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

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