John Saul: Creature

They were in for a surprise.

A moment later the center snapped the ball and Jeff faded back, glancing around as if searching for a receiver. Then, tucking the ball under his arm, he ducked his head and charged the line.

Ahead of him the center and both guards had opened up a slot, and Jeff hurled himself toward it. To his left he sensed a flash of movement, but instead of dodging away from it, he threw himself toward it. He saw one of the Fairfield tackles tumble aside. Directly ahead two more Fairfield players were lunging at him, and he knew he was going down. But as one of the guards hurled himself at Jeff's legs, Jeff twisted sharply then let himself collapse, dropping his full 220 pounds onto the much smaller frame of his opponent. Another of the Fairfield players dropped on top of him, and at the same time three of his own teammates joined in the melee. The whistle blew, and Jeff lay still, certain that he had gained at least seven yards on the play. A moment later the players began sorting themselves out and Jeff scrambled to his feet, leaving the ball where it lay.

The player from Fairfield, on whom Jeff had dropped at the moment he was tackled, lay still, and a gasp rose from the crowd. Jeff looked down for a moment, his brow creased into a frown, then dropped to his knees.

"Hey, you okay?"

There was no answer from the other boy, but Jeff could clearly see his open eyes through the bars of his helmet.

He stood up and waved to the Silverdale coach, but Phil Collins was already shouting for a stretcher team. From the other side of the field Bob Jenkins, the Fairfield coach, was racing toward him from the sidelines.

"I saw that!" Jenkins yelled as he dropped to his knees next to his injured player. 'For Christ's sake-he had you! You didn't have to drop on him like that!"

Jeff stared at the Fairfield coach. "I didn't do anything," he protested. "All I did was try to get away from him."

Jenkins only glared at him, then turned his attention to the boy, who still lay unmoving on the ground. "You okay, Ramirez?"

The boy said nothing, and then the stretcher team was there. Two boys from Silverdale started to reach out for the fallen guard, but Jenkins stopped them. "Don't touch him," he said. "I want a doctor. I want to know what's wrong with him before he's moved."

"We've got a doctor right here, and there's an ambulance on its way," Phil Collins said, dropping down onto the grass next to Jenkins. "Can you tell ifanythings broken?"

"How the hell do I know?" Jenkins demanded, his angry eyes fixing on the Silverdale coach. "I'mgonna file a complaint this time, Collins. And I want that player on the bench for the rest of the season."

"Now, cool off, Bob," Collins replied. His fingers began running gently over the injured boy's legs, searching for a break, but he found none. "Your boy's going to be okay. Things like this happen all the time…"

Jenkins seemed about to say something else, but before he could speak, a soft moan drifted from the lips of the boy on the ground, and for the moment the argument was forgotten.

"Is he all right?" CharlotteLaConner asked. She was standing up in the grandstands, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun as she struggled to see what was happening on the field. In the row in front of her Elaine Harris turned and smiled encouragingly.

"He'll be fine," Elaine replied. "He just wound up on the bottom of the heap, and Jeff knocked the breath out of him."

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something else, then changed her mind. The truth of the matter, she knew, was that she just didn't like football. But in Silverdale that was the next thing to treason, and she'd long since learned to go to the games and cheer the home team on. Not that they needed much cheering, since the Silverdale team was one of the best in the state. Last year, in fact, the team had wound up in the state finals and lost by only a single point to a team from Denver.

But why did the game have to be so rough? That's what she didn't understand. It all seemed so pointless to her. All she'd ever been able to make of it was two tides of humanity moving up and down the field in a series of plays that she failed to comprehend, much less enjoy. Still, Jeff loved the game, and since he'd become the quarterback last year, her husband had become almost a fanatic. Even she had to admit there wasn't much else to do in Silverdale, so it was easy to understand why the whole town always turned out for the games, particularly since the team was very nearly certain to win. Indeed, she sometimes wondered if the town was so fanatic because the Wolverines were so good or if the team was so good because the town was so crazy about the game. But, it was a violent, dangerous game, and the clash of bodies on the field sometimes made her shudder. Now, as an ambulance came onto the field, her attention shifted back to the boy who still lay inert on the grass.

It wasn't just that he got the wind knocked out of him- they wouldn't have called an ambulance for that. When Jeff fell on him, he must have gotten seriously hurt. Without thinking, she squeezed hard on her husband's hand, and ChuckLaConner, knowing what was in her mind, returned the gesture.

"It wasn'tanybodys fault," he assured her. "It's just the breaks of the game, and you've got to get used to it."

But Charlotte shook her head. "I'll never get used to it," she replied. "Can't we leave now?"

Chuck stared at her as if she'd spoken in a foreign language. "Leave? Honey, it's the first game of the year, and your son's the star. How can you want to leave?"

"But it's over, isn't it?"

"Still a minute and a half to go," he told her with an affectionate grin. "They stopped the clock at the end of the play. Look."

Charlotte gazed out at the field, and sure enough, the injured boy had been put into the ambulance. As the ambulance left, the crowd shouted out a cheer for the fallen player. Then, almost as if nothing had happened, the two teams took up their positions for the final plays of the game.

On the last play JeffLaConner hurled a forty-yard pass for a final touchdown, and was carried off the field on his teammates' shoulders as Silverdale's supporters, their cheers a roar, rushed down from the bleachers to congratulate their heroes.

In the stands Jeff's mother remained frozen in place. What, she wondered, counted for more? The fact that Silverdale had won? Or the fact that one of the Fairfield boys was now in the hospital?

It was Elaine Harris who finally provided her with the answer. "What are you doing still up here?" she asked, smiling broadly at Charlotte. "It's Jeff's big moment. Go down and congratulate him!"

With Chuck shouting happily and half pulling her through the crowd, Charlotte went down to tell her son how proud she was of him.

Except that she wasn't really sure she was all that proud.

"How do you do it?" Elaine Harris asked Sharon Tanner an hour later. The two women were alone in the Tanners' kitchen, searching through a box of towels clearly marked everyday china, in the vain hope of finding coffee cups. Their husbands were in the living room, already discussing business, and Mark had taken Linda Harris outside to show her the rabbit hutch, with Kelly tagging along. Robb had not yet shown up, having gone out with the rest of the team for a celebratory hamburger in violation of their training diets. "You don't look a day older than you did three years ago," she went on, eyeing Sharon's svelte figure with undisguised envy. "And I suppose your hair's still its natural color, too, isn't it?"

Sharon chuckled. "As natural as it ever was. Nobody has natural auburn hair, and you know it. And you haven't changed either."

Elaine shrugged amiably and patted her hips. "If you call twenty extra pounds 'not changing,' I thank you. But I decided that if Jerry doesn't care, I don't either, so I eat what I want, and the hell with it." Then her expression turned serious. "Mark hasn't changed either, has he," she said, almost tentatively.