Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1) by Lisa Acerbo (best motivational books for students .TXT) 📕

She swung at him. Caleb dropped her hand and easily avoided the fist aimed at his stomach.

“Rude.”

“You pick. If I went on a date with you, I’d do anything you wanted.” Truth rang in his words. “We could canoodle in the back.” A lopsided smile spread across his lips.

“Who says canoodle? You have the weirdest vocabulary.”

“I’m glad you’re paying enough attention to notice.” He closed the distance between them.

Their bodies touched. He leaned his head toward hers.

A screech disrupted the moment, and curses and shouting erupted in the hallway. They sprinted for the door. Once back in the main lobby, Jenna spotted Gus, Quentin, and George arguing. George’s lined, pock-marked face was the color of ripened plums, hidden only by a grey-brown, ill-shaped beard. He clenched and unclenched his fists, dirty T-shirt revealing sculpted muscles he worked to enhance nightly.

Jenna’s frazzled nerves intensified. Looking at the men causing the hullabaloo reminded her of the old Three Stooges comedies. They argued in the middle of the main entryway of the movie multiplex. Morning light bathed the large windows in the entrance. The theater, once a happy place for families enjoying Disney movies and couples on first dates, stood barren except for the remnants of old movie posters and a few fallen benches. The shattered concession stand glass littered the floor with pinpricks of light while the remainder of the theaters sat in a dusty gloom.

George plunged his oversized belly into Quentin. The younger man’s hair, disheveled from the previous night of moving debris and car parts, stood on end like electricity had executed him. George’s lips set in a snarl. His good-old-boys’ attitude put her off, made worse by his lack of hygiene and his penchant for sleeveless T-shirts. Jackie had an on-again, off-again, relationship going with him, but Jenna tried to avoid his stocky, well-muscled, and overly tattooed frame when possible.

Gus sported his usual camouflage T-shirt with shined black boots. “Let’s be rational, George.”

“I’m on watch this morning.” George pointed a finger in the younger man’s face.

“I’m not saying otherwise. We need to figure out a plan providing everyone equal time.” Aggravation competed with exhaustion in Quentin’s eyes. His hand wiped at the dirt and sweat covering his face, only to leaves traces of more. The once popular, now shredded Abercrombie T-shirt displayed a rash of grime and wrinkles from working all night.

“We also need to make sure we utilize each person’s strengths,” Gus added, remaining composed.

A crowd grew beside Jenna. The men exerted their masculine dominance. There were many reasons to hate these arguments, which often ended in fistfights and bloodshed. It would be wise to stay out of the way, but she couldn’t. Gus was like a second father, and she wanted to do everything possible to help. Nothing came to mind that would resolve the bickering.

What could she say to diffuse the situation?

“Stop with all the machismos.”

The three men stared at Jenna for a few long moments before Quentin guffawed.

“We’re busy here, missy,” George dismissed her.

“Jenna realizes how irrational we’re being, George,” Gus offered in an attempt to placate him. “We need to work together.”

“She wants to work together, does she? Go ahead and tell her to grab me a big drink of water,” George mocked.

“Jerk off.” Anger replaced any desire to help.

George, approaching in three steps, twisted her arm painfully. He spun her into his chest.

Rancid breath cocooned her.

Peering with squinty eyes, he spit words. “You believe you’re better than the rest of us because you like to kill Streakers. You better watch yourself and that high-flying attitude, little girl. It’ll come back to bite you real soon. You might just be the next one to go. Women better start learning their place in this camp.”

“Get your hands off her.” Quentin shoved George’s arm.

The older man focused his attention on Quentin. His bright eyes showcased his wanton desire to fight. “You plan to make me?”

Gus interrupted. “We have work to do. Put your petty grievances on hold until we get to the Inn. Then I’m out of it, but right now, we have to set watch.” A large group has formed behind Gus, ready to step in if needed.

George held his hands high in mock surrender, and people edged away, returning to their work.

She wasn’t going to let George scare her off. “I’ll do the first watch shift. I’ll be on the roof until you need me somewhere else.” Jenna grabbed a gun and a flashlight before anyone could tell her otherwise. She sauntered away and found a route to the roof. The interior passages of the theater were desolate. Dust, grime, and blood littered the floors like candy after a movie. Pushing against a door with an exit sign, she faced a set of stairs veiled in sinister obscurity. The flashlight flicked on but before the door could even shut behind her, shattering glass had her running back to the front lobby.

9

Sprinting through the hallway, Jenna surveyed the dusty entrances to individual theaters in the huge complex.

In the distance, someone bellowed, “To the right.”

Rounding the corner into the lobby, a Streaker burst through the large glass window, stumble to a halt, and focused cataract eyes on the twins.

Beth and Ford, husband, and wife duo in their forties, had been survivalists before the outbreak of the virus and joined many months ago with two young boys, the only members of the group younger than the twins, Billy, and Eric. All four had survived in the wilderness until they joined. The twins had attached themselves to the family. The survivalists hurried their two young boys into one of the empty theaters. They’d be safer locked inside until this was over.

“Get inside with the boys,” Beth’s panicked scream erupted.

“No,” Eric latched like a weed to the spot where he stood.

“We’re staying and fighting this time.” Billy retrieved a dangerous-looking blade.

“We want to fight.”

“Stay safe.” Ford’s words held the resignation of a father who no longer had control.

The Streaker