Кристофер Голден - The Predator - The Official Movie Novelization

Before Rory could shout a warning—before he could even open his mouth—there was a blur of movement, and suddenly the security guard was on his back, arms outflung, nightstick and flashlight spinning away into the grass on either side of him. And there was something on his chest—a second alien animal, just as big, and just as mean-looking, as the first. Lowering its hideous face, all stretched-out mandibles and rows and rows of shark-like teeth, the creature bit into the security guard’s shoulder and throat. It ripped a chunk away, as easily as Rory would take a bite out of a cupcake.

Until that moment, the guard had been screaming, howling in a voice that was hideously high-pitched for a man of his size and age, but as soon as the monster snapped back its head with a sizeable piece of him between its jaws, he stopped. Now there was blood, a shockingly vast amount of blood, that gushed from the hole in the man’s body, and kept gushing, spreading out through the grass like an oil spill through the sea, a dark, gleaming purple in the meager light.

Rory was frozen by the sight of all that blood. He’d once seen a bird, standing on a wall as a cat stalked toward it, and he’d wondered why that bird didn’t just fly away. Now he knew.

I’m going to die , he thought with utter crystal clarity. I’m going to die just like that man on the ground .

At first, when he heard the screech, he thought it was the attack cry of the other monster rushing in for the kill. But then he realized it was coming from the opposite direction, and turned his head to see his mother’s Subaru barreling across the grass. Its engine roaring, the car smashed right through the scoreboard. Shrapnel sprayed across the ball field as the car accelerated straight for one of the monster-dogs, smashing into it and sending it flying through the air.

Even before it had landed, the Subaru had slewed to a halt on the grass. The doors burst open and two people leapt out. In the light of the moon and stars, and the glow from the Subaru’s headlights, Rory recognized the car’s driver immediately.

Dad?

McKenna and Casey jumped out of the Subaru, weapons leveled at the Predator dogs. He pulled the trigger, blazing shot after shot across the baseball field. The alien hound darted to the left, staying ahead of his aim. McKenna swore loudly, heard Casey doing the same, but then he heard another engine roar and had to throw up a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of blazing headlights.

The RV hurtled across the field from one direction. McKenna spun to see another vehicle—the patrol car Nebraska had hijacked—sailing over the grass from the other edge of the baseball diamond. Behind the wheel of the patrol car, Nebraska aimed the vehicle directly for the chain link fence lining the diamond and slammed through it with a clang . The fence furled up in either direction, springing back as if it had been waiting years for someone to crash through it.

The patrol car fishtailed onto the field. Nebraska flung open the door and dove out, rolling on the grass and leaping to his feet, gun in hand, without even slowing the car down. The vehicle kept rolling.

The RV slewed to a ragged halt, tearing up the turf, and the rest of the Loonies piled out, laden with all the weapons they’d acquired from the RV’s owner in the parking lot of the Iron Horse Motel.

“Three o’clock!” McKenna shouted, gesturing toward one of the Predator dogs, which had started across the field along the same path Rory had taken. “Ten o’clock!”

It was all the Loonies needed. McKenna clocked everyone’s locations, kept Rory in mind, made sure his back was to Casey but also checked to be certain she could handle herself. A hailstorm of artillery tore up the field as they opened fire on the Predator dogs. McKenna saw bullets strike home, saw chunks of flesh and blood spray, though just as often the bullets seemed to do little more than nudge the monsters. The Predator dogs kept moving, but at least now they were distracted by their attackers—the focus off Rory.

McKenna ran toward his son, and Casey backed him up.

Still pale with shock, Rory called out to him, more out of curiosity than fear. That was Rory. McKenna packed away any regret or shame he had about his past with the boy, or about putting him in danger. Rory stood frozen on the grass and McKenna raced toward him.

Then he saw one of the beasts make a beeline for Nebraska, snarling, those hideous pincers around its mouth snapping. Its intent was clear.

“Casey!” he snapped, gesturing for her to grab Rory.

“I’ve got him!” she called.

McKenna barely knew the women, but he trusted the confidence with which she carried herself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Casey scoop Rory up into her arms. For half a second, it looked as if Rory might fight her. There was a real dog on the field, a terrified-looking pit bull, and Rory seemed to want to save the mutt.

Then there was no more time for distraction. McKenna had run almost into the path of the Predator dog as it raced toward Nebraska. Now he faced the beast, swung his M4 and pulled the trigger, unloading. Bullets tore the ground, pounded the monstrosity, smashed the air and his eardrums. The alien creature staggered and McKenna thought maybe, just maybe, he’d kill the damn thing. Then he clicked on an empty chamber.

Oh shit.

Out of ammo, with the creature ten feet away.

McKenna turned and bolted for the bleachers. Off to his right, he saw Nebraska struggling to load a 40mm recoilless grenade launcher and his eyes lit up.

“Umm… Gaylord?” he called.

The man jacked the round into the barrel and snapped it shut. “I thought I told you,” he said, as he tossed the grenade launcher fifteen feet into McKenna’s waiting hands. “Call me Nebraska.”

McKenna caught the weapon on the run. The Predator dog slavered and snarled as it chased him—both man and alien hound knowing he had no chance of outrunning death. McKenna reached the bleachers and hurled himself between two crossbars. He hit the ground, rolled, and turned as he rose. The bleachers slowed the beast just half a step—it was enough. McKenna jammed the massive gun between the monster’s mandibles, shoved it down the dog’s throat, and pulled the trigger.

A muted fwumpp came from within the Predator dog. Its eyes went wide and then it buckled, toppling to the ground in a wet slap of flesh on cold earth. Dead.

A snarl made McKenna whip around. He’d been so focused on this fucker trying to kill him that he’d forgotten the other one. The background noise of gunfire and the shouts of his men had receded in the intensity of the moment, the urgency of trying not to die. Now he heard the chuffing of the other hound’s breath and felt the ground thump under its tread. It leaped over the corpse of its dead companion and lunged toward the opening beneath the bleachers.

Nebraska Williams appeared as if by magic, a bolt gun in his hand. With a single motion, he brought the bolt gun up and shot the second monster point blank in the skull. The bolt impaled its forehead. For a moment, McKenna thought it hadn’t made a difference, that the Predator dog would still rip his throat out. Then it wavered, listed, and started walking in a lazy circle as if it sought a comfortable place to lie down.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” McKenna muttered.

The thing had taken a bolt through the skull and it wasn’t dead. No longer a threat, for sure, but still alive.

He glanced at Nebraska in astonishment.

Nebraska shrugged. “Goddamn space aliens.”

The RV revved onto the street between the baseball field and the school. McKenna had lost track of who was behind the wheel now. All he could think to do was get to the vehicle. The Loonies ran in formation, boots pounding dirt, weapons clanking. They were following his orders now, but he didn’t have to order them to withdraw. There was no telling how many of those Predator dogs might be prowling around the neighborhood in search of Rory—or rather, in search of the helmet and gauntlet that, as far as McKenna knew, were still in his possession.