Brett

Under Construction. To be continued.

Brett balanced herself on her haunches and closed her eyes, effectively masking her visual perceptions and taking in the sounds of the forest all around her. As she breathed in gentle, controlled breaths through her nose she savored the luscious taste of the cool autumn air -fragranced ever so subtly by the tall pine trees surrounding her- as it flowed down her throat and filled her chest. She wished she could rip off her balaclava and throw back her head, her golden hair cascading down her back as she thirstily gulped down the cool air. She thought to herself: Oh, I wonder how wonderful it would feel if I just lay on my back on a bed of fallen pine needles, forgetting the game tonight. But she could never do that. She was a soldier. As tempting as it was to abandon her duties to enjoy the night around her, she had a mission to fulfill. Her prey was on the run.
Besides, she rather enjoyed this.
Sighing softly, shifting her weight from her other foot, Brett focused her mind on the sounds filling the night air around her. Off to her right, a twig snapped on the forest floor as something treaded over it. She could tell it wasn’t heavy enough to be a human, it was most likely a bear on its way to the stream nearby. Wind moaned through the boughs of pine above her. The night was quiet for a moment or two, as if distinctly playing to her advantage.
Suddenly, far off in the distance to her immediate left, came the choked sound of a badly suppressed cough. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Oh, yes. Brett’s eyes snapped open and she pivoted on the balls of her feet toward that direction. She scanned the area closely and waited for any kind of movement. Before her -she judged about 100 yards- stood an outcropping of boulders about 10 feet high, probably remnants of a past rock fall from the wall of the cliff immediately behind it. Trees stood scattered about the area in clumps. Brett squinted her eyes to try and discern objects through the shadows. Damn. She thought, Tonight of all nights to forget my stupid night-vision goggles. I was in such a mad rush to leave the tent I completely forgot about them. And it’s the new moon tonight, of course. Just great.
Of course, she had no reason to believe that this hunt would last any longer than the others. Sometimes they were short. Her victims drained all their energy in running from her in the first 10 minutes, when they could be conserving it to hide or think rationally and devise a way to retaliate. More often her prey didn’t last for more than 2 minutes. Never did her hunts last longer than 2 hours.
This was the one exception: this pale, wiry haired man with the goatee. It was clear to her that he had obviously had some form of professional combat training. That wasn’t to say that his methods were honed to perfection, of course not. But she had not encountered someone with such skill and agility before.
When she first spotted him hours before, she was prone on the crest of a hill near her own camp in the forest, looking downward at his. The sun beat down on her head and she felt like she were quite literally roasting in her gilly suit, but she knew if she weren’t wearing it she would stick out like a sore thumb against the brown-green of the hill. The camp was in a small clearing of dirt surrounded by 4 sides of pine. It was well used and Brett was very familiar with it; she had encountered many hikers resting in the very same camp. One stout green tent stood to the north, facing a small fire pit in the middle of the clearing. Tendrils of gray smoke drifted up lazily from the pit, it had recently been in use and doused with water. One quick inspection told her there was just one hiker this time, and he was male. His pack stood lone against a tree. His boxers were hung up to dry on a line. As far as she could tell he wasn’t anywhere nearby. He was most likely at the stream a quarter mile to the east, or napping in his tent, but she wasn’t about to check either places.
Hours later, after carefully creeping away from his camp, Brett sat cross legged on the bedroll in her tent munching thoughtfully on a granola bar, satisfied that she had gone unseen. The night was cool, but it was hot and stuffy inside the tent. She wore a pair of track pants and a matching black tank, her hair raised up in a bun. Engrossed in her thoughts, her fingers absently played over the off-white beads of her necklace, fingertips running over the irregular crevices and bumps. She suddenly grinned and took a particularly large molar within her thumb and forefinger and looked down at it. She wondered if one day one of her own teeth would be used in such a necklace. Dropping the macabre necklace back onto her breast, teeth clinking together as they fell, Brett allowed herself a small giggle as she thought of her future conquests.
“You’re number 30 tonight, Mr. Mystery Camper.” She whispered to herself “Ready or not, here I come.”

. . .

Later on that evening, after all remnants of sticky, chewy granola had been consumed and twilight had given way to night, Brett began to prepare herself for the hunt. As she donned her black paramilitary BDU and ran the checklist through her head once again, thoughts of her past began to creep up from the back of her mind as they always did before a hunt. Jeez. Maybe I should have been a baker, or something. People don’t normally act like this. But Brett didn’t really believe that she could be doing anything else in life, she knew in her heart that this is what she was meant to do, as twisted as it could be considered to others. But Hell, it beats paying taxes. Ha-ha.
Once upon a time Brett indeed did live like a “normal” person. At the age of 18, after high school she enrolled into the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, and graduated with high honors 4 years later as an Officer in the United States Army. Quickly thereafter as a result of her successes on the field as a leader and decisive thinker, she attracted the attention of the army Marine’s special reaction team (SRT), and after months of rigorous combat training she became a valuable member of the unit. 3 years later at the age of 25 after almost constant fighting being deployed in major hotspots across the globe, Brett was honorably discharged from the United States Military because of a severe leg wound.
The story goes that while posted on guard duty late one evening, Brett and her fellow guard were surprised and viciously attacked by two insurgents with UZI machine pistols. At the first sign of gunfire Brett ducked and rolled into a nearby ditch, drawing her M4 assault rifle and successfully dodging out of the line of fire. The other guard’s reactions weren’t as fast, as he was riddled with 9mm bullets and slain on the spot. Unfortunately, she discovered, she was shot in her left leg as she rolled to escape, but it didn’t impede her movements too greatly. After few seconds of cautiously peering out over the safety of her ditch and laying down fire in the insurgent’s general direction, she very bravely leaped out over her sanctuary, took aim and killed both men before they could return fire. Brett was commended for her valiancy in combat and was awarded a Purple Heart.
A nice cover-story, but certainly not the truth. Brett could never describe why she did it at the time, nor would she be able to in her entire life. As Brett and the other guard were walking back to the command post to change posts with fresh guards, they came across 2 migrant travelers on a road outside the base. As it was early in the morning and it was dark, they were confused and had lost their bearings somewhere along the way. They asked Brett and the other guard for help with directions because the people of that area and the US Army were on good terms with each other. Since Brett was a new transfer to this post, she let the other guard do the talking and gesturing. As the three men were talking, she thought to herself: I wonder if they’d scream if I killed them right now. Throughout her life, as we all do, Brett had experienced bizarre, carnal urges such as this but had never carried them out for fear of getting injured or thrown in jail. But this time was different. Suddenly, she cocked her rifle at her hip and sprayed down the 2 innocent travelers. Covered with blood spraying from their limp bodies as they fell, she turned to her fellow guard and grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, displaying her pearly whites proudly on a background of crimson. He moaned softly, and his fingers shook and fumbled for the safety on his own M4, but it was of no use. She jammed the barrel of her assault rifle into his stomach and drilled new orifices into his body before he could bring his finger to the trigger. To her dismay and disappointment, none of the three men had screamed as they went down.
Standing over the 3 motionless bodies moments later, she surveyed the situation. She had just committed triple homicide, and American soldiers would be rushing to her location any second after hearing the “exchange” of fire. That would be at least a life sentence, if not the death penalty. In her hip pocket she casually thumbs 3 fresh, off-white pebble sized beads, savoring their bumpy texture and slight fading warmth retained from the mouths which they came from. She pursed her lips together and thought briefly. A few minutes later after she set the preliminary settings for her cover-up, she was ready to execute the final stage. Dropping her M4 on the ground next to her with a clatter, she reached down to her hip and pulled the clasp containing her MK23 handgun. She lay down on her back on the dusty road. Switching off the safety and cocking the pistol, she levels the muzzle up close to her left kneecap, hesitates briefly as she reconsiders and fires. A blast of pain erupts through her body and she grits her teeth together as she arches her back up, her eyes tearing. And just as the first soldiers arrive minutes later, she slips into unconsciousness, just as planned.

To be continued…