Кристофер Голден - The Predator - The Official Movie Novelization

Tramping through human offal, the Upgrade moves across to a seating area and picks up a receptacle made of a pliable synthetic material. The contents of the receptacle do not interest the Upgrade, but the label attached to it does. Scanning the human markings, it translates them as ‘ R. McKenna ’. A label of identification, which may at some point prove useful.

Moving from surface to surface, the Upgrade now spies something infinitely more interesting. It knows the young human has had access to some of its species’ equipment, and even that it may have deciphered some of the readings on that equipment—certainly enough, whether intentionally or unintentionally, to affect the systems on the Upgrade’s own ship. But this document here—primitive, fashioned by hand—suggests an even greater understanding and intelligence than the Upgrade had previously given the young human credit for. Picking up the flimsy sheet of what its sensors inform it is mostly plant-based pulp and chemicals, its analyzing and translation systems identify the strange markings as a map, on which interstates and landmarks, all of which have been meticulously labeled, surround a tiny shape—a shape that the Upgrade recognizes instantly.

It is the ship. The ship that it has been searching for.

Nettles wandered down to the privacy of a small clump of trees to relieve himself. It wasn’t that he was shy, it was just that with Casey and the boy around he wanted to display a little decorum.

After zipping himself up, he stood for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the night air on his face, the gurgling of a brook close by and the soft chirrup of insects.

Then he frowned. Along with the chirruping, he could hear a weird clicking sound, as if something were purring, or growling, deep in its throat. He peered into the darkness of the trees… only to realize, when the sound came again, that it was behind him.

He whipped around, raising his weapon.

But by the time he saw the Predator dog’s gleaming eyes and the flash of its clacking mandibles, the opportunity to pull the trigger had passed.

The tread of a boot caught his attention, and Rory turned to see his father appear. Stashing his phone in a pocket, he crouched down.

“Talked to your Mom. She’s fine.”

Rory let an awkward silence grow even more awkward before he replied.

“Mom says you’re a killer.”

His father’s brow furrowed. “I’m a soldier.”

“What’s the difference?”

Nebraska seemed not to be listening. He shifted away from them. Over in the RV, Casey stood by the window. Rory could see her, and they were close enough that she could probably hear as well, but like Nebraska she acted as if she couldn’t hear a thing.

“When you like it,” his dad said. “That’s when you’re a killer.”

He looked suddenly at a loss, as if he didn’t know quite where to go from here, as if he didn’t know how to talk to his own son. He glanced up at the stars, and then pointed. “Which one do you suppose they’re from?”

“The one on the left,” Rory replied confidently. A joke. His father never really got his jokes.

This time, though, Quinn McKenna nodded. “That’s the one I was gonna say.”

Silence between them again, but now it was almost companionable. Rory shifted a little, tapping his stick on the ground. Then abruptly he said, “Sorry I never grew up. Y’know, the way you wanted.”

His father sighed and ran his hands over his face as if scrubbing it clean. “Yeah, well. Truth is… I never grew up the way I wanted either.”

Rory liked that. He watched as his father stood up and stretched his back.

“Are we gonna get killed?” he asked.

His father seemed to really think about it for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

McKenna shifted uncomfortably. He’d never been good at communicating with Rory, but he was trying. The kid went back to drawing in the dirt, and McKenna took stock of his unit again. He spotted Nebraska standing guard. Casey remained in the RV—it occurred to him that she’d become just as much a part of the unit as any of them, for as long as she wanted to be. Of course, given that some black box spookshow division of the federal government was after them, she might not have another choice.

He was just wondering whether he could risk getting a couple of hours sleep when he saw Nebraska tense up and spin round, taking aim at the brush at the edge of the field.

“Company’s coming!” Nebraska snapped.

McKenna heard it, then—they all did. Something crashing through the brush, moving fast in the dark. Gun barrels came up, everyone taking aim… and a second later Nettles burst from the brush into the moonlight, and he wasn’t alone. On his tail, bounding and crashing, mandibles clicking, was a Predator dog.

“Son of a bitch!” Baxley shouted, taking aim.

“Whoa, whoa!” Nettles said, throwing up his hands as if to ward them off.

What the hell? McKenna thought.

But it only took another moment for him to realize the Predator dog was not chasing Nettles, but merely bounding after him like an excited puppy. A glint of metal in the dark, and they all recognized the monster—it was the one from the school. The one Nebraska had shot through the skull with a bolt gun. It seemed the big, ugly bastard had tracked them like some faithful mutt!

Clumping to a halt, laughing a little, Nettles said, “Jesus, Nebraska, you lobotomized the poor sumbitch.”

They all watched curiously as the thing wandered around like an obedient, if addled, puppy. It gazed at Nettles as if he was its master, then looked around and suddenly started trotting toward Rory. Remembering that the boy had been its original target, and wondering whether it might have some residue of its former duty still rattling around in its damaged brain, McKenna jumped up to intercept the beeline it was making toward his son, but even as he started to run he knew he’d never reach Rory before the alien did.

Fearful, Rory rose and grabbed a length of wood. He hurled it at the Predator dog, but the monster ducked, and the wood sailed over its head. Instead of continuing toward Rory, however, it turned… then padded away to retrieve the wood! The clicking, grunting monster rushed over to Nettles and dropped the small log at his feet.

“Well, I’ll be all go-to-hell,” Nettles said. He grinned around at them like a proud but bashful father.

While the Loonies played with their new pet, throwing sticks for it and laughing as it retrieved them, Casey went back inside the RV. After a while, satisfied that the Predator dog wasn’t about to eat his son after all, McKenna joined her, grabbing himself another beer to steady his nerves.

Blowing a lock of hair away from her face, Casey gestured toward his bottle. “Gimme a sip of that.”

She took the beer from him and gestured out the window, nodding toward Rory, who was back to drawing in the dirt, ignoring the antics of the men. “You know, a lot of experts think being on the spectrum’s not a disorder. Some think it might even be the next evolutionary step.”

“Yeah?” McKenna replied, displaying no emotion. He looked at her a moment, then said, “Goin’ down the street once? He sees this homeless guy, runs right over. ‘Hey man, what’s your name?’ Meanwhile, I’m thinkin’: Where’s the nearest edged weapon? I see a target; he sees a friend.” He gave a crooked grin, half-affectionate, half-regretful, and took a swig of his beer. “All I can do is ruin him. So, I stay away.”

His words almost felt like a confession, and for a few seconds he studied the beer label on the bottle, embarrassed and ashamed. When he finally glanced up, he was surprised to see Casey was looking at him with an almost tender expression.