Scott Sigler - The Rookie

Hawick’s raspers rolled and unrolled involuntarily, over and over again.

“ Do you understand ?”

“Yes,” Hawick chirped.

Pine nodded once. “On three, on three, ready…”

The Krakens lined up in a pro-set, Quentin five yards behind Pine and two yards to his left, Tom Pareless five yards behind Pine and two yards to his right. Warburg lined up at left tight end, and Scarborough split left. Wide right, all alone, stood Hawick, still shaking. The defensive backs keyed on Hawick’s shake — Toronto called a defensive audible. The backs shifted: Toronto moved up one yard off Hawick for woman-to-woman coverage, while Volgograd lined up ten yards behind her — Hawick was facing double coverage.

“Red, twelve!” Pine shouted. “Red, twelve. ”

Alonzo jumped forward after the call, lining up over the left guard and showing blitz. If he came, he was Quentin’s responsibility. Alonzo stood quickly and pointed at Quentin.

“Here it comes, pretty-boy! Here comes the hurt!” Alonzo squatted, fists shaking with adrenaline rage, eyes wide as a nocturnal predator.

“Hut-huuuut… hut! ”

Pine took the snap and dropped back smooth as silk. Quentin stepped forward, with one step to the left, legs bent and hands up in front of him. The left defensive tackle drove towards the center as Alonzo took a small step back and moved quickly to his right, away from center.

A linebacker stunt , Quentin thought.

The slashing defensive tackle drew blocks from both Sho-Do-Thikit, the left guard, and Bud-O-Shwek, the center. Warburg blocked the defensive end. Alonzo stepped up through the sudden opening, coming free and unobstructed like a rabid bearcat.

Block him or Pine goes down , Quentin thought quickly as he stepped up and leaned forward. Alonzo bent forward at the exact same moment, bringing his right arm forward in a vicious undercut. Quentin recognized the rip-move at the last second — Alonzo would power by his right side and have a free shot at Pine. Quentin lunged to his right, desperately trying to correct his mistake. Alonzo hit him with all of his considerable strength, driving his rip move from his feet through his thick thighs to his powerful arm, all with a strong twist of the hips to make the move as concussive as a heavyweight’s knockout uppercut. Quentin was off-balance from his desperate dive, and without his feet planted he had no strength to counter the move — Alonzo’s forearm hit him under the chin, lifting him off his feet and knocking him backwards. Quentin saw nothing but bright lights and felt a quick tug on his chin before his helmet spun through the air like a decapitated head. He landed on his butt and rolled backwards, feet-over-head. The world whirled around him, a blur of green grass and red leg armor. He felt a foot kick him in the ribs, then the weight of another player landing on top of him. Quentin rolled backwards one more time, then lay flat — there was a ringing in his ears.

But there was also a roar.

A roar of the crowd.

Suddenly a hand grabbed his, yanking him to his feet.

“Great block, kid!” Pine said, shaking Quentin’s shoulders as he screamed in his face. “We got ‘em!”

“Wha…” Quentin stammered.

“Touchdown, kid, touchdown !”

Quentin felt something in his mouth. He spit — his front right tooth landed in a clot of blood, red-and-white on green.

That thing is never going to heal right , Quentin thought as he limped off the field.

“THAT’S GOT TO BE the greatest catch I’ve ever seen, Masara!”

“Amazing! Amazing! Let’s see the replay on this.”

“Hawick is double-covered from the get-go, Masara. Watch the move she puts on Toronto to get clear, but then she’s still got Volgograd in woman-to-woman. She’s totally covered.”

“But if she’s double-covered, why would Pine throw that ball, Chick? He just put it up for grabs!”

“He knows his players, Masara. He’s always known his players. Watch Hawick go up in the air. Check the live analysis, Masara — the computer says she jumped twenty-three feet in the air.”

“She jumped like her life depended on it.”

“Something like that, Masara. But Volgograd is known for her leaping ability, and she actually got a hand on the ball. But watch Hawick rip it away from her! She went after that ball like a hooker diving after a tight-wad trick!”

“Chick! for crying out loud—”

“Sorry, Masara, and sorry, folks at home, but watch her come down with it — she hit the ground upside down, and still held onto the ball.”

“And there you have it, the High Priestess of the Church of Donald Pine puts the Krakens up by two touchdowns, and we’re still in the first quarter.”

QUENTIN WOKE with a start, the smell of something acidic and horrible filling his nostrils. He twisted his face to avoid the stench, which seemed to follow his nose. He blinked a few times, and saw that Doc was waving something in his face.

“Knock it off!” Quentin said, pushing Doc’s tentacle away. He looked around. He was on the sidelines. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Quentin started to shake his head, and realized too late just how much that hurt. “No, I don’t.”

“You ran a sweep right and tried to cut back — Chok-Oh-Thilit beat his block and laid you out.”

“A sweep right?”

“Yes,” Doc said.

“When?”

“First drive of the second quarter.”

“Second… the first quarter is over?”

Doc floated up to look Quentin in the eye. “You don’t remember the first quarter?”

Quentin shrugged. “Some of it.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Hawick’s touchdown.”

“Quentin, you carried the ball five times for sixteen yards after that. You don’t remember?”

Quentin thought for a second, then shrugged. “Nope, not a thing.” His head throbbed as if a miniature Ki were in his brain, whipping jointed limbs to and fro in a dance of destructed grey matter. If felt like someone was jabbing a screwdriver into the right side of his jaw. He gingerly touched there — no screwdriver, at least, but he couldn’t be certain about the miniature Ki. The tip of his tongue played with the space where his missing right front tooth should have been.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“How many tentacle tips am I holding up?”

Quentin squinted. At first he saw four tentacle tips, then his vision cleared and the tentacle tips blended together into a solid shape.

“Two.”

“Good,” Doc said, patting Quentin on the shoulder pad. “You’re ready to go back in.” Doc floated away.

“That’s what you think,” Quentin muttered, looking at the ground. He definitely did not feel ready to go back in. He noticed the right side of his orange jersey was stained with blood. Only then did he notice a tingling along his ribs. Left hand told the story: right-side rib armor ripped half away, temporarily patched with bulkhead tape. He slid his fingers under the shoddy repair job and felt the familiar texture of a nanocyte bandage.

He saw a tiny pair of yellow-furred feet, and looked up into the eye of Hokor the Hookchest.

“Great job out there, Barnes,” Hokor said. “You ready for more?”

Quentin nodded. Just once, because nodding yes hurt as much as shaking no. “Just give me the ball Coach.”

“Good, good! Well, you’re going to get the ball now. We’re up 14-0 so we want to keep the ball on the ground as much as possible and chew up clock. You ready to take some hits?”

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t taken some already?”

“Whatever you do, hold onto the ball. ” Hokor walked back to the edge of the field. The Krakens defense was on the field, but Quentin didn’t have the energy to get up and watch. Quentin took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh — he had at least one more half of this to go.