sneak attack / brody v tex [day 7]

The storm passes, thunder and lightning fading into the distance from whence it came, replaced quickly by a drizzle. It burns off the humidity, washes away the blood that has dried along his clothes. Not that anyone would notice; it's harder to see red staining black fabric. But Brody notices. He watches as a watered down crimson liquid spills out around his boots atop the rocks. Like killing Tune had never happened, washed away like he hadn't been the one to cease her existence. 

He's pulled back to the moment he'd wrapped his hands around her throat beneath the water, holding steady against her thrashing. He had definitely done it, he knew that much. Looking down at his hands, the dark auburn stains begin to bleed and vanish away as droplets fall into his palms.

Had this been their plan all along? To make the last four standing feel as though they can wash away their sins? It was working. For Brody at least. It felt transformative, this rainfall. Restorative. Like tomorrow wouldn't just be a fresh start, it would be a new beginning. 

He's lulled to sleep that night by the faint pattering of rain, eyes closed but locked with Alice's in his dreams. 

Brody can only see her when he closes his eyes now.

• • •

He wakes early again, well-rested, but still before the sun comes up. That wasn't too unusual, though. In here, it was as if a part of him had to see the sunrise, some buried deep, child-like part wanted to see something good before all that was left to see was carnage and bloodshed. Because the young adult in him knew. It knew that as soon as the sun was high in the sky, that only meant one thing. 

Time to hunt.

Brody spots Tex about half a mile into the forest, treading along with his pack over his shoulder and his eyes glued forward. He watches him for a bit, trailing behind him like a shadow, tucking behind a tree every time the boy turns to glance behind him to make sure nothing is following. And each time he reassures himself that he's safe, a devilish grin is painted along Brody's features.

He'll never see me coming.

And he doesn't. At least not for a while. Brody tracks him for a few miles, studying his every step and noting his every move. He observes, takes mental notes, and plans his attack. He has to be careful; Tex is no Tune. Brody doesn't have at least sixty pounds and a full foot on him. It'll be a fight. 

That's why he stealths first.

He waits and waits and waits. Then finally, Brody springs forth from behind a tree, sword drawn and mask pulled over his face. He says nothing, only tilts his head slightly to the side as their eyes lock, then lunges out with the blade raised, wordless and frenzied.