Predator Hawkin's death

In a second the alien’s weapon ripped through Hawkins’s throat and shot out the other side. The impact sent the Irishman hurling backward till he landed with a sickening crash in the undergrowth thirty feet away. Anna was left prostrate on the ground, covered with the commando’s blood.

Shaking uncontrollably, she crawled on her hands and knees to the side of the alley and crouched in a heap against a bamboo trunk, sobbing like a lost child. She started biting the ends of her fingers like a psychotic, her face ghost white as she stared at the shredded track of turf where Hawkin’s body had shot across the ground.

She began to pray, after a fashion. The words drooled out of her and made no sense, but the sound was the sound she’d made in the convent, murmuring among the nuns twenty years ago. Her white-dress first communion god seemed very far away, but it was the only god she knew.

Behind the cover of the bushes where Hawkins had disappeared, arms and legs flailing like a broken puppet, head barely hanging from his body by shreds of torn cartilege, the alien dispassionately hooked its third spurred finger into the Irishman’s leg like a meat hook. Then it dragged the body off through the jungle, limp as a fallen deer.

   The Predator (1987 novelization), chapter 9