PREDATOR IF IT BLEEDS

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

She would not make the same mistake. They were running for the wheeled house that stank, where the other, less-skilled oomans had died. It made sense—there had been transportation there, and they would think to outrun her that way.

  Her mandible twitched.

  It was a risk, but it made sense: Trying to follow them through the forest was not the best action.

  Best would be to arrive where they were going before they did, and have them walk into her line of fire.

  Though maybe she would use her blades. It would be more satisfying that way.

  * * *

  Mac stayed off the trail, working his way through the brush carefully. Concealment wasn’t cover, but if they didn’t see him, they’d have a harder time zapping him with their lasers or whatever. He moved deliberately, not trying to hurry. Either the old couple had killed the bad guys or they had been killed; there hadn’t been any more firing, save those two shots. Likely whatever had happened was a done deal, and really, when he thought about it, he should wait for the SWAT team, but, no. On the off chance somebody still needed his help, he had to go look.

  * * *

  Sloane slowed down.

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath, let half of it out. “Thinking here. If the creature behind us killed the bikers, then they know about the place.”

  “So? Oh. Wait.”

  “Yeah. They would know about the truck and bikes there.”

  “You think they shredded tires there, too?”

  “If they knew the bikers were dead and they expected to catch us at home, maybe not.”

  “Then what?”

  “They know we are running, and the nearest quick escape would be the bikers’ truck or motorcycles.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “If I were tracking us and I thought I knew where we were headed? Moving slowly to keep from getting shot would be relatively safe, but circling around and moving fast to get there ahead of us? That would be my preference.”

  “Crap.”

  “If they have hunted people before, they have figured out how we think; that’s the first thing you do with dangerous prey. You make it play your game.”

  “I am guessing that it might not be in our best interests to walk up to the bikers’ place without great care. Well, maybe—what’s that?”

  He listened. “Somebody ahead of us, coming this way. Off-trail.”

  “The monster?”

  “I don’t know. Not making as much noise as I would think. Let’s hunker down. Maybe it will step in front of our guns again.”

  * * *

  Mac had worked up a pretty good sweat. The trees shaded him, but the marine layer was burning off, it was getting warmer—probably hit ninety today—and he was wishing he had brought a water bottle or a canteen.

  There was a stream not far, and if he wanted to risk getting sick from sipping water full of beaver and duck crap, he could get a drink. Should have brought his filter straw, back in the unit’s trunk.

  Should have brought the Marines and the Air Force, while I’m thinking about it.

  He looked at his intended path ahead. Mostly trees and bushes and blackberry brambles.

  He stepped into a small clearing.

  * * *

  “Don’t shoot,” Sloane whispered. “It’s a deputy.”

  Mary said, “I’m not blind, I can see that.”

  “Let’s see if we can warn him without him blasting the trees.”

  He started whistling the alien theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

  “Really, Sloane?”

  “Who’s there?! Sheriff’s office! Come out with your hands up!”

  “Deputy, this is Sloane and Mary. We bought the old McGee place. You saw me at the shooting range.”

  “Come out where I can see you! Put your weapons down!”

  “Deputy, we really have to hurry this up. There’s somebody else in the woods and they are killers.”

  “I saw the bikers. Come out!”

  “We are wearing ghillie suits. We stand up, we are going to look like bushes. Our weapons are down. Don’t shoot us.”

  “Slow and easy.”

  They did that. Sloane already had his head cover shoved back, as did Mary.

  “Jesus! How did I miss you?”

  “We didn’t want you to see us.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “Step a little closer, we don’t want to be yelling at each other.”

  “SWAT is on the way.”

  “We’ll need them,” Sloane said.

  “Why did you whistle that tune?”

  “To make you wonder just that, and not spray the woods with your shotgun.”

  “Ah.”

  * * *

  Mac said, “You are fucking kidding me!”

  “No. We ran into these things in Alaska, almost a decade back. The feds know about them. There was a big explosion afterward, wiped out the evidence. They are back.”

  “You’re crazy.” But he thought about the footprint. Bigger than any man’s he’d ever seen.

  “You ever see anybody killed like those bikers?”

  “No, but maybe it’s some kind of black ops thing. A rival gang, maybe.”

  “Does it really matter, if they are killing people?” Mary said.

  He looked at her.

  “Where did you park your car?”

  “Couple hundred yards from the camper. Off the logging road.”

  “Good, maybe we can get there without it—or them— seeing us. You can take us in; we can talk about it somewhere safer than here.”

  “I’ll need your guns.”

  “No. If that thing pops up, you probably won’t see it, it’s got some kind of electronic camouflage, and we need to tag it before it does us. Three shooters are better than one.”

  Mac considered it.

  “We need to get moving, Deputy.”

  “Mac. Call me ‘Mac.’”

  “If it is ahead of us or behind us, either way, we can’t stay here.”

  * * *

  Vagouti arrived, and a quick scout of the area revealed that, save for the dead ones, she was alone.

  Good.

  She used her wrist-blades to disable the vehicles, a four-wheeled one and three two-wheelers. Slashed the tires on the wheeled house, too. Should have done that earlier.

  She found a perfect place where she could watch the dwelling, then decided it was too perfect. Were she in the oomans’ minds, she would note that spot upon arrival.

  There was a second location, not as good, but sufficient. She went there. Even enstealthed, they had killed Nakande. How? It did not matter, only that it had happened. She had to assume they might spot her unless she had complete cover. Nakande had made a fatal error. She would not. She must control her rage. Her mate was gone, and a foolish gesture on her part might gain her similar results. The old ooman and his mate seemed no less deadly than the stories.

  * * *

  Sloane said, “We’re thinking that it—or they—will probably have beaten us to the RV and set up there. Can we get to your car without being seen if they are there?”

  “Yeah, we need to circle to the east, through the gully. Harder going that way.”

  “Beats the other option.”

  “Yeah.”

  * * *

  Vagouti settled, calmed her breathing, and waited. A Hunter had to be patient. Nakande had been a good Hunter and fighter, but patience had not been high on his list of virtues. He was strong and fast, and that had been enough. Until now.

  She would spike them. Skewering and carving would have been more satisfying, but she was not going to underestimate them. All the Yautja who had done so thus far, including her mate, had died for so doing. Quick and clean, take the skull, and go home, where she would have to explain to her young why their sire was not with her.

  He made a mistake, she would say. Learn from this.

  * * *

  The gully was more or less dry, but fairly stee
p descending and climbing. The RV was a hundred or so meters to the west, not visible through the thick forest. With luck, they would climb out, work their way down the dirt road to the deputy’s cruiser, and get the hell away before their stalkers knew they were gone.

  Sloane and Mary had never spoken of what happened in Alaska to anyone, but that cat was out of the bag, now.

  Whoever in the federal government was in charge of alien clean-up would have to come and do some work here, but that was something to worry about later. First, they needed to get clear.

  They climbed the slope up the other side of the gully. Come the October rains, this would be a river, but that wasn’t something he needed to worry about either.

  Almost at the top, Mac grabbed a dry sapling for support and the wrist-thick bole snapped off just below his hand.

  Made a loud crack! in the quiet morning.

  “Shit—!” Mac said. He caught at a low branch on a big fir tree and stopped his slide down the slope.

  Sloane held a finger to his lips for silence.

  They listened. He was trusting Mary’s and Mac’s ears more than his own, but he held his breath, straining to hear…

  Nothing.

  It was a long way off, maybe the sound hadn’t carried.

  “Go,” he said. “Quickly.”

  * * *

  Vagouti heard the noise from the forest. Not close, not that far. A branch breaking, she knew the sound; she’d heard more than one large prey animal fleeing her make such sounds.

  They were circling the dwelling. They sought to come in from an unexpected direction, because they suspected a trap. This was the mark of prey who was also a hunter. Smart.

  She considered her strategy and tactics. She could easily change her position and find a better vantage to cover that arc of the perimeter.

  Or, she could go to meet them, when they didn’t expect her.

  Surprise might still exist there, but no longer here, not as much. They might not know exactly where she was, but they would be alert. Two of them, both armed? They would separate as they arrived, and if she lanced one, the other would have a target. That is what she would do in their place.

  She needed them together.

  She stood.

  * * *

  Mac said, “The cruiser is just around the turn ahead.”

  Sloane nodded. “Why don’t you give me the keys, I’ll go get it, bring it back. No point in all three of us getting closer than we need.”

  The deputy frowned. “I’ll do that. My car.”

  Sloane said, “We’ll cover you.”

  * * *

  Vagouti smelled the vehicle before she saw it, the odor of burned petroleum distillates they used for fuel hanging thick in the air.

  She frowned. There had been no vehicle there before when she had scouted the area. Someone had arrived since.

  There were others.

  That was where the Sniper was going, not where the dead oomans were. He meant to flee.

  She saw the automobile. Recognized it. It was one of their law enforcement vehicles, they had a particular appearance.

  More armed prey. How many?

  She edged closer.

  * * *

  As Mac made his way toward the cruiser, Sloane said, “We need to separate. You stay here, I’m going across the road.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if one of them is about, he’ll have to shift his aim fast to get both of us. If you see a flash, shoot at the source.” Mary nodded. “Be careful, Sloane.”

  “I will. Stay low and concealed.”

  * * *

  An armed ooman approached the vehicle.

  She couldn’t spike him, the others would mark her. She might be able to get them all, but that was not the wise choice. There were at least three, perhaps more.

  If their intent was to flee in the vehicle, as it seemed it was? All she had to do was wait until they were all inside, unable to shoot back or dodge; then she could spike the automobile and be done with it.

  Not as sporting as she would have it, but she would have the head of the ooman who slew her mate. And who, at a far remove, could criticize her for it? One against multiple? All armed? And as deadly as they came?

  She crept back a bit, looking for a better angle. The vehicle would be departing along the dirt path away from her. The others must be farther along that way, waiting for the ride to come to them. You couldn’t spike a target if you didn’t know where it was. Again, they were behaving as a Hunter would behave.

  She had taken dangerous prey on a dozen planets. She would take these as well.

  She needed a better vantage point. She looked around.

  * * *

  Mac unlocked the car’s door and opened it. Took in the surroundings.

  Nothing.

  He put the shotgun into the rack.

  He slid onto the seat and cranked the unit. Did a U-turn and started down the road, slow and easy, didn’t want to raise dust or make more noise than he had to.

  * * *

  Sloane saw the deputy’s car roll slowly toward his position. He looked past it, into the woods.

  So far, so good.

  But—he had that feeling of being watched again.

  Were he the alien predator, if he were there observing, how would he assess the situation? Three armed people. Dangerous to shoot, if there was only one of them.

  Wait until everybody is in the car, then blow the car apart.

  He nodded to himself.

  The cruiser pulled to a stop.

  “Get in,” Mac called.

  Line of sight, Sloane thought. Where would I set up to hit the car?

  He had to assume they could see the car. And anybody who went to get into it.

  “Mary. Crouch, and get into the back seat. I’m going to pretend to get into the front seat.”

  “Pretend?”

  “If I squat low and open the door, then close it, they might not see what I did. Depends on the angle they have.”

  “Did you see something?”

  “No. But they are there.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yeah.”

  * * *

  Mac said, “What are you doing?”

  “I think we have a watcher. Give me five seconds after I close the door to get back to concealment, then stomp it, kick some dust up, and zig-zag.”

  There was a short pause. “Okay.”

  Sloane watched Mary creep toward the car’s rear door. She opened it and hopped in.

  Sloane took a deep breath and moved in a low crouch, duck-walked to the passenger-side front door. He opened it, then shut it quickly.

  Either they see me or not. If they do, they won’t take the shot. If not?

  He scooted back into the brush and dropped prone.

  Three… two… one…

  Mac tromped on the gas pedal and the tires threw up dirt and dust. The car fishtailed, got traction, and took off—

  —Sloane scanned the road and woods, looking, looking—

  * * *

  Vagouti targeted the vehicle. It spewed dust, obscuring her vision, but they were all inside—now was the time—

  * * *

  Nothing, Sloane didn’t see that shimmer he was looking for. Maybe he was wrong—

  —a cone fell from the big Douglas fir tree across the road. He saw it drop, followed the line back up—

  * * *

  You were a challenge, Sniper. I offer respect, but in the end, the Yautja are better Hunters. Death comes for you—

  * * *

  In the tree! It’s in the tree! Where—?!

  Had to be that thick branch, five meters up. Nothing smaller would support the thing’s weight.

  He couldn’t see it. No blur. Shit!

  Close to the trunk, squatting on the branch, leaning against the bole. Had to be.

  No time. If it was going to shoot, he had to beat it.

  Sloane lined his sight up on what looked to be empty space and pressed t
he trigger—

  * * *

  Vagouti started to command the spike, and then felt a terrible, terrible pain in her left side. She fell—

  * * *

  Sloane heard the impact, felt the ground shake, and he had already drawn his revolver.

  No death rays.

  Was it just the one?

  He waited, handgun pointed at where the invisible thing had hit the ground—

  * * *

  Vagouti couldn’t breathe; the impact had knocked the air from her lungs. Blood gouted from the wounds, front and back. A rib was broken, the shock had wrecked her insides, but she wasn’t dead yet.

  She managed to climb to her feet.

  The stealth confounder shut off, damaged by the fall. She became visible to the shooter. She knew roughly where he had to be. She sent a spike, low, because he would be prone—

  * * *

  The ground half a meter to Sloane’s left erupted as the energy weapon dug a two-meter long trench deep into the earth.

  Dirt and heat sprayed him.

  He lined his revolver sights up, center of mass, and fired.

  Sixty meters, not that hard a shot with this handgun.

  The predator went down.

  No other energy bolts came his way.

  Just the one. More would be shooting.

  He came up.

  * * *

  Behind him, Mary said, “Did you get it?”

  “Yes.”

  Mac was just behind her. “Think there might be others?”

  “No, I’d be dead.”

  The three of them walked to where the dying or dead alien lay sprawled on the fir needles.

  It was smaller than the others. A young one? No, wait, it was a female…

  She looked up at Sloane, said something in a truly foreign language, laughed—sounded like a laugh—then coughed and died.

  “Man,” Mac said. “Look at that! Never seen anything like it!”

  Sloane saw something. It was wearing a… watch? Flashing something.

  Oh, hell!

  “Get in the car, go, go!” Sloane said.

  “What?”

  “It has some kind of self-destruct device! It is going to blow up, a big explosion! Go!”

  They ran.

  * * *

  They were half a mile away when the bomb went off, and the shockwave spun the car sideways on the road, as if shoved by a giant hand.