“Just take a knee,” Pine said, more to himself than anyone else.
The ball descended as the Krakens’ special teamers formed up into the wall.
Thunk, the ball dropped down in Richfield’s arms at the very back edge of the end zone. She looked up, hesitated for half a second, then ripped forward at a dead sprint.
“No!” Pine said.
Quentin just watched.
Earthlings “wall-breakers” smashed into the Krakens’ wedge at the 10-yard-line. Bodies flew in all directions. Richfield ran up into the wall and disappeared amongst the carnage.
“Well there goes field posi — ”
Pine’s sentence died on his lips as Richfield popped out the other side, untouched and moving at top speed. In the blink of an eye she passed the 30, then the 40 and moved across midfield.
“Well slap my face and call me Sally,” Pine said.
Sklorno Earthlings took deep angles of pursuit. Serj Tanakian, the Earthlings’ kicker, ran upfield, trying to cut down Richfield’s running angles. She ran right at him, cut once to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. Tanakian matched the first move, stumbled on the second, and fell face-first on the third.
Richfield shot by him. She sprang ten feet into the air as a Sklorno defender leapt for her feet and became the second player in a row to hit the grass empty-handed. One last red-and-blue clad Sklorno angled between Richfield and the end zone. She didn’t cut this time, she reached out a hard tentacle as the two players met at the ten, “stiff-arming” her foe. They ran side-by-side for another five yards, then the defender — knocked off balance by the stiffarm — fell to the ground.
Richfield went into the end zone standing up.
Quentin looked back downfield, but there were no flags.
[TOUCHDOWN, KRAKENS! RICHFIELD SCORES ON A IO2-YARD KICKOFF RETURN, A NEW PLAYOFF RECORD!]
The extra-point team ran onto the field. The Krakens had just taken a huge jump, but Quentin found it hard to be excited — he had to wait for the first hit, and he had to pee.
Morningstar knocked in the extra point. First play of the game, Krakens 7, Earthlings 0.
Quentin tried to draw a full breath while the kickoff team took the field. Morningstar nailed a low squib kick — Hokor didn’t want a long return that might give the Earthlings momentum.
Utgard, the Earthlings’ kick returner, handled the line-drive kick and brought the ball back to the 28 before being brought down.
John Tweedy & Company took the field. As he looked at the defense — Tweedy, Virak the Mean, Choto the Bright, Michnik and Khomeni, Mai-An-Ihkole and Per-Ah-Yet — Quentin felt a pang of sorrow for Johanson. Those seven players had thought of nothing for the last week other than the total destruction of the Earthlings’ quarterback. Quentin figured the Earthlings defense had probably done the same thing, preparing for him — how would they react when he lined up at tailback, and Donald Pine took the snaps?
The Earthlings started out running, a sweep to Pookie Chang. Virak the Mean drove through two blockers and brought Chang down for a one-yard loss. Johanson tried a simple out pass on the next snap, but Berea broke up the play.
On third and long, Tweedy crowded the line, showing blitz all the way. Johanson dropped back — Tweedy’s blitz drew the fullback’s block, and Khomeni broke through almost immediately. Johanson felt the pressure and calmly threw the ball away.
Three and out.
Quentin had to pee so bad he could barely stand up straight.
“Here we go, kid,” Pine said as he pulled on his helmet. “It’s show time.”
Richfield vibrated with anticipation as the punt sailed through the air, but it had excellent hang-time and she was forced to call a fair catch at the Krakens’ 35.
Quentin and the offense ran onto the field for the first time.
“JUST WHAT IN the heck is going on here, Masara?”
“I don’t know, Chick, but it looks to me like Donald Pine is calling the play in the huddle.”
“But I thought Pine wasn’t even practicing with the team.”
“That’s what everyone was told, Chick. But Krakens Coach Hokor the Hookchest and Earthlings’ Coach Pata the Calculating are two of the trickiest strategists in the game. Word has it that Pata the Calculating has something up his many sleeves — he wouldn’t allow any media in his practices for the last two weeks. And as for Pine not practicing with the team, Maybe Hokor was just being disingenuous.”
“Hey now, easy on the big words, Masara!”
“It’s not a big word, it’s a very common — ”
“Hold on there Vocabulistic Vinnie! The Krakens are lining up for the play, and — what the heck, that’s Mitchell Fayed’s number in the backfield.”
“Someone get us a close-up of that guy!”
“Well grease me up like a well-used sock monkey, Masara, that’s Quentin Barnes at tailback!”
“Is he crazy, Chick? The defense will tear him apart!”
“Well, this makes about as much sense as a Sklorno receiver walking unclothed into a bedbug convention, but it’s definitely a new wrinkle that I don’t think the Earthlings are ready for.”
“The defense looks a bit anxious, Chick.”
“That they do Masara, like the mother of three hot triplets who just realized her jailbait daughters are well into puberty and drawing the attention of the void-bike gang next door.”
“Chick, take it easy…”
“Sorry, Masara, sorry folks at home, here go the Krakens in I-formation…”
QUENTIN LIGHTLY RESTED his hands on his slightly bent knees. He stood directly behind Tom Pareless, who crouched in a three-point stance. Donald Pine looked down the left side of the line, then the right, barking out signals.
“Blue, sixteen! Bluueeee, sixteen!”
The play was an off-tackle left — away from Chok-Oh-Thilit, a strategy the Krakens would try to follow for most of the day. No point in wasting time, Quentin had to get it over with if he was going to be effective.
“Hut-HUT!”
Pine turned as Pareless drove to the left. Quentin followed him, his eyes fixed on the ball held in Pine’s outstretched hands.
Don’t fumble don’t fumble don’t fumble–
Quentin raised his right elbow high, the back of his hand on his chest. His left hand rested against his lower stomach, thumb forward — the way he’d been taught to take a handoff. Pine stabbed the ball towards his stomach, holding it so that the ball’s points were parallel to Quentin’s body. Quentin’s left hand cupped the bottom of the ball as his right elbow snapped down, trapping the ball between his thick forearms. Only after he felt the ball was snugly in place did he look up to run.
Pareless pushed through the hole and notched a solid fit on the linebacker. Quentin ran straight into the hole. Like some evil magical portal, the hole instantly vanished. Defenders appeared in front, on his right and left — Quentin put his head down and drove forward.
Wham WHAM!
Two hits in rapid succession, one from the left, the next from the right, as the defensive tackle and then the middle linebacker smashed into him. Quentin’s right arm went instantly numb, but he held onto the ball as the two big bodies dragged him down. He wound up on his back, looking straight up into the face of his countryman Alonzo Castro.
“What in the void could you be thinking, boy?” Alonzo asked, a look of concern on his face. “You need to get your tail back behind that big offensive line of yours, or you’re going to get hurt.”
Quentin’s right arm felt all tingly and hot — not in any shape to push Alonzo away — so he laid still and tried to play it cool.