“Hey, not bad,” Quentin said as he pulled at the new seam. It held tight.
Messal simply bowed and scuttled off to attend to some other managerial duty.
THEY WERE STILL DOWN two scores, but the Krakens seemed suddenly energized. Entenabe had faced little pressure on the day. Hokor suddenly changed strategy, sending a blitz after the Demolition quarterback on nearly every play. Entenabe managed one completion before Mai-An-Ihkole sacked him on a second down, and Virak the Mean got him on third for a 10-yard loss. The Demolition’s drive chewed up only three minutes. Richfield signaled fair catch on the punt — Krakens’ ball on their own 41, 6:52 to play in the game.
Quentin ran out onto the field, Hokor’s one-eyed face in the heads-up display.
“Now they’re watching out for you,” Hokor said. “This time go X-set, 42-base draw play… we’ll see if Fayed can finally make something happen.”
Quentin called the play and walked to the line. The defensive backs had moved to five-yard cushions instead of their one-yard bump-and-run. The linebackers had moved back as well. At the snap, Quentin held the ball to his ear, showing pass as he dropped back five steps. The defensive backs and the linebackers immediately backpedaled into pass coverage. At the end of his drop, Quentin suddenly handed the ball off to Fayed, who dashed into the line. He cut left into a big hole created by Kill-O-Yowet and Sho-Do-Thikit. Warburg moved to block Yalla the Biter. Yalla tucked his head and drove his right arm into Warburg, crushing the big tight end to the ground. Warburg barely slowed Yalla at all, but it was enough for Fayed to slip by, and suddenly the running back was in the defensive backfield. The d-backs converged on him and brought him down, but not before he’d picked up 23 yards and moved the ball to the Demolition 36.
6:28 and counting…
Paul Pierson came in for Fayed at tailback. The Krakens huddled up, electricity and momentum filling the small space.
The Krakens players looked tired, but their eyes blazed sharply and their intensity felt ubiquitous.
His earpiece crackled. “We need to score and score quick,” Hokor said. “Y-set, 42-post, look for Pierson on the delayed route over the middle, we may catch Yalla sleeping.”
Quentin called the play and surveyed the defense as the Krakens lined up. The Demolition showed a normal 3–4, which left them with four defensive backs. Quentin’s instincts told him to watch for the blitz, but Yalla’s feet looked flat.
At the snap Quentin dropped back. Hawick and Scarborough streaked downfield then cut inside on an angle, drawing the free safety and safety with them. Pierson ran to the line acting like he would block, then released and sprinted down the field. Yalla tried to cover him, but Pierson’s superior speed carried him past. Quentin feathered a light toss that sailed just beyond Yalla and hit Pierson in stride. Yalla dove, covering ten yards in the leap, and brought Pierson down from behind after a 22-yard gain.
First-and-10, ball on the Demolition 14, 6:02 to play.
Whistles blew as Harrah officials flew to Pierson, who rolled on the ground in obvious pain. The officials waved their tentacles madly to the Krakens’ sidelines. Before Doc arrived with his cart, Quentin saw Pierson roll to his back, his bloody hands clutching at his foot — which dangled sickly from only a scrap of skin and a few strands of bloody muscle. Yalla’s tackle had ripped the man’s leg in half. Blood shot out of his ravaged leg, splashing on the white field, on Doc, and staining the zebes’ black-and-white uniforms.
Fayed came back in as Doc’s medsled rushed Pierson off the field.
“High One,” said a wide-eyed Quentin. “Did you see that? His whole leg almost came off!”
“Give me the ball,” Fayed said. Intensity narrowed his eyes to angry slits. “I’ll show that cheap-shotting motherless fool.”
Fortunately, Hokor called a dive right — exactly what Fayed wanted. The team lined up. Quentin took the snap and pivoted. Fayed nearly ripped the ball out of his hands and drove forward like a tank. Yalla the Biter came at him, and the two hit head-on like a pair of rams. Yalla fell backwards and Fayed stumbled over him, falling for a five-yard gain. Fayed stood and tossed the ball to the ground in front of Yalla, who was slow getting up.
“I’m here all day!” Fayed shouted, thumping his fist against his chest. “Just see if you can tear my leg off.”
Fayed walked back to the huddle. Quentin felt a wave of awe wash over him — Yalla the Biter had just crippled Paul Pierson, and on the very next play Fayed not only carried the ball, but went headhunting for Yalla. The play energized the entire team. If Fayed could show that kind of courage, so could everyone else.
Another running play put the Krakens on the Demolition 5-yard line.
“S-set, double-cross,” Hokor barked. Quentin relayed the play to the Krakens’ huddle. He felt the pure vibe of control now, the rhythm of the game coursing through him, answering to him, obeying his every whim. The huddle broke and he strode to the line, his predator’s eyes sweeping over the defense. S-set was a single-back set: Fayed in the backfield, five offensive linemen, Hawick and Mezquitic split out left, Warburg in the right slot, and Scarborough wide right. It was the first time that day the Krakens used such a setup, and the Demolition scrambled to adjust. They quickly fell into woman-to-woman coverage with a linebacker wide on either side. That left four down linemen and a single middle linebacker — Yalla — in the middle.
Quentin knew what he wanted to do even before he snapped the ball.
“Red, ninety-one, red, ninety-one, hut-hut!”
The receivers drove off the line and cut inside at six yards. Quentin dropped back as Fayed rolled to the right flat. Yalla moved with him, and Quentin made his decision — after just a three step drop, he planted and bounced forward, his 360 pounds hitting top speed almost instantly. The sudden change caught the onrushing defense off-guard, he slipped past them without so much as a single cut. Yalla was already moving to the right to cover Fayed — the linebacker drove back to the left, but was far too late to match Quentin’s quickness.
Quentin strode into the end zone untouched.
Demolition 21, Krakens 16.
Quentin started to run off the field when he saw Hokor signaling to him to stay.
“We’re going for two,” Hokor called calmly over the ear-piece. “I-set, show left dive, naked boot right. Kobayasho blocks inside and releases to the right. Hit him for the conversion.”
Quentin nodded, but his mind raced with possibilities. A two-point conversion would pull them to within three points, one field goal away from tying. With the game on the line, Hokor was calling a naked boot, which meant Quentin rolled to the right with no blockers. It was both an insult and a compliment: an insult, because the Demolition still wouldn’t think Hokor would put the game on a rookie’s shoulders; and a compliment because Hokor was putting the game on his shoulders.
He felt palpable excitement in the huddle. All eyes looked to him, awaiting his words. There was victory in the air, every being felt it. All they had to do was reach out and take it. Warburg and Kobayasho, the tight ends, were in the huddle, as was Pareless the fullback. Scarborough and Mezquitic were back on the sidelines — it was a two-tight end set with a fullback, clearly a running formation.
“I-set, show left dive, and Fayed make it count. Naked boot right. Kobayasho, block in and release deep. If I have to run, I don’t want the guy covering you able to stop me from scoring, got it?”