The coach walked around Danny and vanished down the concrete hall, whistling the Heavy Metal Anthem as he entered the locker room.
Unable to conceive a better way to get inside, Danny clenched his hands into fists and swung with all his force, pummeling the concrete into dust. He threw punches all down the hallway until finally he squeezed into the locker room. About half the team was suiting up, including the all-state Siamese twin linebackers, Bert and Bartholomew Spielman. Everyone went silent as Danny drove to the last row of lockers and began turning his lock to the four dig-its of the combination.
He reached an arm into the locker and pulled out his helmet, jersey, and the rest of his uniform.
That he could no longer wear any of this gear quickly dawned on him. The helmet seemed unimportant. His limbless body was now protected by one ton of manly truck power. Nor did the pants or cleats matter, for he walked on wheels. However, he wanted—nay, needed—his jersey to play. The rules required it, for one. Also, he loved that number thirteen.
Danny went into reverse and headed for Coach Doom’s office. He kicked into four-wheel drive, wheeled up the steps, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Coach Doom yelled.
Danny opened the door. It was impossible for him to actually fit inside the office, so he stood in the doorway, shifting his weight from wheel to wheel.
Doom glanced up from the playbook that sat on the table between the other coaches, the waterboy, and himself. “What is it, Danny?” he said.
“Sir, I can’t fit into my uniform.”
“Is that so?” The coach spat tobacco onto the floor.
“I suppose Dodge makes a sturdy frame. It’d tear a jersey to shreds. What do you think, fellas? I think it’s only the number that matters. What number do you wear, Danny? Thirteen?”
“Yes, thirteen,” Danny said.
“That’s right, all in the number,” said Krallick, the assistant coach.
Coach Doom turned back to the playbook. “Waterboy, fish up some of that crimson spray paint and slather a real menacing thirteen on Danny’s hood.”
The waterboy bowed his head, got up from his chair, and rummaged through the cabinets beneath the rows of coffee pots that gargled on the counter, fixing their single red eyes on Danny.
The waterboy pulled out the spray paint can and shut the cabinet. He approached Danny, shaking the can and keeping his face hidden beneath a cobwebbed tangle of greasy dreadlocks.
Danny closed his eyes when the first layer of paint hit him. It felt cold and slick on his hood, but he realized this meant that not only could he control his body, he was also gaining a sense of feeling. The paint job ended soon enough. Danny inched down the staircase backwards.
“Lookin’ good, wolf boy,” Krallick called from the office.
“Nice accident.”
Since he had no other preparations to make, Danny saw no reason to return to his locker. Instead, he revved his engine and started for the pig pit, where the team gathered before each game to ask the metal gods for a brutal victory. A few of his teammates already knelt in the pit.
They suckled on the pig’s feet protruding from the walls.
Above them, Goyle Flex’s skeleton hung upside-down on a cross made of Country Vampire tongues. Danny suddenly felt giddy. Tonight, he realized, he had a chance to fulfill his childhood dream of being a star player. If he somehow found a way to honor the legend of Goyle Flex in tonight’s game, his own reputation might be set for life.
Danny’s hood opened up and a huge furry tongue unraveled from the engine. It licked at the pig’s feet and they tasted good to Danny.
Chapter Eleven
The Old Time Country Vampires won the coin toss and chose to receive the ball first. The special teams units took the field as Back in Black blared from the massive speakers lining the home side of the stadium. Cheerleaders on each side kicked up their legs and flashed the crowd, all part of their usual kickoff routines.
Despite the cheers he received from the girls out in the parking lot, none of Danny’s teammates had spoken to him. He figured they must be suspicious of his accident, maybe even jealous. Whatever the case, he hoped to prove them wrong soon enough.
Danny drowned out all the surrounding noise by adjusting the volume knob on his radio. He listened to Holy Diver on repeat. It soothed the machine heart that beat nervously beneath his hood.
Kickoff!
The ball sailed across the field. The kick returner waved for a fair catch and caught the ball just shy of the twenty yard line. A referee blew a whistle, beckoning Old Time’s offense and Heavy Metal’s defense onto the field as the special teams units rushed off.
Both teams huddled about ten yards away on opposite sides from where the referee placed the football. Danny stood on the sideline, trying to forget how much the next few hours would change his life.
Chapter Twelve
In the commentary booth:
Biff Bifferson: Here we are at Goyle Stadium for the thirty-first consecutive conference championship between the Heavy Metal High Death Crusaders and the Old Time Country Vampires. It’s been a tragic day for the Death Crusaders. Just this morning, they lost star quarterback Moose Elwood in a fatal accident. Moose’s legend will live on, but all of us will miss him. Replacing Moose at quarterback is Danny the werewolf. Although Danny has only played in scrimmage games, it appears that he showed up prepared to throw down the horns tonight, fresh from a mighty fine accident. And speaking of tragic days, my wife of five years walked out on me this morning. She insists that I drink too much. I say what does she know. I’m a sportswriter with a bad back. My wife, she—
Beelzebub: Biff Bifferson, can we focus on the game?
Biff Bifferson: Oh, right. It’s just my wife. I can’t stop thinking about her, so of course I slipped a few nips of the grain before coming in, if you know what I mean. You know what I mean, don’t you?
Beelzebub: Old Time won the coin toss and called for a fair catch at their own eighteen yard line. The Country Vampires’ offense and Death Crusaders’ defense have taken to the field.
Biff Bifferson: By the way, did you catch Maiden’s tour dates? I swear, Bruce puts the DICK in Dickinson.
Beelzebub: The Vampires are set at the line of scrimmage.
It’s a quick snap. The handoff goes to running back Turbo Ginn. Ginn takes it for a short gain.
Biff Bifferson: Like that pro-STD metal band, Hell’s Crabs. Somebody should tell those cocksuckers that syphilis is never metal.
Beelzebub: Shutup, Biff Bifferson. Starting quarterback for Old Time is Whiskey Nash, who broke Goyle Flex’s state record for passing touchdowns this season. I’ll tell you, I’ve been watching Nash all season and this kid is the real deal. Other starters for the Vampires include running back Turbo, the twelve foot tall bruiser, and wide receiver Marcus Aurelius. Nobody else on the offense scores enough on or off the field for anyone listening in Radioland to care.
Biff Bifferson: What about that Heavy Metal defense, Bub? Tell ‘em about those whippersnappers.
Beelzebub: Leading the defense are the Siamese twin linebackers, Bert and Bartholomew Spielman. Let’s get back to the action on the field.
Biff Bifferson: If I hadn’t been wrong about these things before, I’d swear that duo’s going pro.
Beelzebub: What a pass! Whiskey Nash connects with Marcus Aurelius for a twenty yard gain.