She had squeezed though the tiny mansard window and climbed up to sit on the chimney. All was completely quiet, the evening sun's light golden, shadows lengthening, and not a change anywhere in the village. She lifted her binoculars, checked every spot, especially those where she suspected a nest of infected might be, and found everything just as it had been at her arrival. She'd just leave through the door, then, after all, and lock it behind her. She wasn't surprised, she had sneaked in and out of places before without running into infected, mostly in summer. One could never count on it, of course, never be sure or safe, it could change from one second to the other, if one of them spotted her, had a chance to start roaring before she could bring it down, that would have her running for her life, dangerously outnumbered, in no time.<br/><br/>That was why she had become this noiseless, calm, pretty coldblooded. Still, a trace of the old reluctance to go down there again, expose herself once more, would always linger. She returned inside, softly closed the window, went downstairs again, took a deep breath, peered through the blinds, nothing, again. Turned the key, pulled it, slipped out, shut the door, made no sound, could hardly breathe as she turned to lock the door, her back to the open streets. She pocketed the key, pulled out her slingshot, a few stones, began to walk, walk excruciatingly slow and careful, her ears straining for any sound, nostrils wide as she sniffed the air, her eyes darting this way, that, then returning to the street before her, avoiding broken shards of glass, bits of rusting metal. Silence.<br/><br/>Silence? What was that ruffling sound? She froze, turned her head slowly. A plastic bag, caught in a tree, nothing more. That reflection, there, in the shadows, was that a button, a metal button and a zipper, maybe? Was it moving, swaying? Stone and sling ready, she moved on, more slowly still, cursing the wind for coming from the wrong direction, cursing the shadows being so long and deep in that narrow side street, were the building's door stood wide open. Had it been wide open when she came? Yes. This wide? No. But it could have been the wind. More sweat trickled down her spine, itching where the other sweat had dried as a salty crust on her skin earlier. She swallowed, forced herself into another step, another. She mustn't run, not quicken her pace, not yet. Careful, now, careful. Then, she could see it properly, and it could see her.<br/><br/>A stinker, swaying, face tilted ever so slightly upwards, almost scarlet irises, hit by a pale streak of sunlight, dark streaks of dry blood down his face in ragged lines from the corners of his eyes, nose, mouth. Judging by its skin, it looked fresh. In her mind, she crossed out 'stinker' and made it 'infected'. What it was that made her hesitate, she couldn't tell, not at first. It turned its head towards her, still only staring, swaying. She stood still, stared back, feeling a chill run all over her she hadn't experienced in years. It blinked. Licked its lips. Lifted a hand. Drew it through long, matted, hair, sticky, spiky with blood. Moved its lips. No sound. Moved its lips again. She saw its Adam's apple bump up and down. Her legs began to tremble. "P..." Had it tried to whisper something? Impossible. 'Kill it, kill it!' screamed a panicking voice inside her head, and still she wouldn't. "H... Help?"<br/><br/>She bolted. Turned and ran, as fast as she could, jumping over obstacles, following the escape route she had settled for when she had come, up the balcony, swing from the branch, cross the yard, over the wall enclosing it, faster, faster. Over the car onto the jeep's roof, at the other side of the street, along the pavement fifty metres, a hundred, and up onto the wall surrounding the cemetery, almost safe now. Behind her, she heard a whimper, carried by the wind. She thought she could hear a word. "Pleeeease!" She turned her head, saw it. It had not rushed to pursue her, was staggering around in the middle of the marketplace now, in the sun. Took another step towards her, arms uplifted, as if pleading. Her stomach heaved, bile rose up her throat. 'Can't be. It's impossible. Never, never. Oh, please, no!' Smooth, round, and warm, the stone lay in her hand.