. Did one of the perfect hairs on your head fall out of place when you tackled the crazy, moaning, Streaker baby in the store? Nope. Not one.”

  After he leveled her with another inscrutable gaze, the vehicle squealed to a stop on the side of the road.

  “Not another cat.” She peered out the window.

  “Not this time.”

  The vast emptiness accentuated her confinement within the car. The highway was void of life, holding nothing more than the shells of burnt out and overturned cars. Inside, things were different.

  He cupped Jenna’s face in his hands. Unable to turn away, she stared into his eyes, and what she saw their made her shiver.

  “I can’t stand having you around.” He broke the silence.

  Not the opening line she expected.

  “Excuse me?” She tried to pull away.

  “I can’t get you out of my mind. Everything you do and say is attractive to me. I often wish I never met you.”

  “You aren’t making sense.”

  “I’m different. Other. New Race. I’ve been changed by this stupid virus and you’re human.”

  “I admit it. I was not supposed to like you. I was even scared of you at first but not now. Maybe I’m still a little scared, but only a tiny drop in the ocean kind of way. I didn’t fathom we’d ever make it here.”

  “I can’t stop my feelings for you. When I told you about Eric earlier, I explained. For me, love is consuming.”

  “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  “Let me finish. You’re much better off with Quentin, but I don’t care anymore. I had to tell you.”

  “Clarify for me.”

  He released Jenna and ran a hand through his hair. “I want you more than anything. I care about you and need you.”

  “I’ll tell you about Quentin.” Her hand rested on his thigh. “I love him.”

  Caleb’s eyes dropped from her face. “I see.”

  “Like a brother. Big problem. I wanted there to be more so everything could be normal. I’d have a life and find love. But I can’t. Not with him. He’s one of my best friends. I would do anything for him, but there’s nothing romantic between us.”

  “What about us?”

  “You abandoned me when Eric died. I don’t know how to process that. It could happen again.”

  “Never. Don’t say anything else.” He moved to kiss her.

  Jenna slid back.

  “Let’s see if I’m right and there’s something worth fighting for between us.”

  He tasted her lips.

  Jenna didn’t want him to stop. Her mouth demanded more.

  In the darkness, they yielded to temptation.

  17

  The first hint of sunlight hit the horizon when Caleb and Jenna trudged the steps to the inn.

  “They’re back.” Tears laced Emma’s eyes when she opened the door.

  People swarmed to greet them, and Jenna was suffocated at the center of a tight, group hug.

  “Don’t break me. I just arrived home.” She held out the bag full of medicine, Quentin foremost in her mind.

  “I’m on it,” Emma said.

  “Let’s hope for the miracle.”

  Winning over death would be significant. It would mean things had changed, and the group had a chance for a real future.

  Jenna followed the physician assistant into Quentin’s stuffy room where he lay buried under a heavy quilt, a glass of water and an empty bottle of aspirin by his bedside.

  She’d visited before leaving for Pittsfield but seeing him was a shock.

  “He doesn’t look good.” Her voice trembled.

  “The meds you brought will perk him right up.”

  Quentin’s brow was greasy with fever, skin dank and sallow.

  They had to have made it on time. The antibiotics had to work.

  Jenna wasn’t even sure he was conscious. “We did it. We got the antibiotics. You’ll be as good as new in a couple days.”

  “Thanks.” Quentin’s eyes were puffy, swollen. The whispered word evaporated into the air before a cough ensued, and then his breathing turned shallow and disjointed.

  “What do we do?” Jenna asked, tears threatening.

  “It’s going to be okay. We’re doing everything we can.” The older woman went into medical mode, tallying the products in the bag and selecting a large bottle of antibiotics. She read the information and retrieved two capsules.

  Jenna watched Emma prop Quentin’s head and prompt him to swallow the large pills. Then she brushed the lank hair off his forehead and fluffed his pillows, all the while chatting about how he’d be better soon.

  Grabbing Jenna’s arm, she guided the younger woman out of the room.

  “Off to bed with you.” Emma’s voice was motherly. “You must be exhausted and there is nothing more to do. We won’t know anything for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “Let me sit with him.”

  “You’ll just bother him.”

  “I want to be with him. He shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Quentin has not been alone. Someone is always with him.” Emma looked offended anyone might consider her care substandard. “Aiko volunteered first and is one of the most common visitors. Other than you and me, she’s been with him more than anyone else.”

  “Seriously?” Anger leaked into the words. “She probably wants to be the first around to shoot him if he changes. Get some target practice in.”

  “You most definitely need some sleep and to wake up with a different attitude.”

  “I want to sit with him for a co
uple hours.”

  “Fine, but don’t bother him. Let him sleep.”

  “Thank you.” She gave the other woman a quick squeeze before returning to the room, settling comfortably on a chair next to the bed.

  While he slept, she whispered all the details of what happened in Pittsfield. He did not stir and after a while she drifted into a doze.

  Jackie woke her and Jenna hurried to her room. She washed, changed, and attempted to sleep but light filtered in from behind closed curtains and rest eluded her. After restless minutes, she was back in Quentin’s room, forcing Billy out and once again settled comfortably in the deeply cushioned chair.

  “Jenna!”

  The murky room made her wonder where the day had gone.

  Had she dozed off for a long time? Why had no one come to relieve her? Where were they all?

  Darkness snaked across the floor, slithering up the chair Jenna nestled in and capturing her in it. It overtook the bed too, inking its way across Quentin’s toes, his foot, and up his torso.

  She reached out to save him, but couldn’t move, mired deep in the dark malevolence.

  Quentin opened his eyes in fright and sat. “Please save me!” The blackness slid down his throat causing him to retch. He was dying and there was no way to help. The gags turned muffled and then stopped. The body on the bed lay rigid and unmoving.

  Evil will find you, a voice screamed. Something wicked, this way comes.

  Jenna shot out of the chair, panting and fully awake. The nightmares were back. She gazed at her hands to see if the evil had left a mark and then approached Quentin, fearing she had predicted his demise.

  It couldn’t be true.

  His shirt was soaked through with sweat, but he was breathing. She swiped at the stray hair hanging across his eyes.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Quentin whispered. “You make a lot of noise when you sleep.”

  “How are you?”

  “Awful.” He managed a pained smile. “I’ll make it.” A raw, hacking cough claimed him.

  “I must have fallen asleep for a while.” Jenna moved to the bed to give him some water. His cheeks were hot and damp. “You still have a fever.”

  “You were sleeping when Emma came in and gave me a few aspirin and more horse pills. She says I’m doing better.”

  “How long have I been in here?”

  “A long time. I don’t mind. They tried to make me eat lunch and dinner so it must be evening.”

  “I slept so long. I must go check on the horses. Will you be okay without me?”

  “I’ll manage.” He cracked another small smile and yawned through dry, chapped lips. “I’m going to nap like you’ve been doing all afternoon.”

  “I’ll check on you later.”

  Quentin had already dozed off. She planted a kiss on his check and found Emma on her way out of the inn.

  “How’s the patient?”

  “I’m hopeful.” Emma said.

  “Me too. He’s going to make it. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Keep sending those positive mantras his way and he will.”

  “If only positive thoughts worked all the time.”

  Maybe she had enough positive thoughts to keep her nightmares at bay. It was just a bad dream, her subconscious crying out, nothing more.

  She wandered out to the barn brooding about Caleb, which started her heart pounding and palms sweating.

  What was she going to do with that situation? Not consider it. Find a distraction. Visit the horses. They’d help.

  They’d thrived on the overgrown grass in the big paddock where they spent their days, but Jenna was already worrying about winter. There had to be a way to cut and store hay, and maybe she’d convince Caleb to go forage for some grain after their successful raid in Pittsfield. Exercising the drafts would be a bonus before tucking them into the safety of the barn for the night. She’d free lunge the horses outside. It would rid all of them of excess energy. When done, the treat of a shower waited.

  Boy, did she need it! Not worth wasting water before going to play with ponies.

  She might extend the five-minute limit to seven, the scalding water cleaning off both the anxieties of the raid and the pungent smell of equines. While she found the smell of horses an improvement over Streaker, other people didn’t share her fondness and she would soon reek with the powerful combination of the draft’s sweat and manure.

  Working with the equines also meant missing the communal dinner, but for now she preferred to be alone. Even though the rumbling in her gut had started hours ago, anger over the group’s decision not to help Quentin left her not wanting to socialize. People would demand details of the raid in Pittsfield. Jenna was not in a mood to share.

  Leftovers in my room it will be.

  In the barn, Jenna made her way to the loft, where she stored the tack after hours organizing the bridles and bits, scraping horse pads free of mice droppings, and cleaning the gear. The oiled leather on the saddle shone. She grabbed the lunge whip and brushes.

  Pivoting in the gloom of the loft, the slam of the door had her scooting backward and dropping one of the brushes she had been juggling.

  “You scared me. What can I do you for?”

  George removed a long blade of grass from between his teeth with mud caked hands. His greasy shirt hugged his paunchy stomach. Liquor was rare to come by, but George never lost the beer belly he had developed well before the Streakers. Stories about when George had first joined the group continued to circulate. He arrived with guns, cigarettes, and cases of beer. While the beer and cigarettes had run out, George was still fond of the guns. He did not mind the inn too much either, since the group had found the wine cellar and broke out a good bottle of red or white on special occasions, which was every day the Streakers stayed away.

  He stared, making his assessment obvious, eyes lingering too long on her breasts.

  “You’re making me uncomfortable. How’d you find me, anyway?”

  “I followed you here after you left the inn.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been meaning to meet you ‘bout a couple things going on here.” He dragged his eyes to her face. “You got a moment?”

  This is not normal. No, I freakin’ don’t want to talk to you alone in a hay loft.

  “Why don’t we discuss this at dinner tonight. I’m heading back there soon. I’m sure it’s stuffed the whole group wants to hear about.”

  “No, not really. This just involves you and me.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “Now that you ask, I believe you have.”

  The hair on her arms prickled, defenses heightened similar to when a Streaker arrived. “Really? What?” The lunge whip thumped the ground.

  His eyes meandered before answering. “You’ve been whoring yourself out to all the men in camp. First you lead Quentin on, but then he gets sick and so you turn to Caleb, a no good, dirty New Racer no less.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Where to even start?

  He continued his rant. “The way I see it, you’re pretty willing to be with anyone, human or otherwise. If it had just been Quentin, I might not be here. He’s a decent kid and deserves a good woman, but here you are, deserting him the moment he falls ill and spreading your legs for the undead.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Being of the New Race is only one step from being a Streaker. Go ahead and let them turn you too if you’re so interested in fucking them.”

  “Not that I need to explain myself to you,” she retorted, “because my personal life is none of your business. I do not spread my legs for anyone. The New Racers s you appear to hate so much are the same people who kept you alive all these months.”

  “I kept myself alive!” George roared.

  “Caleb was the only person willing to help me!” The high pitched screamed bounced off the walls.

  “The New Race might be good for some things and have a place in this world
, but they can’t be mixing with humans. You should know better. You have to save the race by having human babies. Lots of human babies.”

  “As I just said,” Jenna emphasized every word. “What I do, and who I do it with are none of your damn business.”

  “Well, I beg to differ.” He closed the distance between them. “What you do concerns me a whole lot. It hurts me to see you make stupid choices, but if you’re going to be stupid, I’ll take advantage of it. Since you’re making it free and easy for any man to get a turn at you, I want my chance.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Backing away, she searched the room for something she could use for a weapon.

  Too far away from the baseball bat that lay propped at the door. The hoof pick perched in a bucket to her right. She’d run for it.

  Jenna sprinted. Rough fingers yanked her back before she could reach the hoof pick. He pinned her flailing arm and twisted her around, before throwing her to the floor. Her head hit the rough wooden planks and sparks of pain erupted before her eyes. His weight was upon her, suffocating.

  She kicked and pummeled but did little damage. “Stop.”

  His hard slap filled her mouth with blood. Hands pinnacled hers.

  “Fight and this will get ugly. You’ll make this worse, little lady.”

  Her knee jammed into his thigh.

  A fist rammed her nose. Blood trickled from it.

  “Let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone.” Each inhale was torture, words hard to enunciate when blood ran down the back of her throat. She flashed back to the person who gave her the scar on her stomach, all the former horror rushing back. The last man who attacked her had almost succeeded. Before she’d been able to run, he sliced her and left her for the undead to feed on.

  George anchored both her thin wrists in one of his own chunky hands, and then secured them with rope, leaving her helpless. Rough meat paw traveled under her shirt to her bra and shoved under. Tasting of onions and alcohol, his mouth clamped over hers. Jenna’s scream died as Georg rammed his tongue against her teeth.

  Trying to twist away, she writhed beneath him, but the movement aroused his desire more.

  Play possum.

  Even her breath hushed as Jenna forced herself to go limp. When Jenna met George’s eyes, he dropped his gaze to her exposed belly.