Oh boy, University's over, now I'm out into the big wide world looking for employment… and God help me I wish I was back in class.

- I know this isn't my blog but here's some info unrelated to the story to let you know roughly where I stand at the moment:

- Completed University with a 2:1 Degree (and only a few marks off a First Class Honours, which is the highest grade you can manage over here in the UK, not sure how it works for my overseas readers)

- Currently working on a number of writing projects I plan to send off to various publishers in the hopes that one of them might think something I've written is worth backing

- Attempting to continue updating my stories on this site

- Applied for the RAF, meaning I've got to start bulking myself up

- Went on a nice week-long holiday down to Devon with my family and my two poor old dogs

- Going on a volunteering project for 4 weeks in Madagascar on the first of September to go diving

- Googling whateverthefuck to earn myself some money in the meantime

- For those of who you actually subjected yourself to reading that: I'm terribly sorry. For those of you who didn't: I applaud your restraint.

Now on with the show.

The Pelanoi Accounts

Chapter Fourteen: A New Direction

New Rynns City Seaport

Mira Frost thundered the heel of her boot into the chest of the slavering horror, feeling ribs creak beneath the thick sole. The thing lashed at her face with its devilishly sharp tongue but it was a token effort at best, and she flicked her head out of its path. Without missing a beat, she planted the barrel of her rifle against the underside of its chin and fired twice. The licker quivered and fell still, blood and cranial matter leaking from the sizeable hole blown through its head.

Mira caught sharp, sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, and threw herself back into a dive as another of the pack leapt at her, claws outstretched and jaws wide open. It would pin her down, perhaps slash at the tendons in her arms to keep her immobile, and then it would bite, ripping out her throat. That was how Allans, Jilani, and Murdoch had gone, and Mira would be damned before she went out the same way.

The red, muscly blur shot through thin air and Mira unloaded the rest of her magazine into it, not even bothering to aim. Blood spattered the wall of the apartment building and the BOW collapsed in a pile of bloody, shredded limbs.

'Damn Cap,' came the voice of her lone surviving subordinate, one Sergeant Foulke, who had dispatched his own licker scant moments before the other had tried to jump his Captain. He had lowered the standard facemask that came with BOW combat gear as standard, it was far too hot on this island and plenty of other BSAA troops – Mira included – had opted to strip down to their undershirts beneath their body armour.

'Not a problem,' she breathed, flashing the Sergeant a quick, confident smile before hopping back onto her feet, feeling every minute she'd spent in this hellhole as her bones creaked. As brave a face as she put on, most of the BSAA battalion active around Pelanoi, primarily centred around New Rynns City was stretched thin, their expertise combating the kinds of horrors active on Pelanoi meaning they were constantly on the frontlines. Most of them had been fighting for at least twenty-four hours, and those were the lucky ones.

A quick sweep of the street told them that they were clear for the moment, a handful of abandoned vehicles dotted the road, but aside from the distant noise of the battle still being waged, the place was silent. That wouldn't be the case for long. The line of BSAA and various international troops had made a lot of din and more BOWs trudged into town constantly, drawn by the gunfire and the screams.

And the blood, Mira thought to herself, I'm certain they can smell it from the other side of the island.

Foulke stopped abruptly, holding a hand up to his earpiece. They were likely getting a communique from HQ, the American aircraft carrier USS George Washington. Mira would be hearing it too, but for the fact she'd lost her earpiece in a particularly close scrap with a trio of crimsonhead BOWs.

Mira stood guard, making sure nothing nasty snuck up on the pair while Foulke paid attention to the comms. She studied his expressions for a moment, noting the way he went from curious, to confused, to something approaching awe. She smiled inwardly, Foulke was a good soldier, and a damned fine Sergeant, but he displayed everything he felt. If he wasn't happy, he made it known. It was a refreshing attitude in an organisation where so many other officers and NCOs seemed more politically motivated than anything, and she'd had the older man transferred to her unit almost immediately following their first meeting.

'Something going on?' she asked when Foulke removed his hand from his earpiece.

'Captain Redfield,' he said aloud, every syllable dripping with liquid reverence.

'I'm sorry?' Mira said, sure for a moment that she'd misheard.

'It's Captain Redfield!' Foulke said, a wide grin breaking out on his face, 'he's on his way with his regiment and a load of support from NATO! We're to pull back and wait for them to arrive!' he whooped and punched the air, the news exciting him so much that he forgot he was in a city filled with creatures capable of killing him with a scratch. 'We're going to kick these monsters all the way back to the hole they spawned from!'

Mira only half heard him, Chris Redfield himself. The thought was unreal. Mira Frost was famous, but Chris Redfield was a legend, right up there with Captain Jill Valentine. One of the individuals who had founded the BSAA; a man who had taken on odds which should have seen him dead thousands of times over, and who came out alive time and time again. She had met him once upon her promotion to Captain and had never forgotten the sheer commanding presence he seemed to wield as if it was second nature to him.

Chris Redfield was everything Mira Frost aspired to be. He was tough, resourceful, smart, and he cared. If Redfield and his mob were working a spill, you knew you were in the best of hands.

A chorus of unearthly groans brought Mira out of her fan-gasm and she chided herself for spacing out in the way she had where she had.

'Tone it down Sergeant,' she said, trying to keep her own head level as she slapped a new magazine into her rifle, 'let's focus on getting our arses out of here before we think about getting an autograph.'

Still, she thought, even as she spotted the first of the pack of zombies shambling from around the corner of a T-junction was easily the best news she could have hoped for. If anyone was capable of turning a shitty situation around, it was Redfield and his mob.

Maybe this island's still salvageable after all.

The Survivors

'Tell me this isn't happening,' Sema groaned, holding a dark hand to her head as the ten survivors sat on the bumpy undergrowth of the Pelanoi Wildlife Preserve around the silent, unmoving minibus.

'I'm afraid it is,' Kit said with a grimace as he looked up from the engine of the vehicle, his hands coated in machine oil and grime from attempting to coax out some extra distance from the minibus. 'I can do my best, but without any gas, we're going nowhere in this old thing.'

'Does God hate us or something? Have we offended him in some great way?' Cassidy asked no one in particular, throwing her arms up into the air while shooting the air above the thick, jungle canopy a dirty look.

'Um, instead of whining about something we can't control, shouldn't we be getting along?' Nick asked. Eight heads swivelled towards him, regarding him for a moment before some unheard communication passed between them and they each nodded.

'You're right,' Tiffany said, though even she looked more than a little frustrated that their ride to New Rynns had crapped out on them so early into the journey.

A significant part of that frustration was directed at herself as well. Of all the vehicles in the depot, you had to pick the one that was almost out of gas, didn't you? You should have made sure, why the hell didn't you?

Oh yeah, she thought to her snarky dark thoughts, because I haven't slept well in three days, we were chased by a giant, invisible snake, almost got eaten by said invisible snake, got shot at – oh, and before I forget; Ellen, Kit and I were almost killed by some asshole in black who wants us dead for a reason none of us even understand! Does that answer your question Little Miss Bitch-in-the-back-of-my-head?

She suppressed a groan as she realised that she literally had just blown up at herself.

This must have been what Ethan felt like, she thought, still bitter at herself for leaving him behind to what was most assuredly his death. She knew as well as anyone else that his gunshot wound was fatal, but the fact that, in her hurry to save everyone else, she'd left someone behind, was completely against her nature.

If I'm capable of leaving one behind, what's going to stop me from leaving someone else? She thought grimly. She'd seen what had happened in the first two days of the outbreak on Pelanoi; some people displayed feats of character that would have… should have earned them medals. Others… had acted in ways she would much rather forget. The idea that Pelanoi was capable of changing her in such a way was frightening to say the least.

A hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her increasingly dark train of thought. Kit was there, his eyes bloodshot like everyone else's, but his gaze soft. Immediately she felt all the shitty little thoughts flutter away as she drank in his finely proportioned facial features, and wondered what it'd feel like if she just reached out and ran her hands across his–

She shook her head. As tantalising as the idea was, now was hardly the time.

'Yes?' she asked, unsure if she'd missed something while she was busy brooding.

'Nothing,' Kit replied, 'just, uh… making sure you were okay, that's all,' he said softly as he let his hand fall from her shoulder.

Tiffany let herself smile a little, to let him know that he didn't need to worry.

Sema watched the two from a distance, inwardly sighing in relief at the way Tiffany's face seemed to brighten at her contact with Kit. That the two were attracted to each other was obvious, even with all her fatigue, Sema was aware of that. Good for them, she honestly wished them well, and she admired that they both seemed aware of the mutual affection on some level, yet refrained from acting on it while their shitty situation persisted.

Eventually the two parted and Tiffany made her way over to the dark-skinned nurse.

'How are we doing for medical supplies?' the Marine Captain asked, and despite the cracks of fatigue, she looked more in control of herself now, which was immediately reassuring.

'We're surprisingly good,' Sema responded, taking out her pouch and displaying her collection of medicinal herbs. 'But that's only speaking relatively, I reckon I've got enough here to patch up four people to a reasonable degree of efficiency; half of it will expunge foreign toxins pretty effectively but won't do anything for physical wounds, while the other half will do the exact opposite.'

'I see,' the female captain replied after a few second's thought. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then stopped short. Eventually she murmured a muted apology and turned away, running a hand through her long, dark brown hair.

Sema watched her go, feeling her own stress rise as the aching in her limbs returned with a vengeance. She'd had more exercise in the last few days than she had in several months and the strain she felt was telling. Ordinarily she'd advise that they stop and rest but with those psycho gunmen on their trail (for reasons they still didn't understand), there was no time.

A rustling of paper brought her attention over to Randolf, who was opening his rucksack and retrieving a few of his heat-warped candy bars. He seemed to be having difficulty with one of them, however, as his face was a mask of concentration as he tugged at something with one arm elbow deep into the pack. One of them must have caught on something, Sema surmised.

Eventually the portly Australian yanked his hand back and cackled in triumph. The movement, though, pulled something else along with it, and Sema caught sight of something fly from the pack, landing on the thick grass of the jungle.

For a moment, she wasn't sure what she was looking at exactly, her brain honestly struggling to process what was very possibly the most tasteless design ever known to humanity. There, on the ground, was what appeared to be a pair of swimming trunks, bright, almost fluorescent green, which, while certainly eye-catching, was not what held her attention.

No, what had struck her dumb was the central design: on the crotch of the briefs, was a koala bear's head sewn in felt, moulded into an expression of complete and utter surprise. Who on earth could possibly conceive of such a crude design, Sema wondered to herself. Belatedly, she realised that there was now an uncomfortable silence settled across the assorted individuals, flicking her gaze around, she saw that the others were all fixated on Randolf's swimwear, their eyes rooted to the image of the surprised koala head.

'What…' Ellen began, her expression surprisingly exhausted, 'in the name of all that is holy… is that?'

For a moment, no one said anything, even Randolf, who never seemed to particularly give a damn exactly what other people thought of him, was uncharacteristically quiet. Eventually he cleared his throat as casually as he could manage, and, with both hands held behind his back, almost like a child who had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, contrived to look innocent.

'I'm sorry?' he asked.

No one said anything, still staring at the trunks.

'It's um, it's my swimsuit,' Randolf said, 'there uh… there a problem?'

And as one, everyone tore their eyes from the crotch-koala and turned them on Randolf, who had now found something on the ground beside his shoe very interesting.

No one said a thing as Randolf tentatively took a handful of slow, light steps toward the fallen pair of swim shorts, or when he picked them up and hurriedly scrunched them into a ball before dumping them back into the depths of his backpack. He endured the stares for a moment longer before shaking his head and sighing in exasperation.

'Okay, yeah! Let's all stare at the crazy Aussie with the koala head on his dick! But let's cast our minds back to like, half an hour ago, and remember that right behind us is a trained bunch of arseholes who want to murder us! So are we going or are we going?'

That broke the awkwardness of the moment, but the silence persisted as everyone made to check they still had their gear in good order. Everyone stopped for a moment for a quick snack of potato chips and nuts taken from the convenience store earlier, as well as a quick glug of water, and then…

'Hey, hold up a minute,' someone called. Everyone turned to find Cassidy Straum standing to one side.

'I've just had a thought,' the older woman said, placing a hand on her chin, 'the Pelanoi Wildlife Preserve is in the north-west, right?' she asked, looking specifically at Randolf, who was their primary source of local knowledge now that Ethan was dead.

'Yeah, and?' Randolf asked, manfully restraining himself from glancing at her chest, perhaps actually more curious as to what she was thinking than what her cup size was.

'Well, it borders Faraquay, doesn't it? So instead of going all the way down south to New Rynns, could we not just hop on over to Faraquay and get ourselves a boat from there? I can operate a boat just fine, as long as we don't steal a cruise liner or anything.'

Silence reigned for a minute as everyone digested the information.

'That's actually not a bad idea,' said Sydney, who adjusted her glasses. The journalist smiled warmly at her.

'I think so too,' Ellen added. Several heads swung towards her, surprised that she was actually capable of agreeing with anyone.

'What?' she said defensively, 'it makes much more sense to see if we can't find a way off this place in the closest city by the coastline than it does to trek all the way down south and run the risk of running into even more monsters, especially with those assholes in black behind us.'

'If no one else has any objections, I don't see why we can't do that,' Tiffany said as she glanced over the others. Everyone else muttered various affirmations while Kit, stoic as ever, simply nodded.

'All right then,' the Marine Captain said, feeling energised at the prospect of getting off the island so soon, 'Randolf? You know this place better than we do, lead the way.'

'Whatever you say doll,' the Aussie said in a nonchalant manner, resting his beaten paddle across his shoulder. 'If we follow the trail to the right, we should find a path that'll take us out of the Preserve and from there, if we don't already see the city outline, then it's just a matter of finding a main road.'

As they made to move out, Kit pulled Tiffany to one side.

'What is it?' she asked, wondering for a moment if maybe he was going to ask about the moment they'd had in the manse–

'You hear anything?' he asked, his expression serious. Tiffany felt almost disappointed, and then the implications of Kit's question hit her. She froze, craning her head as if to measure the jungle acoustics.

Nothing.

Absolute silence.

She must have made some sort of look because Kit hummed and nodded grimly. 'Yeah…' he said.

Tiffany made a slow scan of their surroundings, but aside from the empty minibus, nothing stood out to her. She turned back to Kit, who was casting wary glances at the undergrowth.

'You hear or see anything you don't like the look of, you shout. I'll do the same,' Tiffany told him. Kit nodded firmly, and that was all the assurance she really needed.

With that, they set off, stretching tired, aching limbs before plodding onward in the direction of what they fervently prayed would be their salvation.

The Mercenaries

The two vehicles rumbled along the track until, not even fifteen minutes later, they came across the same minibus that their quarry had made off with. Elias had ordered a swift dismount and the squad of mercenaries had advanced cautiously on the minibus. It had turned out to be empty, as they had all suspected, but it was disappointing nonetheless.

'See anything out there?' Elias asked Jäger, who was scanning the undergrowth through his high-powered sniper scope.

'Nothing in the flesh, but there's definitely something out there,' the German sniper responded.

'You're sure?'

Jäger restrained himself from snapping at his team lead. Satisfying as letting out all he thought of thee illustrious Elias Dunbar was, he had little doubt that if the pissy Brit received enough of a push, he'd shoot him without much hesitation.

'Positive,' he replied, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

Elias stared at him for a few moments before nodding and turning away. Jäger watched him walk away, wishing for a dark night, an opportunity, and a silencer.

Alaina Jenkins stood watch by the minibus, glaring at it as if the vehicle were the cause of all her woes and grievances. If looks were capable of harm, the minibus would be little more than molten slag. She gave Elias the barest nod of acknowledgement as he approached.

'I want to find these pricks,' Alaina muttered, her youthful features twisted into a feral expression of bleak, black fury. The fact that the engine was still a little warm told them they had missed the survivors by scant minutes, which, as far as Alaina was concerned, was still too damned late. She was still stricken over the death of Brookes, and the Irish merc was very much out for blood.

Elias considered briefly taking Alaina over for a chat, but dismissed it. Blind rage made you dumb, made you make mistakes. Now, hatred on the other hand… Elias didn't hate. Hate made things personal, and on a job, that was a very, very bad thing. When focused, however, hatred was a very, very potent tool, and Alaina seemed to be straddling the line between cold and blazing. Which one she'd slide towards he likely wouldn't know until they finally hunted their quarry down, but until then, he'd not let her out of his sight.

'That makes two of us,' Elias responded, 'but they can't be far now. All it is now is a matter of tracking them and finishing them off.'

'Natalia could find them,' Alaina said softly, her rage fading for a moment as she reflected on her conversations with the British recon specialist. Then it was back again, and Elias blinked, surprised at the murderous glint in her narrow, blue eyes.

'We'll do fine,' was all Elias said before turning away from her. He wasn't entirely broken up over Brookes' death. As far as he was concerned if you couldn't hack it, that was that. Tough shit. He was only frustrated earlier because it had seemed that this rag tag group of misfits had spat in his eye by not only killing one of his team – and losses didn't tend to reflect well on team leaders regardless of circumstances, which often led to less satisfyingly chunk pay slips – but also by making off with a vehicle and disabling any means of Grey Team pursuing them immediately.

It still smarted in a sense, because in the end, it was sheer, dumb luck that had allowed them to reach this point. If the minibus had been anything other than practically running on fumes, then their prey would have been off, and Elias would have some explaining to do.

He shook his head. It was all irrelevant. Their targets were close; all that was needed now was to determine which direction they had travelled in, move in and hunt them down. They would be tired from running all night and while he had no doubts there was more than a little fatigue about Grey Team's movements, they were all trained, hardy professionals. Catching up to some slack-jawed, wide-eyed civilians wouldn't be a problem.

Viper stepped into view from behind a thick trunked tree, Tech in tow.

'Report,' Elias commanded.

'We've determined that the targets are moving north-west,' Viper answered first.

'It's likely that they're heading for Faraquay city in order to secure a boat,' Tech finished.

'Faraquay?' Jäger called, 'wasn't that place overrun in the first hours of the spill? These people cannot possibly be that dumb.'

'No, they're just that desperate, we killed one of them and their only easy ticket out of this place got put through the shredder when their bus ran out of gas. They want out, and they want it bad enough to run through an entire city full of BOWs,' Viper responded. Elias agreed with Viper's assessment, and now they knew where the prey was headed, they could resume the pursuit.

'Grey Team, form up on me, staggered formation. We're moving into Faraquay to pursue the targets. Let's go people!' He watched his team fall in with methodical precision, all except for one, the medic, Burke, who seemed off the pace. Elias watched him for a moment, and when the medic seemed to realise his team lead's gaze upon him he abruptly quickened. Fatigue, possibly. Alaina, on the other hand, was on the verge of rushing off, such was her eagerness to close the distance between their two groups and unload on the people who had killed her friend.

Elias realised that he too felt a burning excitement in his gut; the thrill of the hunt, something he'd not felt for a considerable time. He took a moment to savour it before fixing his gaze on the direction of Faraquay city and in that moment he could feel a certainty come over him: the endgame was coming. They would find the quarry and they would kill them, and that would be that. A quick call for extraction and then they'd be off Pelanoi before the sanitisation of the island by US planes could occur.

Without consciously realising, a slow, cruel grin spread across his thick, stony features as his squad paced through the undergrowth and towards Faraquay.