Predator Concrete Jungle 14

And if that glowing stuff was the creature's blood, and not just the equivalent of hydraulic fluid for its gadgets, Schaefer thought, it was hurt. If it could bleed, it could die. He came up fast, as fast as he could, combat knife in his hand, and the blade punched through the thing's mesh and into its grayish flesh.

"This is for Dutch!" Schaefer shouted.

The sound was muffled; his hearing was still shot. The creature roared in pain, and that, too, was dull, almost inaudible. Before Schaefer could even think about dodging, its foot came up and kicked him away, hard. The knife stayed in its side.

So he ran and hoped that the thing would be too busy with the knife wound to come after him right away. He figured that while it was distracted, he could get back to the mules and put together enough firepower to handle the son of a bitch-even with the auto shotgun gone, there was plenty more in that case from Hanson at the DEA. Then his foot slipped, and he caught himself at the last second.
He'd lost track of where he was, which way he was going, and had just come within inches of charging right off a cliff into the river.

"Oh, shit!" he said, and he still couldn't hear his own voice.

And before he could step back, the thing's claw closed on his head from behind, its fingers over his the long black talons digging into his cheeks.-pg.141-142 chpt.18