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

in this theater. We’ll never make it out tonight if the creatures are all waiting for us to leave.” George puffed out his pocked cheeks.

“We could try to move to another place close,” Emma said.

Two large kukris formed delicate circles in the air when Aiko spoke. “The Streakers would just follow.” Her rigid posture made her tall despite her petite five-foot-two frame. “This is the best place to finish our attack.”

“We barricade the windows first,” Ford said. “Did anyone see what we could use out there?”

“Then we kill anything inside.” Aiko’s knives refused to be silenced.

Jenna watched Ford and refocused on the conversation.

Imitate Ford. Lock emotions away. Grieve later.

“We’ll get the window boarded and survive until the night. We have to.” Aiko flicked her knives from side to side.

“Now I understand why all the trucks were in the road back there blocking the way to the city,” Emma said. “They didn’t want to keep the Streakers out. They were meant to keep the people away. We strolled right into death central.”

“How many are there out there?” Jackie wanted to know.

“I counted at least seven.” Quentin brushed remnants of Streaker and sweat from his forehead.

“We’ve killed a few already,” Caleb paced. “Let’s get back out there and avenge Eric’s death.”

“We’ve got to do this correct the first time. There are no second chances.” Quentin indicated to the humans nearby. “The windows are so big, letting in both sunlight and Streakers. I can’t believe we didn’t board them earlier. Stupid, but we were all rushing, and the windows appeared strong. None of them were broken.”

“They are now,” George said.

Quentin pointed at Aiko and Caleb. “You can’t get close the windows without burning yourselves. You saw what happened to Victor before.”

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Jenna.

“You will not, missy.” George’s lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “Don’t you ever stop causing problems? You’ve caused enough trouble.”

“What does that mean,” she asked.

“This is a man’s job, not for a silly, little girl.”

“George, relax. You both go, and I’ll come with you,” Quentin said.

George’s eyes remained full of malice.

“Are you three enough?” Gus asked. “If you want more support, I’m in.”

“We need you here in case Jenna screws it all up.”

George’s smile crawled like a spider. “I’m sure she will.”

Jenna clenched her fist. “You’re being an ass.”

“Stop wasting time. This bickering has to end.” Gus’s voice cut through the tension. “Can anyone tell me what’s in the lobby big enough to block the hole in the window?”

“The concession stand.” Aiko stepped forward, sheaved her knives. “The glass is broken, but it’s pretty big and bulky. Looked well made too. Caleb and I will push it forward, but the humans will have to move it the final few feet to the window and brace it there.”

“There needs to be more than the three of us,” Jenna said.

“I’ll help,” Billy said, “for Eric.”

Silence met his words.

“I’ll go too.” Gus placed a comforting hand on the teen’s shoulder.

“The rest of us will make sure to cover you from the rear.” Peter emerged from the shadows. The sullen, exotic, New Racer held the nickname “Godfather” around camp. Sedate and older, his dark, slicked-back, oiled hair and intense brown eyes on a six-foot, four-inch frame only added to the mystery of his background, which he never shared.

He scared people almost as much as the Streakers.

Jenna nibbled her bottom lip. When Peter called for someone, they damn well better go and be quick about it.

Focus on the present. Must stop Streakers from eating us all.

An image of Eric roared into her mind, and she fought back the threat of tears.

“Sounds like a plan,” Quentin said. “Let’s move now before more Streakers get in.”

“Jenna, you with us?” Gus asked.

“Ready and willing,” she replied.

She stomped to the door, separating them from the lobby and the horde of undead.

Quentin’s breath tickled her shoulder. Jenna accepted the machete Aiko offered.

The rest of the group fanned out behind them.

She paused at the entrance, noting the flaking gray plaster. Nothing scratched or thumped. It was too quiet.

They pushed the seating out of the way. The handle creaked, and the door cracked open. She peered into the darkness beyond. A pale white hand shot out, slapping the door before anchoring to the camouflage jacket. More hands reached and grabbed at her clothing. The relentless tug on the jacket jerked her step by step toward the mass of Streakers that rammed themselves into the theater entrance. Feet braced, hands behind held her in place. Until they didn’t.

Undead tugged her closer, teeth-gnashing, hoping for a taste of flesh. Even as the machete slashed and her legs kicked out, the horde invaded. The machete hacked at the Streaker’s arm. Each cut drenched the room with a retched stench of death. Even when weapon met with bone, the limb refused to separate from its master. Two dull, lifeless eyes stared at her, so decayed she could no longer tell a color.

From close behind, two gunshots exploded.

Ears ringing, she staggered back. Another Streaker stepped over the silenced body of the first and shouldered its way through the door.

Caleb slammed a bat against its skull, which popped and exploded on to the carpet.

Would this ever stop?

A third monster struggled over the fallen bodies.

“At least six more out there,” Aiko yelled.

Emma caught the Streaker’s attention and drew it into the theater.

Jenna followed the others into the lobby, ears full of chiming bells. The door to Theater One slammed shut, sealing her fate. Hiding in the shadows and avoiding the undead, they reached the bulky concession stand made of panels of pressed plywood.

The concession stand squealed when thrust forward.

Streakers turned and stumbled in their direction.

Shots rang out. Jenna’s machete was at the ready. The undead staggered nearby. The gunfire dispatched three before they could get too close. Caleb and Aiko made quick work of the bulky concession stand, prying away bolts that locked it into the floor and moving it toward the broken window. When they could go no farther, they lifted the concession making it look