Predator twenty yards

And suddenly, there in the low grass about twenty yards away, was the alien, standing clear, for the first time making no attempt to disguise itself from view. It had discarded its hawk disguise and returned to its normal humanoid form—a creature who seemed from Anna’s vantage to be nearly as tall as the trees. Its cobra skin swirled with color. Its masklike face appeared to be peeling away from its great golden honeycomb eyes. It waved its weapon above its head in silent communion with the warrior stars of deep space. Its Darwinian battle with an equal was engaged at last.

The sight of it was so horrifying that Anna nearly blacked out. Her brute survivor’s instinct was the only thing that kept her sane, and the impact of the monster was such as to temporarily erase her blood rivalry with the soldiers. In an instant man against man had turned to man against devil. Her eyes went wide with shock, and her mouth fell slack. She tried to whimper a warning to the Irishman. Hawkins figured she was scared he’d shoot her.

“Listen, sweetass,” he said, “don’t give us any more shit, okay? You’re not dead yet, and neither are we. Let’s keep it that way, huh?”

She didn’t hear a word of it as she limply held out a hand, pointing down the bamboo alley at the alien as it flared its weapon to life. “Look . . . look out . . . behind you,” she gasped in breathless Spanish.

Hawkins assumed she was pulling a stunt to divert his attention, yet he saw the real terror in her eyes and heard the shiver in her halting tone. He turned slightly to glance over his shoulder while still covering the girl. As he did so he saw a weird blur, the mottled outline of the creature looming toward them, its saber wheeling in the air above its head.

It seemed as if the entire wall of the jungle were caving in as the alien covered the distance like a bolt of lightning. Anna and Hawkins froze at the sight and instinctively shrank toward each other. But there was no real time to react in thought, let alone in action, though Hawkins managed to fire one lonely misguided bullet which whizzed off uselessly into the seething sky. It was to be his final defense.

In a second the alien’s weapon ripped through Hawkins’s throat and shot out the other side.

   The Predator (1987 novelization), chapter 9