Set off through the mountains

While standing at the crossroads and making up your mind, you soon begin to hear more devious giggles in the distance. They aren't an immediate threat yet, but you know there's not enough ammo to take care of them all. Not to mention they may be a tad upset with you for frying their friend. In that case, it might be best to avoid the Valley of the Dead altogether, there's nothing but scavengers around anyway. If any of the others did land here, they're probably already done for.

Honestly, you wouldn't be too upset if the Finches were toast. Perhaps that's a bit harsh, it's not like you have any real problems with Abby (Or Flabby Abby, as you've jeered more than once). At least the younger Finch has a power like your own, albeit far less useful. But her smarty-pants sister is constantly stealing your thunder. In fact, you make a mental note to keep your eyes peeled for your foe, you could certainly put the blonde tart in her place. You might just find a use for that minotaur sized dong after all, which you took the liberty of sticking into your bag, though it hardly seems to fit, leaving a suspiciously phallic impression.

But petty **** could come later, your own survival is most important. Keeping your trusty shotgun handy, you continue higher up the rugged mountain path. Perhaps on the way to the coast, you'll bag a prize monster anyway, that'll show Mistress Swift what you can do. Heaping all of that praise on the American students, when you're a bloody Van Helsing! The old bird should be down on her knees licking your boots! The mental image causes a wicked smirk to curl your lips, ideas of that stodgy Headmistress servicing you grow more appealing by the second.

While lost in your own thoughts, you hardly notice just how far you've hiked into the wilderness, and you risk becoming lost, not that you'd ever admit it, of course. Your internal dialog is interrupted by the sharp snapping of a branch up ahead, and you duck behind the nearest tree for cover. After a few seconds of careful listening, you peer cautiously around the bark-clad barricade, surveying the origin of the sound.