They heard the stomp of the heavy-footed creature before they saw it. It was in the shadows, heading straight for them, getting rapidly closer. It must be huge, Shelby thought. It wasn't running, didn't need to, but a man would have to run to keep up at the speed it was approaching. Yet its feet pounded at a regular, walking pace.

And then the two men saw it, and their gun-hands drooped.

The airbase was dark, but it was darker; a black shape that made the shadows look grey by contrast. And Shelby was right. It was huge. Before it even stepped out into the spotlight, its mammoth form came into view. When it was a hundred yards away, Shelby rubbed a nervous sweat out of one eye, and in that split second looking out of only one eye, he got a false perspective of the creature. If it had been right in front of him, it would have been the size of a man. But it was still far away.

Then it reached the furthest reaches of the spotlight, which cast a fainter glow in a wide halo around the confines of the blazing core of the beam.

"Jesus," Shelby heard Hanlon utter.

Run, Jack, run! A voice inside his head cried. It was Malakov's voice. But neither Shelby nor Hanlon could move. They were transfixed.

The creature came into the angled core of the spotlight's beam without slowing. The blazing white light seemed to pan up its body gradually as it got closer and closer. It was humanoid, more so than any monkey or gorilla.

First its feet came into view. Bare, rough, speckled, with thick, gnarled black talons at the end of each digit like the claws of a dinosaur. Its thick, muscular, trunk-like legs were protected with metal and leather shin-guards, knee-guards. Shelby watched the muscles in its legs pumping like pistons in a machine.

Across its waist was slashed a loincloth. The leather flapped over its groin and the top of its legs. Its belly was as bare as the rest of it, but it was then that Shelby noticed the grid-like pattern across its entire body was not a tattoo, or natural markings, but some kind of netting. This was tight-fitting over the rest of its earthy brown flesh, but around its well-defined stomach, it was looser.

Its arms came into view next. They were nearly as thick as its legs. Its hands, or paws - Shelby couldn't decide which - were large enough to clasp a man's head and snap it off - and looked strong enough, too. It had dark claws, like those at the end of its toes, and wore a knuckle-duster ring on each phalange. Attached to each wrist were more metallic constructions, bound with leather.

As Shelby watched, twin blades swished out of one of its wrist-contraptions, reflecting a sparkle of light. Then with the other hand it reached back, over an armoured shoulder and brought forth a thick, ornately-decorated cylindrical block. In less than a second, this cylindrical block had extended itself into a spear as long as Shelby was tall. Each end was sharpened to a terrible point.

And finally it stepped into the blazing white light, head and all. But it didn't look like Hanlon's PoW drawing. Its face was hidden behind a mask. It was a blank, black, metal mask, fitted to the contours of its head; like a gas-mask and helmet in one, thought Shelby. It had two gauzed-over slits for eyeholes. Pouring out from the sides of the mask were oily black snakes of dreadlocked hair.

And still it kept on coming.

Move it, soldier! Another voice cried inside Shelby's head. But it wasn't Malakov's. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. A young, innocent voice of a man who still embraced a hopeful future for the world. It was the voice of Lieutenant Jack Shelby of the United States Marine Corps, and as soon as Shelby realised, he was back in Tokuyama - and the Japs were coming for his men.

Without thinking, Shelby hoisted his gun and fired.

Only then did the creature slow. Shelby caught it in the chest, shoulder and groin. It gave another almighty howl. Each time it staggered back, but the recoil didn't stop it coming. From behind its mask came an enraged hissing sound.

It was coming especially for him now.

Shelby kept on firing, was going to empty the clip into Li's killer, aimed at its head, but the bullets just rebounded off the metal mask.

For a brief second, in which the pain drove him to such surreal thoughts, Shelby thought it was this rebounded bullet that caught him in the shoulder. And then, as his head smacked the hard, frozen turf beside the railway tracks, he heard the echo of another gun ricocheting around the abandoned train yard, and looked up at the freight carriage, and saw Hanlon looking at the creature - but aiming at him.

"I'm going to try and capture it, Jack," he said.

Hanlon's face was calm, but filled with wonder, and there were crease-lines across his forehead where he was thinking how to do this.

Shelby felt vomit rise into his throat, turned onto his side, spat it out, and saw the creature, not two dozen yards away, moving faster than ever. Or perhaps it just seemed that way. Shelby tensed those muscles in his arms, grabbed at the wound. He could survive that injury, but the creature was still coming for him.

It had hunched into an attack posture. Its head was down, its legs wide. It held the extended spear in both hands, and it was already pointing it at Shelby.

Shelby saw Malakov's gun, a yard away. He reached with his arm, and pain shot right from his fingers, deep into his chest, and he cried out. He reached out with his foot. He had to lean onto his wounded shoulder. He bit down, gritting his teeth together, and tears came to his eyes from the sheer excruciating pain of it.

But now the gun was within his reach. He checked the clip. One shot. So much for them all having Hanlon's name on them. The creature would be on him in seconds. He aimed at Hanlon instead. Fired.

Missed.

Hanlon shot him a shocked look, as if he was the one that had been betrayed, and Shelby couldn't help but laugh.

Hanlon aimed at him.

Well, at least it'll be quick, thought Shelby.

But Hanlon's gun was empty.

"Shit!" he cried, and threw the gun from the train. He glared once more at his would-be executioner, then disappeared inside the alien craft.

Shelby felt a chill air brush over him, and realised he was feeling the creature, feeling the air it displaced. He lifted his head, stared into its metal face. It speeded up, lifted the spear over its shoulder; it was bearing down on him.

"Jack... Jack..."

Shelby was hearing Malakov's voice again.

"Jack... move, Jack..."

But then he realised it wasn't just in his mind. He jerked his head back and saw Malakov lying in the darkness at the base of the sentry tower. He still looked dead, motionless - but that was not the position Shelby had left the body in.

Malakov seemed to be reaching out to him.

All of a sudden, the marine in Shelby remembered what he had said to the KGB agent: after you've been shot once, you learn how to cope with it a second time. And Shelby had been shot before, in the arm, during the war, before the Tokuyama mission. So what the fuck are you doing just lying there? The voice of Lieutenant Shelby hollered in his ears. You're not dead yet, mister.

The creature's next stomp was so close, Shelby felt the vibration. And as the creature's spear whistled down, Shelby used all his strength to roll sideways, out of the spear's trajectory. He rolled once, twice, slammed into the wheels of the carriage with his wounded shoulder. The pain was so intense it almost blinded him. But he opened his eyes, saw the creature had buried its spear a foot into the ground, right where he had been lying a moment or two before.

The creature tried tugging the spear out, couldn't, glared at Shelby, gave another howl that tore at the human's eardrums, then abandoned the spear and swung at him with those long, sharp blades attached to its wrist.

Shelby gasped, flipped onto his front instantly. There was a gap between the wheels, and space beneath the carriage.

Well, space for him.

The creature swung again, but it was too late. Shelby reached the gap, still half-crawling, half-wriggling, and used both hands to grab one of the wheels and pull himself beneath the carriage. He barely felt any pain in his arm.

Those wrist-blades came down behind him, catching his trousers at the ankle as he slipped beneath the carriage. Shelby tore his leg away, out of the way, ripping his clothes. The blades were so sharp, the fabric split apart with ease.

Shelby didn't stop. The carriage, which had seemed so large from outside, didn't seem wide enough from beneath it. The creature lunged with its blades, blindly sweeping its fist under the carriage, groping through the space, only narrowly missing Shelby. It was growling and hissing more feverishly than before. It lunged again and again, but Shelby crawled to the far side of the carriage, where the creature couldn't reach him through the gap between the wheels.

For a second, the creature gave up.

Then it adopted a new tactic, and started stalking around the edge of the carriage, testing out all the different angles, trying to reach Shelby as best it could. Shelby twisted and turned beneath the carriage, breathing hard, watching the creature's stomping feet, so that he could always see which direction it would come at him from next. The carriage was so low above Shelby's head, he couldn't rise up more than a few inches off his chest.

He found what he thought was a safe spot behind a series of four wheels, all in a row. But when he stayed still too long, the creature fed its hand through the gaps, the spokes in the rusty wheel, and almost caught him.

It stomped around the carriage so fast that Shelby couldn't turn quickly enough. It nicked his leg. But those blades were so sharp, Shelby didn't even feel the pain as his flesh was sliced open. He didn't even realise until the wound began to burn with the hotness of nerve damage, then he pulled the leg away, and retreated into the centre of the carriage, where the creature couldn't reach him from any angle.

Or so he thought. Letting out another ravenous howl, the creature returned to the gap between the wheels that Shelby had used to escape it. Then it dropped onto its belly and scrabbled forward after him. But it couldn't get very far. Its hefty chest-plates, splattered with its luminous green blood, both fresh and old stains, got wedged between the two wheels. The only way was back.

But the creature didn't give up straight away. Shelby slipped back, retreating as far from its rabid slashing as he could.

The eye-slits of the blank metal face looked right at him, and from behind the mask came yet another howl, this time more enraged than ever. Shelby could imagine the face of that thing from Hanlon's PoW drawing, reptilian eyes popping out with fury, copious amounts of foamy spittle flying from its flappy mouth.

The creature made a couple more attempts, then gave up its quarry. With a surprising amount of grace for something so large, so furious, it slid out from beneath the train. As it pushed itself to its feet however, the edge of its mask caught on the edge of the train, and was jarred, like a knocked-out tooth.

The creature stood up, but its mask fell off, fell to the ground just beside the train, fell with a dull, heavy thump, and settled instantly. The creature stood there for a moment. Shelby watched its legs, watched its mask.

But then the legs disappeared, and the mask remained.

Shelby turned, slowly. He kept turning, spinning round on his chest, twisting his shirt around his waist as he squirmed. But the legs had completely vanished.

For the first time, his heart actually began to throb with fear. It had been beating fast, for sure, but now his chest tightened, the adrenaline eked into his veins and fear began to get a hold of him. When he could see the creature, his mind was that of the old soldier within him; he could react to everything it did. But now he couldn't see its legs, didn't know where it was, the soldier was gone from him.

Shelby shuffled back into the centre of the carriage, wary of it coming round the other side, but the legs were nowhere to be seen. It had stopped stalking around the edge of the carriage. The creature had given up on him!

It was when Shelby heard Hanlon's muffled scream that he realised where the creature had gone instead.

And it was when Shelby jerked upward in shock, bumping his head into the soft block of explosive that Malakov had attached to the underside of the freight carriage, and that Hanlon had missed - that he had an idea.

Had the idea.

The hunter stood in the opening to his ship.

The intruder was cowering at the back, looking around the place if he was expecting to find another way out. He was breathing rapidly, but without his mask the hunter just saw a red form, shaking violently, occasionally whimpering.

The hunter had lost his net, lost all his trophies. He was able to leave this planet now, but he had nothing to show for his time here. He would need some more trophies. The skull of this one would do for a start.

The human collapsed onto his knees as the hunter approached. The hunter grabbed him by the shoulder, almost tore his arm off hauling him to his feet. The human screamed shrilly. The hunter had skinned plenty of his species, and thought he could tell the genders apart, but when they screamed, they all sounded the same.

He turned his fist knuckle-downwards and drove the wrist-blades into the intruder's belly. The human gave a final energetic scream, which quickly dissipated, and the hunter opened his fist. His palm filled with warm, red blood.

The body fell limp at the end of his grip.

The hunter withdrew both blades and, holding the corpse by the back of its scalp, snapped the head back to expose the throat. In a swift slashing motion, he severed the neck. The body flopped to the ground, leaving only the head in the hunter's grasp. He turned it over, examining the contours, the bone-structure.

Yes, a fine trophy this would make.

Shelby crept back toward the gap between the two wheels slowly, holding his breath and listening to the squalid sounds of Hanlon in his death throes. He was glad the man was dead, but he began to feel a degree of pity for him as he listened to what followed: the squelching, the tearing of flesh, and the bone-crunching.

When Shelby reached the gap between the wheels he pushed himself up on his hands until his back was against the underside of the carriage. Then he got his legs back under him for some leverage. When it was time to go, he didn't want to waste precious moments just getting to his feet again.

The noises ceased, and Shelby listened more intently. There was a good chance, he realised, that the creature would come back for him. He should have gone when he had the chance. Even if he made it out from under the train, he'd seen how fast that creature could move. It would catch him in -

You stow that shit, soldier!

Shelby didn't know whose voice it was shouting at him now, but as he peered out between the wheels of the carriage, he thought he saw Malakov's body move. No, he knew he saw Malakov's body move. His arm moved.

Now Shelby knew it.

Malakov was still alive.

That's all Shelby needed to know; to know that, if he survived this, if he won this battle, he wouldn't be alone, alone miles from civilisation, a thousand miles from home, and without an ally or friend in the entire world.

But there was silence.

This wasn't a good thing. At least when the creature was making a noise, even if it was making a noise hacking the traitorous Hanlon to pieces, Shelby could tell where it was. He held his breath again, listening.

Somewhere, just above him, there was a quiet whooshing sound, of something smooth sliding against something cushioned, Shelby thought.

He listened, actually trying to make an effort to listen harder, as if he might hear more clearly if he strained the muscles in his ears. But no, nothing. Just silence again. Shelby began to breathe again, needed to.

Then the carriage began to hum.

Shelby took his hand off the metal wheel in shock. When he touched it, a subsonic vibration seemed to travel the length of his arm, and sound inside his head, bypassing his ears altogether. He put his hand back on the wheel.

The hum, the vibration, was getting stronger.

Soon he didn't have to touch the wheel. He could feel the entire carriage vibrating all around him at an incredible speed. And then he could see it, too.

Shelby didn't know what this was, but he got a shrinking feeling inside his colon that it was probably best if he got the fuck out of here.

The time was now.

Shelby shuffled out from under the carriage, looked quickly around. The first thing he saw was the opening in the alien craft - as in, it had gone. Then he realised what was happening, what this vibration meant.

Sure enough, the engines of the ship were starting to glow to such a bright orange that the light emanating from them was intense enough to shed light on the not-so-dead Malakov, lying more than a hundred yards away.

Shelby scrambled to his feet, and almost ran headfirst into the creature's spear, which was still stuck in the ground, erect and immovable. The vibrations were so strong now he could feel them through the earth. So Shelby ran, ran full pelt toward Malakov, who may or may not have been alive, but wasn't moving.

The engines of the alien ship coughed, and vented out great jets of hissing steam. Well, this thing did crash in the water, Shelby thought. A pity it didn't sink, another voice added, and it sounded a lot like Shun Li.

As he reached Malakov and leapt over his still form, the engines of the craft began to roar, and glowed to a brilliant white. The sound deafened Shelby, and the light was so bright it cancelled out that of the spotlight shining down on it. Shelby pretty much guessed if this thing took off, he'd be incinerated.

Turning Malakov over, the Russian, who looked pale and weary, maybe a little drunk in appearance, mouthed something unintelligible.

"Where's the trigger?" Shelby hollered.

But the sound of the engines was too strong. Malakov couldn't hear. Shelby started rifling through his pockets. The agent slapped at him weakly.

Nothing. There was nothing there.

Shelby looked up, looked up at the ladder, the ladder to the sentry tower, and it looked a mile high. He looked at the alien ship. It was about to take off.

Ignoring his pain once more - and Shelby was sure he would pay for this when he was old and wrinkly and lived on Coney Island - Shelby threw himself at the ladder, and pulled himself up it so rapidly he made himself giddy.

And there was the remote detonator, lying on the floor, dropped at the same time as the radio perhaps, and kicked into the corner.

Shelby grabbed it with fumbling hands, scrambled to wobbly feet, threw himself against the side of the parapet and looked at the alien craft.

"You're going nowhere," Shelby hissed.

Then he flipped open the cover and pressed the trigger.

For a brief moment, the alien ship lifted up of its own accord. And then the freight carriage heaved beneath it on a bed of flame, and caught up with it, would have overtaken it, but instead collided with it in spectacular fashion.

A second later, the alien craft's engines exploded, tearing the beetle-like ship into innumerable pieces - that promptly vanished, consumed by an expanding conflagration of burgeoning fire. Shelby had thought the engines had been bright, but this light was blinding. He ducked down, covering his head.

The heat blast reached him a moment later. Flame danced momentarily across him and the sentry tower, but was extinguished a second later with the vacuum of the air blast. Everything was left smoking, singed, but intact.

As he picked himself up, the remains of the freight carriage were raining down in great shards of shattered wood and twisted metal. There was a great big hole where the end of the railway tracks had been before. Flaming remains of the carriage littered the vicinity, whilst bits of the alien ship continued to explode.

Shelby stood and watched, breathless. When the fires finally started to die down, Shelby realised he no longer needed the spotlight to see, and shut it off. A dull dawn was rising over the horizon, but it felt like it would be a calm day.

It was then that Shelby remembered Malakov.

He started down the ladder, but it was slow going. All of a sudden he began to feel the pain in his arm, and it was intense, as if he was receiving in arrears what he hadn't felt before. By the time he reached Malakov, he was numb, stiff.

"Anton?" he said, dropping to his knees.

Malakov was looking very white, his lips even slightly blue, but he opened his eyes and looked at Shelby, and his pupils were focussed.

"You did it?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah. I did it."

Malakov smiled. "You should join my agency."

"Hanlon said the same thing."

"He said you should join the KGB?"

Shelby sighed. "No."

Malakov grinned. "It's okay. I'm joking, Jack."

Shelby laughed curtly, took a deep breath.

"And Jack, what you said," Malakov went, staggering his words. "About being shot, more than once, learning to cope. I think it's bullshit."

Shelby laughed again.

"But I don't want you to prove it either way."

"Then may I suggest a change of career?" said Shelby.

Malakov joined him laughing, even though his guffaws were painful splutters.

They were still laughing when the creature let out a merciless roar.

NOTES:
Okay, so things took longer than I had expected, and this isn't the end of the story, after all. There are few more loose ends to tie up, not least of which is how the Predator managed to survive. Implausible, perhaps, but a double-ending is par for the course and to leave one out would have been potentially disappointing. I know having Shelby defeat the Predator without any recourse to hand-to-hand fighting would be anti-climactic. Rest assured that the Predator won't have escaped the explosion with all his faculties intact, and that Shelby will get a fairer, more equal fight because of it. Is that spoiling the ending? Okay, then, well, how about this: the Predator wins, and Shelby dies. Now you'll still be surprised by what happens!