Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1)

by Lisa Acerbo

  All this talking and thinking is too much. She really was sick. She never got sick.

  “Take it slow.” He handed her the glass of water again, and she gulped greedily.

  A coughing fit ensured, wracking her frail frame.

  “What happened to taking it slow?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  Caleb took a long, slow breath. “You have to get better. I’d bear the sun for you. I can’t live in this world without you.”

  Stronger and faster, the New Race healed quicker, but there were many challenges for them. They were unable to venture out into the sun. They had skin blistering so bad, it might lead to their deaths if out in the bright light long enough.

  Who could have guessed he’d turn into such a romantic?

  “I’m fine,” Jenna said. “Or I’ll get there in a few days. You don’t need to worry about me or baby me.”

  “There’s something else I need to tell you. Something important. I’m not sure you’re ready for it, but I don’t want anyone else spilling the news.”

  “Tell me what?” A shiver ran through her.

  His hand threading over her tangled, dark-brown hair. “You shouldn’t have to find out this way. Lilly’s gone.” He paused long enough to draw in a breath. “So’s Gunnar. The same day we found you with the horses, they disappeared.” He rushed through the end of the story. “We believe Gunnar kidnapped her because there’s no reason for Lilly to leave.”

  “Lilly’s gone?” she echoed.

  2

  Three Days Prior . . .

  Nostrils flaring, Eric recoiled from the gore around him and the smell of death saturating the air. His heart pumped irregularly, the blood roaring in his ears like a truck accelerating under a bridge.

  His glance was quick and furtive. Although the room was murky, blood stains the color of dirty, sunbaked bricks, decorated the floor and walls like abstract paintings.

  What had happened here?

  Naked, Eric sat covered in blood, somehow alive. He lifted himself. Everything hurt. He held back a scream, gagging as he stared at the carnage that was his body.

  Loose chunks of chewed flesh covered muscle.

  Someone or something had attempted to gnaw at an elbow. An arm was chewed like someone wanted the bone for dinner. His other hand went to cover the wound, but it was also decorated with missing flesh, half-healed scabs, and open sores.

  A snippet of a prior conversation surged back to him. He and the rest of the survivors had taken refuge in this old movie theater, but the undead he called Streakers had found them.

  A fragment of the battle flitted through Eric’s mind, making his head pounded. Memories cascaded like a tidal wave.

  Dead eyes stared from outside the theater, not nearly as decayed as the rest of the creatures’ bodies that, in many cases, lacked clothes. Even with ruined body parts exposed, the Streakers blurred into a mirage of rot and decomposition. The maggoty swarm had assembled along the large glass windows and doors. They were agitated, writhing and swaying against the barrier. His friends, Jenna and Caleb, had tried to herd him to safety in back, but Eric jostled them away. He was nearly sixteen and had to prove himself. One of the zombies focused its lifeless eyes on him.

  The window in front of him had shattered. The battle began.

  Where were his friend now? Had they all died? Had they abandoned him?

  Broken glass crackled. Eric jumped. His heart once again pounded to an irregular surprise that flooded his aching limbs into action.

  Frantic, he searched the ground for a weapon but found nothing. He crawled to the corner and waited. There was little else to do.

  The thing moved toward him. An atrocity Eric easily smelled from a distance over his own unpleasant scent.

  As the figure emerged from the shadows, he recognized a human face covered with tufts of matted hair.

  A long, unkempt beard hid already thin lips. More hair, in knotted dread-like tangles ascended from the scalp and cascaded in all directions. Twigs had lodged in the mess and Eric had an absurd vision of a bird springing out of the tangled dreadlocks like an animated character in an old-fashioned Disney movie.

  The beast pointed and spoke. “What happened to you?”

  Eric’s mouth dropped open, but words failed to emerge.

  Not undead?

  Before him stood a man, not a zombie. Despite being in much better condition than Eric, his appearance indicated life had not been kind, but that’s the downside of the zombie apocalypse. Life had not been good to anyone as of late.

  A shy teen again, he tried to find a place in the room to conceal his nakedness from the man’s critical gaze. Finding nothing to shelter him other than darkness, he squeezed back into the shadows.

  “I don’t remember what happened or why I’m here alone.” His voice was deep and scratchy, sounding a little like he remembered.

  The crowbar the stranger brandished in front of him glinted. Eric slipped deeper into the recesses of the darkened, abandoned movie theater until he met a wall.

  Not much protection but with these wounds I’ll be dead soon anyway.

  The stranger took a step closer. In addition to the crowbar, a lethal curved sword hung from the belted loops of torn, stained jeans encasing the man’s long legs. A bandana hung loosely around his neck, but Eric noticed scars slithering from side to side. A grungy t-shirt with an ironic smiley face highlighted muscles underneath, corded and ready to deliver a deadly blow if needed.

  Would this be how he died? I’m not ready.

  Eric turned his head in a desperate search for an escape route.

  “Wait, kid. Don’t get scared. I haven’t come across another human for months now, but you look worse than the undead. Shit, are you human?” The man scratched at the untamed beard.

  Eric nodded. “Think so. I feel horrible and very human.”

  The stranger looked like a magician out of a fantasy novel, but this man was no wizard. There was no magic or spells to ever make this world right again.

  Long beats of silence followed, but the nameless man set the crowbar on the ground and slid his backpack off. A rifle was strapped to the top.

  “I travel light kid, so don’t expect a choice, but you need some clothes. Here’s my spare t-shirt and jeans. I don’t have extra shoes, but I’m sure you will find some if you live long enough.”

  “Who are you? What happened to my brother Billy? Where’s Jenna and my friends?” Unanswered questions jumbled his frantic thoughts.

  The man shrugged, handing over the clothes. They were nearly as disgusting as the articles he wore.

  “My name’s Abraham, but people used to call me Abe. We appear to be the only two idiots crashing this movie theater tonight. I didn’t notice any other humans in my travels. There’s definitely no one in this town unless you’re a fan of the undead. They’re everywhere, so keep your voice down.”

  “Yesterday?” He scratched at his face. “I think it was yesterday, we were all in this theater. But where’s everyone?” He stood, awkward and shaky as he put on the clothes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Eric.” He scowled as he tried to remember the recent days. He ran a hand through his blond hair, but half-way back it stuck to a matted clump of what he hoped was just blood. It was thick and chunky. He pulled the hand away in a quick motion, choking back a gag.

  “Sit down, kid. You’re in rough shape. I pray you’re not changing into one of them. I’d have to put you down then.”

  “I’d want that.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “There were sixteen of us traveling together.” He halted, thought back, noting the details were foggy. “We were heading to this inn in Virginia. It was supposed to be safe, but we got stuck in this movie theater one day. Lots of undead.”

  “Sixteen. That’s a large group these days.”

  “All good people.” Eric felt heat in his cheeks from the unabashed praise, but conversing elevated his mood. “Hum
ans and some of the New Race.”

  “New Race, huh?”

  “Some of the people we travel with are different.” He stuttered, stuck on exactly how to explain his former companions. “They don’t like the light.”

  “Been doing this long enough that I’ve been introduced to them. Call themselves The Others or the New Race.” Abe massaged his beard. “They have an allergy to the light. Tend to avoid the sun and are a lot stronger than the average human.”

  The boy nodded. “The front window shattered and a bunch of Streakers attacked. Me and my brother Billy had to save one of the New Race who ventured too far out and got caught in the sun. Jenna tried to get me to go in the back to safety, but I refused.”

  Eric’s head swarmed with bees. The pain traveled to his spine.

  “How’d you get left here?”

  “I have no memory of it.” He slapped the ground with his hand. “We moved Victor, he’s the New Racer I mentioned, into the shadows. I remember being swarmed by the Streakers but after, well, my memory fails.”

  “I’m making camp here tonight. If you don’t plan to eat me in my sleep, you’re welcome to join me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Eric mouth drew tight.

  “A little humor. Relax, kid. We should move to one of the smaller theaters. I’ll patch you up some. I got medical supplies and canned goods. I’m not usually willing to share, but you had a tough day, and it’s nice to have company for once. The last interaction I had with humans didn’t really end well.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you more once we’re all set in back. Let’s hope for an uneventful evening.”

  Eric trudged after Abe through the ruined remains of the movie theater. The once grand cineplex was now a chaotic wreck. Bits of plaster mingled with the remains of Streakers.

  Broken benches and glass covered the floor like the water flooding the beach at high tide. Eric watched his steps, avoiding the largest, sharp fragments, but they found him, pricking his soles.

  He must be dead. He just didn’t care. He didn’t notice the pain.

  The two made their way across the large lobby, listening for sounds of the undead. The door of the small, black theater squealed in rebellion when they opened it, noise trumpeting. The door squealed in rebellion when they opened it, noise trumpeting. Both Eric and the man waited anxiously for anything to reveal itself, but nothing ventured forth.

  Abe grabbed the blade. “Here.”

  Eric accepted the offered crowbar and inched his way into the theater. Heavy in his hand, it hurt to lift the weapon. He was thankful when nothing greeted him.

  Together, they stepped deeper into the darkness, Abe’s flashlight leading the way. Silence. Abe stopped, stood motionless, and waved a hand at Eric.

  What now? How much can I take?

  A Streaker sashayed from the shadows as if performing The Nutcracker on stage. It limped to the front of the slashed screen,

  “Not good,” the older man whispered.

  Eric moved closed to his new traveling companion.

  The undead’s gaze found him. Panic filled him, and he stepped back.

  Dried blood etched a whimsical design on what remained of the zombie’s clothing. It shambled forward, stumbling over the wrecked seats in its path, limping forward with unblinking, cataract-filled eyes.

  Eric readied himself to fight. The boy’s palms were sweaty. His body shook with fear. He glanced at Abe, who now clasped the large curved sword securely in his hands.

  The creature charged the older man, ignoring anything blocking its way. Its teeth chomped, the noise loud in the otherwise empty space. Putrid ooze dripped from between its teeth and spots of mold devoured its already gangrenous skin.

  Eric watched as Abe stepped in front of him, hoisted the blade, and hacked. The sword sunk into the creature’s arm, but the monster did not stop.

  The older man stepped away from the slow-moving Streaker and swung at its neck, strokes steady as if he had trained for this battle his whole life.

  Bone-bare, hooked fingers reached Abe’s face. The head of the creature flew off its decrepit shoulders and onto the carpet. The headless body swayed briefly, then pitched forward.

  Greasy, dark blood decorated the stained carpet.

  Eric sank to the ground, weak and nauseous.

  “Dinner, anyone?” Abe asked.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sorry kid but being alone for such a long time warped my sense of humor a little bit. You okay?”

  “I’ll live.” He gave the older man a small smile. “How’d you do that?” Even the brief exertion had left him short of breath and in need of a minute to regain his strength.

  “Ex-military or rather I was in the military until the world collapsed around me.”

  The teen grunted, huffed in breath to steady himself and rose to his feet. He swayed but moved deeper inside the small confines of the theater.

  Abe collected body parts.

  “Need help?” He wouldn’t be able to do much.

  “That’s the spirit.” Abe kicked the corpse. He appeared unfazed from the fight. “I’m good for now. You sit and rest for a couple of moments. That’s an order.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped into one of the remaining upright theater chairs.

  “Once I rid us of the remains, I’ll clean up those wounds and prepare dinner. You hungry?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “I got beans or beans.”

  The teen observed as Abe sealed the door against any new invaders, sheltering the two. The closed door brought a small amount of security, but it wouldn’t last long.

  “What are you going to do with the body parts?” He rested his head against the seat back.”

  “I’ll venture out into the lobby with them and leave the pieces for the vermin.” The older man dropped his supplies and started to move pieces of the Streaker to the entrance. With the body parts assembled, he ventured into the main lobby, hauling the remains.

  Eric rose from his seat even though every muscle protested.

  “Might as well be useful.” He lifted the corpse’s head by the sandpapery hair and threw it into the corridor as Abe hauled the remainder of the body out of the room by its legs. The older man returned with additional supplies.

  “I stashed my additional gear near the entrance in case I needed to make a quick escape. Always have a back-up plan, Kiddo.”

  “I don’t have any plans. I don’t have anything at all.”

  “Come here and let’s see what we can do about that.”

  With a keen eye, Abe survey his wounds under the dim light of a battery powered lantern before ripping the last of the shirts, turning them into bandages.

  Abe poured clear liquid on his shoulder. The cold fluid burned like battery acid as it dripped down his arm. “Ouch.”

  “It’s just alcohol, boy. I’d say you been through a lot worse. Hold this.”

  Eric held a strip of cloth as Abe bound another piece around the remaining bits of flesh clinging to Eric’s muscle and bone.

  “I can’t believe you’re alive with these wounds and scars everywhere. How’d this happen?” Once done with the bandages, Abe offered Eric the canteen.

  “I still don’t remember. I’m trying.” He steadied his nerves by taking a gulp of water.

  Wrapped like a mummy, Eric’s stomach growled.

  Abe opened a can of beans and split it between them.

  “Sorry for the meager meal, but I wasn’t expecting guests. I’m here because I was running low on supplies and needed to restock. Pittsfield was the closest town to the latest house I took shelter in, but it was time to move on. I was getting too much attention from the Streakers.”

  “My group was trying to find a safe place too.” He gazed at the older man, trying to gauge a reaction. “There was an inn in rural Virginia someone suggested, and they were headed there. That was the plan.”

  “Sounds like a smart idea.” He scratched at his bird’s nest of a beard. “I was on a
ctive duty with the Army when the virus broke. My wife and family lived in New Jersey. I lost everyone quick. I didn’t even get to tell them goodbye.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “People who made it this long all share the same story these days. No one has any family left.”

  “I have a twin brother, Billy,” he said. “At least I did.”

  The older man arched an eyebrow. “There weren’t any human remains around the theater. Maybe everyone escaped.”

  “It’s just as likely the Streakers didn’t leave anything to be identified.”

  “Undead don’t usually eat bones.”

  “The other option is Billy, Jenna, and the rest of them left me here.”

  “Jenna?”

  “A friend. They wouldn’t leave me here to die?” His voice cracked.

  “They’re either all dead or left you here to die, Kiddo.”

  “I’m not sure.” He covered his face with his hands to hold back the tears.

  About the Author

  Lisa Acerbo is a short-story writer, novelist, and former journalist. Her work has been showcased in numerous anthologies such as Asylum, Carnival of Strange Things, and Scary Snippets. Her science fiction stories and story podcasts have appeared in Ripples in Space magazine. Her novels include Twelve Months of Awkward Moments, Wear White to Your Funeral, and Remote. She writes romance under her pen name Dakota Star.

  Lisa enjoys teaching high school and is an adjunct at Norwalk Community College and Post University in Connecticut. She is a graduate of the University of Connecticut where she earned a BA in English Education before going on to earn her EdD from the University of Phoenix. When not reading, writing, hiking, drinking coffee or wine (depends on the hour), she spends her time with her husband and two rescue dogs.