The Predator observed its prey below through glassy eyes, soaring overhead with both stealth and menace. It was ready to feast on the flesh and meat of animals crossing over dunes of sand who were as yet unaware of an enemy presence coasting the breeze above them. The sun was creeping closer to the horizon and darkness would make the hunt more challenging, however the kill had all the promise of being a simple one, as the travelers on the ground had no shelter in which to hide and the mountains were still more than a mile away. The Predator stayed focused on the task at hand and prepared to attack.
The Prey were not far from home. They, too, possessed a predatory nature and were gradually crossing the spit of wasteland to share their food with the rest of the pack, coagulating blood still staining their flesh. The worn and weary of their family lay in wait within the bleak walls of a cavern which had become their home since they had been forced from the previous shelter by a group of panthers on the hunt. Fresh meat, however little there was, would be welcomed by voracious appetites and deflated bellies.
Survival instinct be damned, there were other motivating factors behind the Predator’s hunt. A need to prove its power and worth…fear of losing its own life…a craving for blood and victory which could be sated only temporarily were what drove the mighty creature. The terror instilled upon others by it could not be lessened, the great beast could not back down from the methods it had long ago established, for doing so would surely mean surrender and, possibly, death. The thought of relinquishing its place in the food chain had never occurred to it, simply because that was all it had ever known.
The winged killer again studied the scene below and decided the time was right. It swooped silently down toward its prey and prepared to kill.
The Prey were almost to the foot of the mountain when their ears were marred by a shrill scream bellowing from the lungs of the elder. Legs hunched and hearts gulped as eyes darted about to identify the danger. The enemy often came from above and that’s where they found it, descending from a burning dusk sky with mighty wings and a distant heart. Its silent approach betrayed them just as their trusted friend had in the village.
The fresh blood of American soldiers that patched their bodies mixed with their own as death came hurtling from the Predator in the form of chemical explosive and steel. Their hair and flesh were aflame and the odor of poison and gasoline burned their lungs. The tires on the caravan’s leader were propelled from the truck’s body and rolled toward the skyline. Rounds of ammunition exploded as the fire ignited the powder within and sprayed lead into sand and metal and men. Those who were able wailed a final salute to their brethren before vanishing into death, their souls stirred with the thought of soon meeting Allah and his vestal comrades.
Within seconds the Prey had been compacted into charred fragments. The remains of food and supplies they carried were whisked away by a gentle breeze stirred in the wake of the passing Predator. All that remained on the desert floor were vestiges of life and a history of murder.
Victorious cheers erupted from the cold confines of a fortress buried deep within the sands of another desert seven thousand miles away on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Inside, the Predator’s pilot and crew were congratulating each other on another successful strike against the enemy. Buried even deeper in the desert were uneasy feelings made difficult by guilt and conscience. The Pilot, his Sensor Op, and the Director disguised their reticence and iniquity with grins and hearty slaps. They turned the cockpit over to the morning crew, who blessed them with the idea that they would all sleep well that day thanks to their success, then returned home to confront dreams plagued with uncertainty and horror.
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