THE PREDATOR HUNTERS AND HUNTED

by James A. Moore

  It was hard to see anything up there, but the branches on the closest weeping willow seemed to sway against the direction of the wind. It had to be his imagination. Looking at the thin branches, he couldn’t imagine them holding his own weight, let alone the weight of a creature that stood seven feet tall.

  Brown came toward him with a grim expression on his face. He pointed at the waste container.

  “There’s blood and a lot of it. No body.”

  LaValle shook his head and felt his lips press together.

  Not ten feet from him, Brown’s abdomen exploded in a spray of blood. Whatever the hell hit the man couldn’t be seen—it was a vague blur in the downpour. LaValle didn’t even have a chance to blink before the men with him were firing just past the dumpster.

  The waste receptacle weighed in at a few hundred pounds, at least, but it moved toward them as something shoved it in their direction. The wheels under the thing squealed loudly in protest, and the entire shape wobbled. Every last one of them got the hell out of the way as it rumbled into the ring toss and caused the structure to collapse entirely.

  Four men scattered in different directions, moving on instinct, and LaValle could do nothing to prevent them from breaking ranks. Hamilton ran to the left, but focused on the area just past where the dumpster had started its journey. He might have seen something, he might simply have decided not to take any chances. In any event, he fired in short, controlled bursts that didn’t seem to hit anything.

  After that, there was only the sound of the storm.

  No one spoke, no one fired, but the rains hissed their way to the ground and the winds let out angry whispers as they moved through the trees and across the snapping canvas of the carnival.

  “Fuck this,” LaValle growled. “Spread out. Keep your eyes open. It’s got camouflage technology. We don’t. That means if you see someone in black clothes, you don’t fucking shoot.” The men nodded and did as they were told. Each looked around intently, keeping their weapons at the ready.

  * * *

  The rains would have the local creatures half hidden from his view, if he had been dependent only on his natural vision. He adjusted, moving into the ultraviolet spectrum, and saw his prey clearly enough.

  It would be easy to dispatch them from a distance. Too easy, and so he moved carefully, knowing that the hard rains would splash off of his body and render him more visible than he usually was. That did not mean the creatures would spot him—only that they had a chance.

  The blade disc appeared in his hand, a deadly array of curves. He aimed carefully before letting loose. The weapon whirled and soared and buried itself deep in the side of one of the black-clad creatures. It did not have a chance to scream before it was dead.

  A moment after that the others saw their companion fall, and immediately raised their weapons, trying to locate him. While they fluttered and moved, he stepped close to a second target and drove his blades deep into the creature’s torso, cutting bone and meat alike as he lifted the screaming thing and then tossed it at its nearest companion.

  The dying one thrashed and screamed, and the one on which it landed did the same, while firing its weapon without caution. The projectiles from the device hit only air and structures, but the noise and risk had the rest of the small gathering scattering in an instant, calling out to the one who fired carelessly.

  They died so easily. It would be tempting to grow careless, but he would not allow it.

  One of the creatures spotted him. It aimed for him and opened fire. He did his best to avoid being hit, and failed. The bullets pounded through his left shoulder and tore chunks of meat away. He screeched and dropped to the ground, rolling to get away from the fiery pain.

  The best intentions failed in that moment. He would have preferred to hunt them down with Combistick and blades, but the mounted plasma caster on his shoulder was there for a reason, and he changed tactics as the blood flowed out of his arm. Three of the things were still moving—the one he’d knocked aside and two that had not yet been touched. The first of them, the one that had hit him successfully, took a plasma blast to the head and the body fell to the ground, flesh steaming where it touched the puddles of fallen water.

  The next one took aim at where the bolt of energy had originated, but by then he had already moved on, sliding to the side and watching carefully to see if either of the remaining targets knew where he was. They did not, or if they did, they hid that fact by facing the wrong direction.

  The telescoping spear cut through the air effortlessly and the Combistick did its work, slamming through the armor and breast of the one aiming close to where he was standing. It wailed out its pain and clutched at the shaft, pulling desperately. It fell, shuddering and making high whining noises.

  The last of them fired wildly.

  He ducked low as the blood flowed from his shoulder. He would need to mend that. First, however, there was one left to kill.

  In its panic the creature ran directly toward him. Rather than attempt to kill it with a weapon, he reached out and caught the thing by its thick neck. It grunted and tried to raise the firearm. He caught the hand holding the weapon and bent it back until muscles and cartilage parted and bones broke.

  There was a distinct satisfaction to killing with his hands. It fought and tried to break free, its arm pounding ineffectively against his forearm and elbow. Had the beast been of a better size it might have wounded him more, but it was small and panicked and it died as he broke its neck.

  He gathered the bodies and hauled them to the side. He hoped to return and claim trophies, but not yet. There was too much to do. A quick look around and he gathered three of the weapons the creatures carried, removing their primitive missiles. Pulling a vial from a pocket, he used the chemical it contained to melt the metal and change its properties until, finally, he could cover his wounds. He stifled a scream at the blazing pain, daring not to attract the attention of his adversaries. They were primitive, but they were hunters, and while he had scattered them, this dominant species often ran in packs. They would regroup, and there might be more.

  Packs could kill far too easily.

  Slowly the pain faded down to a tolerable level and he breathed deeply, resting in the heavy warm rain as lightning started in the distance. It cut a path through clouds and rain alike, and moments later the thunder exploded.

  More distractions. Good.

  He was careful as he rose and gathered his weapons. The hunt was not over, and his best weapons had been taken. They were locked away, though not for much longer.

  * * *

  The rains were getting worse, not that LaValle cared. He looked at his pad and was grateful for the waterproof case. They moved quietly, carefully, only four of them left. The rest, judging from the sounds they’d heard, were likely dead.

  That hadn’t been the plan and it sure as hell wasn’t acceptable. They had a task set to them, and they’d finish it. The only good news was that the bastard was nearby. They could locate it, but it didn’t have the same advantage. If they could just stay alive, they might catch the Predator off guard and finish this.

  He didn’t like it when things went wrong. LaValle was a rational man, and he preferred a rational world. The idea of invisible aliens somehow offended him.

  The men listened and moved as a tight group until they approached a concession stand with a heavy canvas body. The winds snapped and rippled the thing, but it still stood. And, according to his tracking device, their prey waited inside.

  No words were spoken. LaValle moved toward the opening and beckoned the others to follow, crouching low to the ground as he slipped inside. His skin felt too tight and his heart thudded angrily in his chest, waiting for a spear or a claw or some other disturbing weapon to pierce his Kevlar armor and cut through his body.

  Had he ever needed to pee so badly in his life? He had doubts.

  The tarp above him drummed on with the sound of the rain and he moved as quickly as he could, alert for any sign of the a
lien. To his surprise there were a couple of bare bulbs offering some light. When he reached a corner he looked again at his tracker’s signal. According to the red dot the damned thing was close enough that he should have been able to smell it—but there was nothing.

  Around him the others moved through the small tent. It wasn’t designed to hold many people, and half of the interior was taken by a refrigeration unit and a deep fryer that had long since cooled off. His men stationed themselves in the corners.

  “There’s no one else,” one of them said, keeping his voice low. “If that thing was here it would have killed us all by now.”

  LaValle felt his lips press together. “Well, it was here, and the signal says it’s almost on top of me. I mean, like within three feet, but—” He cursed softly under his breath and reached up to the support beam that held the place upright, despite the wind’s best efforts.

  “Fuck me.” The tracker was resting in the post, half hidden because the bastard alien had taken the time to dig a hole in the wood and carefully stow it away. He pointed to the tracker and made sure his men saw it. They had been outsmarted by the thing out in the stormy weather.

  This was likely to get even messier.

  23

  The committee members sat in their chairs in the elaborately decorated conference room where there were no cameras or visitors allowed. There were seven members in total, and they sat at a small dais that elevated them above the two men they now faced.

  The members were silent as they listened to the reports given by first General Woodhurst and then by William Traeger.

  Woodhurst carefully outlined what everyone already knew—that there were aliens who came to the planet from time to time and hunted humans, and that the evidence was rare but significant. He also reported that one of the creatures had been captured and managed to escape, leaving behind significant technological items that were currently being examined and researched, even as multiple teams of professionals went after the creature.

  Traeger got to explain that the escaped alien was on foot, and that the pursuers had a tracking device implanted in the creature’s flesh. Though they had not yet captured the Predator—his term, which the committee used when they started asking questions—the recapture was imminent.

  Woodhurst showed the pictures of the alien, handing around close-ups of the face with and without helmet in place, and images of the various items taken from the thing, including an array of small skulls that were decidedly not Terran in origin.

  The general was pleased, but he was guarded. And then the questions started. Senator Raferty spoke first, a thin smile on his broad face.

  “General, how is it that a creature you’ve been actively hunting for well over five years managed to escape your confinement? Doesn’t that strike you as strange, given the timing of these events?”

  Woodhurst leaned forward in his seat and pinned the man with his gaze. There were many things that could be said about the general, but he never flinched from tough questions.

  “That’s something I’m looking into, Senator,” he said with calm confidence. “The creature was sedated and yet, by the looks of things, it managed to cut through its restraints, perhaps with the claws you can see in the images. It should have been unconscious. The best calculations from four separate doctors, including a xenobiological specialist, suggested that the sedation used would have left the thing very nearly comatose.”

  He leaned back.

  “I should point out,” he continued, “that the creature in question killed members of a well-trained and heavily armed security force. This is just an example of why we need to continue funding for Project Stargazer. If one of these things can cause as much damage as this alien did, we need to be prepared, should they ever be encountered again.”

  The senator nodded, a small frown marring his round features as he thought—or acted as if he were thinking— very seriously on the general’s words. After a moment he spoke again.

  “And given that this… this Predator… escaped on your watch, what makes you think you are the right person to be in charge here?”

  “He didn’t escape on my watch,” Woodhurst replied. “Frankly, I was here, trying to once again garner the necessary funds to continue the Stargazer program, as well you know.” He stared hard at the man. “He escaped under the careful watch of Roger Elliott, one of the driving forces behind Project Stargazer. Commander Elliott gave his life in the effort to recapture the alien before it could leave the base.”

  “A sacrifice we are all keenly aware of, General,” Senator Raferty replied. “Nonetheless, the Predator is now on the loose.”

  “Yes it is, and we are currently doing all that can be done to recapture a creature with far superior technological capability. A creature that is capable of interstellar travel, capable of cloaking its vessel to the point that our very best technology has not yet found a way to track it, and capable of using energy weapons that—as you have seen in previous reports—are capable of devastating an area over a mile in diameter.

  “We currently have several of the creature’s devices in our possession, Senator,” he continued. “Not a perfect score, but for the first time we have the ability to examine some of that extremely advanced technology, and hopefully break it down and merge it with our own.”

  “Which will cost the United States taxpayers approximately how much, General?”

  “That’s not something we can yet estimate,” Woodhurst said, “and it’s not my department.” He smiled as he spoke and then continued, “The benefits could be immeasurable. Whatever the cost, the rewards will justify it.”

  “What sort of rewards?”

  “Soldiers who can move in and out of an area without ever being detected—those are soldiers who come home alive, Senator. They are also soldiers who win conflicts with very minimal losses to either side.”

  Raferty nodded, and the senator’s lower lip pooched out as he considered the words.

  Elizabeth Siegler, the representative who had fought hardest to keep the program afloat in the past, seized the opportunity to speak up.

  “How soon before you can tell us that the Predator has been captured again or killed?”

  “We’re hoping to secure the asset quickly, of course, but I expect we’ll know for certain within the next twenty-four hours.” Woodhurst frowned. “Likely much sooner, as the teams sent for retrieval have tracking devices in place, and were in pursuit within minutes of its escape.”

  When Raferty spoke again his tone was different, accusatory.

  “General, can you explain why you have a need for so much more financing than you’ve requested in the past?”

  Woodhurst carefully avoided showing contempt for so idiotic a question.

  “As has been stated, we now have definitive proof of an extraterrestrial threat,” he said. “We need to train more soldiers to be able to handle that covert challenge, and we need facilities that have been upgraded to allow for better containment and decontamination. Frankly, while we have a facility that currently is capable of handling some of the risks that an alien life form presents, there are other aspects where we can’t be sure we’ll be so lucky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Senator, that what might seem like a common cold to them could well be worse than the Spanish influenza epidemic that took place in 1918. We haven’t yet encountered this problem, but that doesn’t eliminate the possibility. There might be a pathogen that’s so alien to us that it could wipe out huge swaths of the population.” He paused to let that sink in.

  “We need to increase our ability to study any possible biological threats, no matter how insignificant they might seem.” He shrugged. “That’s just the tip of it. Given the extraterrestrial’s cloaking technologies, we may need additional satellites sent up that can properly track any incursion, should the creatures come back here again. Call it an ounce of prevention.”

  Senator Laurel looked grim, and spoke up.

  “Are
you saying that biological weapons are a possibility?”

  “Not yet, not as far as we can tell, but we need to be prepared should these aliens—inadvertently or deliberately—bring a biological disaster down on us. You can see the mask that this thing was wearing; it was attached to a system that likely scrubbed the air. It might even be attached to a separate air supply, though it’s not yet possible for us to tell yet. We still need to dismantle and study the devices in question.”

  They all looked uncomfortable. He was all right with that. They should be. For years they had engaged in theoretical discussions, building scenarios and even preparing for some of them. But until they’d actually captured one of the things, everything had been abstract. The realities were far more sobering.

  The Spanish influenza epidemic had been so bad because the virus mutated and came back to the United States. The nation was completely unprepared for the changes, and in a single year the flu killed fifty million people worldwide. The thought that these aliens might bring something that could jump species was terrifying in the extreme.

  Still…

  “We’re getting off track here,” he said, pressing on. “The fact is, we have aliens coming to this planet. Not just rumors of aliens but actual creatures that have spent their time in the past hunting down and killing human beings. Near as we can tell they’ve done it for sport—no other explanation fits the facts. We need to be able to find and prevent these creatures from ever doing that again. We also need to capture as much of their technology as possible to guarantee that we can defend ourselves. We need, simply put, to know what we are facing and how to deter it.”

  Woodhurst stood and looked at the committee members one at a time, and spoke very carefully.

  “We must also consider that there’s a real chance that their entire reason for exploring our planet, for hunting people down over the years, is to discover if we are ripe for a full-scale attack.”