Кристофер Голден - The Predator - The Official Movie Novelization

5:00… 4:59… 4:58…

A countdown. Their “time advantage.” Their head start before the Upgrade started to come after them.

Nettles’ disgusted voice drifted across the clearing again. “This guy’s a dick, yo.”

Traeger had already weighed up the options and come to a decision. He rose from behind the GPV, stepping out into plain view, his gun still in his hand but dangling from one finger, the barrel pointing at the ground. He stood there for maybe five seconds, waiting, and then McKenna emerged from beneath the ramp of the Predator ship, and stood up too, his weapon likewise pointing at the ground. This was the cue for everyone else to emerge from hiding, like mice after the cat has vacated the house.

Casey climbed down from her tree, and pushed her way through the still incomplete and partially damaged perimeter fence. She walked across the clearing toward McKenna, studiously avoiding looking at the mangled and dismembered bodies strewn everywhere across the ground.

“Can I swear in front of your kid?” she asked, directing a vague smile at Rory, who was peeking out from beneath the ramp.

“No, but I can,” McKenna said. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

Casey nodded. “Six ways from Sunday.”

A merc padded across to them, his weapon also pointed at the ground, a makeshift ally now due to the bigger threat they were all facing. Glancing uneasily at the Predator ship, and even more uneasily at the inexorable countdown on the big screen, he said gruffly, “We split up, twelve different directions.” Then, glancing at Traeger, he added, “McKenna’s the one it wants.”

McKenna snorted a laugh, but Traeger, ever the strategist, shook his head. “Nix. It’ll take us one by one. That’s the fucker’s MO.”

Though she hated to agree with him, Casey nodded. “He’s right.”

From across the clearing came the sound of an engine wheezing and grinding. They looked across at a jeep that one of the mercs was trying to start. Its headlights came on, flickered, then went out.

Another merc tried another vehicle, with the same result. Unnecessarily, he called out, “Nothing’s starting. Vehicles are fried.”

“Son of a bitch triggered an EMP,” Traeger said.

“Range?” asked McKenna.

Baxley was approaching them now, glaring balefully at the mercs, who glared right back at him.

Rory, who had slid out from under the ramp, and was now standing quietly beside his father, pointed up at the still-blazing arc lamps. “Localized.”

“Chopper should be okay,” Baxley said.

“One way to find out,” McKenna said. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Everyone, mount up!”

Such was the authority in his voice that even Traeger’s men leaped into action. The team mobilized quickly, grabbing and priming extra weapons, stuffing ammo into their backpacks, scouring the grounded vehicles for other equipment they might need.

Casey noticed Traeger watching the scene silently, albeit with a grimly amused smile on his lips, and wondered what was cooking in that devious brain of his. A merc sidled up to him—big guy with a dyed yellow goatee and worried eyes. His voice was a boyish quaver.

“Wait. It’s gonna… hunt us?”

Casey scowled at him. “Grow a dick, will you?”

“Maybe he could borrow yours,” Baxley muttered under his breath.

“Fuck you, Baxley!” But she was laughing.

The group had now been joined by the rest of the Loonies, who had converged on them from a variety of directions. While Nettles gave the mostly nervous-looking mercs the stink eye, Nebraska hoisted his backpack a little higher and sparked up a cigarette.

Nodding at Rory, he said, “Any advice?”

“Yeah,” said Rory. “Smoking’s bad for you.”

Nebraska rolled his eyes. “I mean the Predator. How do we kill it?”

Deadpan, Rory replied, “Get it to start smoking.”

During the preparations, Traeger had slipped quietly away and he was now leaning into the trunk of the jeep he, Rory, and Sapir had arrived in. Casey had known he was up to something, and now she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he hauled out an army duffel bag. Clearly eager to do whatever it was he was doing without being seen, his movements were jerky, nervous, and as he yanked out the bag, items spilled from its open end onto the ground. Hastily, he scrambled to stuff them back into the bag, but not before Casey recognized some of the Predator tech she had seen displayed in glass cases at Project: Stargazer. She walked across, trying to make as little noise as possible, and stood over him. Suddenly, realizing someone was there, Traeger glanced up quickly.

He looked like a kid who’d been busted watching porn by his mom.

“Trick or treat bag?” Casey asked caustically.

She saw his brain working, trying to come up with an answer that might mollify her. He straightened up, took a couple of steps backward, and for a moment she thought he was about to turn tail and make a run for it.

But he backed into something that made his eyes jerk open in surprise, and when he turned around there was their old friend, the Predator dog with the bolt through its brain. It stood, mandibles clicking, wagging its tail, as if it wanted to play.

Casey waved her arms at it. “Go! Shoo! Go home!”

But the Predator dog simply wagged its tail harder and woofed at her. It was loving this game!

The creature’s appearance had given Traeger the opportunity to divert attention away from his own devious behavior. “That thing’ll give us away,” he snarled. “Get it the fuck out of here.”

Casey glared at him. Then she strode forward and snatched up one of the spilled items he hadn’t had time to scoop back into the duffel bag—an exploding cuff, like the one she had seen the Upgrade use on a merc earlier. Marching to the edge of the crater, the Predator dog capering around her, she drew back her arm and hurled the cuff as far as she could into the jungle.

Excitedly, the creature ran after it. As soon as it did, McKenna gave the word and the rag-tag team, which comprised Loonies, mercenaries, an Army Ranger, a CIA agent, an evolutionary biologist, and a highly gifted kid, double-timed it into the jungle on the far side of the crater.

By the time the Predator dog returned, the cuff clenched in its massive, drooling jaws, the clearing was empty.

Whining, the Predator dog dropped the cuff on the muddy ground and looked around, bewildered.

The group had death at their heels, and they needed no further encouragement than that. They moved swiftly through the jungle, ducking and dodging around trees and plants. Under the weight of their heavy clothing, backpacks, and weapons, the men grunted with exertion, sweat streaming down their faces, but not for a moment did they think of stopping for a rest, or even slowing down.

Rory could keep up with the group purely because he was smaller and lighter, and because he wasn’t carrying anything except for the invisibility ball in his pocket, which his dad had given to him. Holding Casey’s hand, he was able to negotiate the thick foliage far more easily than the bulkier soldiers in front of him.

Except for his mom, Rory was usually nervous around girls and women, and he didn’t like people touching him at the best of times, but he found comfort in the warmth of Casey’s hand in his, and he liked the way she kept glancing at him and smiling. She was looking out for him, and not in a patronizing way. It was like she knew the two of them were kindred spirits—both science-minded, both clever, both introverted—and that therefore they had to stick together.

Just ahead of them, Traeger was fumbling in his duffel bag as he ran along. Rory wondered whether the CIA agent was looking for a weapon—but what he eventually pulled out of the bag shocked Rory far more than a Predator weapon would have. Shocked him and filled his head with bad memories.