Of course, she could not go there, not now. It was too far, she was expected back, as soon as she had the medicine, she must return. Before she had become part of the group, back in the years where she had often been alone and done only what she thought right and wanted, she would have instantly headed towards the plane, at least close enough to observe it from a safe distance. But these days, she would not risk to die in an attempt to spy out what went on down there, and thus to die without her people being warned of - well, what? Was there an army coming?<br/><br/>She shook herself out of it, that rushing of thoughts through her mind, the fears and hopes. Calm. She needed calm, a clear and focussed mind, there was no distraction she could afford, not ever. She could think about it all later, when it was safe, when there was nothing she must do first. She looked around, searching for the slightest change, a missing piece, an addition, and detected none. Good. She couldn't have been distracted by the plane for more than thirty seconds, before that, at least her ears had payed attention.<br/><br/>Maybe it could count as an excuse that this plane, useless as it must be now, was the first proof any of them had ever seen in six years that out there, somewhere, a world still existed in which what they once had taken for granted, for normal, must still exist. So, had the gas attack been successful? It must have been, right? In the USA, there were people living who manned and flew airplanes. Maybe ate ice cream and went shopping, lived as if nothing had ever happened. People who flew airplanes. Over Europe. Where no plane had been seen in all these years. Why was that so, and why was one here, now? 'Later!' She sharply reminded herself, and pushed it out of her mind.<br/><br/>She continued on her way, determined, but more nervous now, tense, and therefore, angry. Change. It usually meant someone had come and maybe gone again, who could have taken away something she'd need, or that there was or would be new activity among the infected, these stinkers. Not that there was much change among those, as a whole, not once in six years. They didn't have it in them to evolve,  weren't precisely smart. Impossible to say what had taken more damage in their brains, the short term or the long term memory. The sentence 'out of sight, out if mind' couldn't hold more truth for any other creature in the world.<br/><br/>As soon as they were a few days old and wreaking of their own stench, their sense of smell was practically self-disabled, no wonder one never saw them sniff or anything of the kind. When she found one by itself, could be quite sure there was only this single one around, she'd sometimes experiment, to see what caught their attention, what broke it, what made them pursue her in a rage, what slowed them. They were so thick they'd charge straight on, arms flailing or outstretched, grabbing. When she held out a spear, they impaled themselves on it, just to get at her.<br/><br/>That sort of thing was risky, of course, you avoided such stunts if you didn't know whether you were immune or not. Franka was, she had learned of it the hard way, having been bitten. God, the panic, for hours, days, weeks, watching that infested bite swell, then heal, miraculously, like any other nasty, dirty wound. Afterwards, that had opened a range of possibilities she'd not dared consider before. Now, she hardly cared whether her method of killing them forced her to get close, have their blood gush over her. It was disgusting, sure, but not deadly. Why waste ammunition and make a racket more of them would hear from miles away when you could slice and stab?<br/><br/>When she was in her blackest of moods, she found it amusing to get rid of them, she'd jump from a balcony to, say, a roof, and watch them lunge after her and plummet down, metres away from the roof. Or to make them drown, it was crazy, once in the water, they'd just start to breathe it in. Of course, she then had to wait till they were dead and get them out, or they'd poison the water, which wasn't funny at all. For at least two years after the outbreak, she had hated these stinkers so badly she had leaped at every opportunity to kill them. Slaughter, payback time, it had felt good to take all that anger, fear and despair out on them. She had joined a few of those groups who meant to rid whole cities of them. They hadn't even been bad, not at all.<br/><br/>The thing was, one went in with ten people, could kill hundreds of the stinkers, get out with, say, seven or eight people - and hadn't really gained much. Their numbers were always against the uninfected. Better to wait till the problem solved itself. It must solve itself, these stinkers were alive, ergo, they could die, would die, must die. Hibernation or not, they must eventually run out of energy. By now, most animals stayed clear of the cities. Unlike in those first years, there wasn't much food coming their way. Sometimes, she had nightmares of the stinkers realising this and abandoning the cities, dragging their bodies along like zombies in the old horror trash.<br/><br/>Her foot made the first step onto asphalt. She pulled out her hat and put it on. It was past midday now, sweat ran down her spine, she was thirsty, and the sight of the plane had put her in a rotten mood. She made her way around the cars that had come to a sudden halt here years ago, never to be moved again. Some had crashed into each other, some into a tree, some had burned out, some just stood there, doors wide open, window's smashed, traces of blood and pounding, clawing hands everywhere. Hard to tell by now of the brown stains which was rust, which blood. Half an hour later, she turned the corner of the first building. It was a small village, she'd never been here, but it was promising, well out of the way of most plunderers.<br/><br/>She stayed in the glare of the sun, careful not to make a sound, quite a challenge, with all the shards of glass, the bones and whatnot lying everywhere. She knew there were infected here, their stink gave them away, but even more, the silence. Not a sound, no birds singing, no fluttering of wings, no scurrying, even rats avoided these places, no animal would stray here. Were they still alive, she wondered, after six years? For how many years had they seen not a scratch of food? She glanced around, marking escape routes. There were windows left unbroken, and absurdly, the showcase in front of the church, too, the usual notes cluttering it.<br/><br/>'Frau Berthold, your children are safe, evacuation transport 43719, make haste to catch up, you've got a place on their plane.' Yup. That train had never made it. Far outside the evacuation zone, it had stopped. A nightmare, to kill all those infected kiddies, so difficult, without guns, just kicking. And she had been so afraid of the blood, then. One had to aim so low, they were so fast, their screams so shrill, and they didn't get it, really, not that early - those kids, their little faces, round cheeks, fluffy hair, they had still looked so normal, still with tears on their faces, clutching some doll or plushie.<br/><br/>They had been different, kiddie stinkers, they had cried. In the first years, when there were still more, they'd hear them wailing and sobbing everywhere, and couldn't tell them apart, just by the sound, from real children, living, uninfected ones. She didn't want to know how many that had gotten killed. So natural, to go after the sound, ready to find, comfort, safe a helpless toddler. Well, that didn't happen often anymore. Stinkers ate them. The wailing sent them into a craze, kept them restless, then, at some point, they'd bite, rip, blood would gush out and their instincts kick in.<br/><br/>So, obviously no telling whether, as she had wondered in the beginning, kiddie stinkers would grow up eventually. They didn't stand a chance, just like the other kids, the real ones. She didn't want to know how many people got themselves killed protecting wailing infants and toddlers, or older kids shrieking in horror, nor how many had killed the children they had with them rather than have their howling lure hordes of infected their way. She shook it all off, the memories and speculations, and looked around. Time to find the medicine, if they had it. She crossed what served as a market place.