The Last Infection: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Michael W. Garza Page A

stack of metal chairs underneath. “These clearly belong with the recyclables,” he said as he began lifting them out onto the alleyway.
    The smell hit him all at once and there was a real threat of his stomach purging his breakfast. He gathered himself and stood up gingerly , trying to put weight on his foot. Pain rose up his thigh and into his back the second his heel touched the ground. He balanced himself on one leg, braced his hands on the edge of the dumpster, and then hopped over. He took most of the impact on his good foot. He was wobbly, but standing. He hobbled between the dumpsters and found several bags he figured would help his cause. Most important, he found an arm length metal pole that looked to be a suitable replacement for his lost bat.
    “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” he said, calling up to the three heads looking out over the lip of the building. They pulled back and started a heated, but quiet conversation. “Sure,” Chris said more to himself as he checked one side of the alley then down the other, “…talk amongst yourselves, I’ll hang out down here and wait until you’re ready.”
    It was a faint yelp that pulled his attention back to the roof. Alicen shot down in a blur, her arms and her legs crossed as if she was on a ride at an amusement park. Chris leaned over the side of the dumpster to help her out and found a look of amazement on her face.
    “I want to do that again,” she said.
    Chris pulled her out with one good yank.
    “Not if I can help it. ”
    Jake followed his sister with Jenn bringing up the rear, each with less amusement than the little girl had. They were moving soon after with Chris carrying a slight limp for his effort. Jenn had her pistol drawn and Jake had hold of an inherited broom handle from the dumpster. Alicen followed along in the rear, sometimes skipping as she went and Chris thought what an odd sight they must be. They crossed the street in front of the store and headed toward the interstate with the onramp looming in the distance. They’d managed to avoid the undead milling around the parking lot, but the main goal of the day was still ahead of them.
    “Why is this always so hard?” Jake asked as he leaned in to check for keys in an old Buick.
    “We learned in the beginning,” Jenn said, “that most people kept their keys in their pockets, so if the car is empty, there’s little chance of finding a set.”
    Chris smiled. “Do you know how many dead people’s pockets I’ve searched through? The real problem is that even if you do find a set, you have no idea where the hell they left their car.” He laughed at himself. “I spent a month walking around parking lots with a garbage bag full of keys clicking away on those damn unlock buttons.”
    Jenn laughed. “Guilty. My car took some damage getting out of Kansas City. I didn’t make it more than fifty miles, but luckily, I was close to Topeka.” Her smile faded. “I spent nearly a month there just trying to get out, considered walking at one point.” Her voice trailed off and she went silent.
    The onramp was a stone’s throw away when Chris decided to change tactics. “Maybe we should focus on supplies first?”
    “We?” Alicen asked, flashing a sly grin at him. “Are you coming with us?”
    Chris gazed at Jenn then back at the little girl and shrugged. “What am I going to do around here anyway,” he eyed Jake, “sit and rot?”
    Jake smiled as he approached another vehicle.
    “Don’t waste your time,” Chris said. “It’s too hard to find one with keys in…”
    “Got one ,” Jake announced. He had the driver’s door open of a beat up minivan. He leaned in and pulled out a ring of keys.
    C hris put his hands on his hips.
    “Figures.”

 
    7.
     
    The I-70 was a mess. The road was littered with abandoned vehicles, and by best estimates, it would take three times as long to get to Vegas, as it should. The van’s speedometer never got above twenty miles an hour.