Predator If It Bleeds 22

"Let me do it," Conroy said. "Let me fight next." Pope put a hand on Husker John's chest and said, "Go ahead, Conroy. Kill the son of a bitch." Instead of heading to the center, Conroy went to his motorcycle, kicked it to life, then drove slowly toward the center. He had a spear in his right hand. Another human-sized Yautja moved to the center; this one wore metal claws as well.

Conroy gunned his motorcycle toward his opponent, who easily stepped aside. Then Conroy stopped, gunned the engine without moving, which caused the back tire to spin madly, eating through the grass and dirt until it was showering the Yautja in the face. Conroy took off, traveled for twenty feet, spun the motorcycle one hundred and eighty degrees, and gunned it again. Pope had seen nothing like it. It was as if Conroy were using the motorcycle like a horse.

The Yautja was wiping at its face with the backs of its hands, trying to get the dirt out of its eyes and mouth when Conroy's spear entered its chest and pushed through. Instead of continuing on the motorcycle, Conroy held onto the spear and let the machine continue without him. It wobbled a bit, ran about a dozen yards, then hit a giant rock, fell over and died. Conroy drove the Yautja to the ground, pinning it therebwith the spear. Then he pulled a skinning knife from his belt and began to furiously stab the warrior, his hand rising and falling over and over. Husker John pumped a fist in the air.

But Pope held his breath. Then it happened. The Yautja, probably with the last of its strength, brought its right arm around and embedded the claws in the side of Conroy's face. Conroy screamed with equal parts surprise and anger, then the Yautja pulled him down into an embrace. Then nothing, as both of them died.-pg.120-121 chpt.4