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

smug, the man next to her appeared nervous and unsure of what to do.

Too weak to laugh at this image of Caleb, perched like a mother bird protecting her young. Who knew he was such a nurturer?

His hair, straight and shoulder length, highlighted the worry in his face.

Jenna could never get enough of what she considered an art masterpiece: straight nose, angular cheeks, and most importantly, kissable lips. Lips, right now, set in a straight line.

“You’re not a dream, right? I’m awake now?” She reached out to caress Caleb’s cheek, her fallen angel sporting clothes Jenna was sure he hadn’t changed for days. His midnight black hair was disheveled, and he was very much in need of a shower, maybe as much as she.

“Feel any better?”

“You’re stalling. I can tell there’s bad news and you’re trying to sugarcoat it.”

“Tell me more about the dreams. Was it only the one about Eric or were there more?” His hand grazed the overzealous stubble on his chin. “You’ve been having them often, sometimes crying out. Most nights, you call out for Eric, but you also called for Lilly, which is odd.”

“The dreams are so life like. They’re terrifying, but when I wake, sometimes they fade away too quickly to remember. Eric keeps calling out for me to save him. I can’t forget that.”

“Do you remember details?” His fingers stroked her arm, sticky with feverish sweat.

“I saw him in the dream. He seemed like his old self, but different. In the dream, he’s stronger, grown. There were these things surrounding him. Not Streakers.” Jenna paused, tilted her head thinking about how to describe it. “Some new evil. Shadow creatures. They circled him, then engulfed him. He’s calling out for help. I yell, ‘I’m coming for you. I haven’t forgotten. I didn’t leave you!’”

“What do you do in the dream?”

“Nothing. I kept screaming at him, telling him not to move. But when I finally got close and peered into his eyes, well, he’s dead. His eyes scared me more than anything.” She shivered. “They held a world full of malevolence. Evil.”

“It’s only a dream.”

“There’s this stupid bird too. A crow or a raven.” Her fingers twined together in a restless motion. “I think the dream meant something. Maybe Eric’s alive.”

“Don’t go there.” Caleb gathered her into his arms. His solid frame should have radiated heat, but it was cool. “You need to eat. That’s priority number one. A few days in bed and you’ve dropped too much weight. You feel skeletal.”

As one of the New Race, Caleb survived the pandemic that decimated the world. It hadn’t killed him, or turned him, but had not left him unscathed.

“Way to cheer up a girl.”

“I want to run and get you food right this moment.” His eyes spiraled into crimson orbs. “Are you hungry?”

“Not hungry.”

If only blood sustained me like it did Caleb.

Although most of the poor souls killed by the virus returned as Streakers, zombie-like creatures, a few humans had changed in other ways. They weren’t quite human but tended not to gut and disembowel people. They survived off the blood of living, breathing creatures, the same as the Streakers. However, they didn’t kill humans for their blood.

“Thirsty,” she squeaked.

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