The woman, Rosy, spots the lumbering creature as it nears the crash site. She moves slow and soundlessly with a sureness borne of skill, swapping the gun in her hands for the riffle on her back. She checks the wind and finds herself still downwind of the crash site. Slowly she raises the riffle and sites the creature. Patiently she waits for the right moment, aiming for where she thinks the heart ought to be. Slowly her finger squeezes the trigger until the riffle barks its shot loudly. With any luck (not that she needs it) the creature will be dead before it hears the shot.