QUENTIN RUBBED SWEAT from his eyes. He’d never faced a secondary like this one.
Arkham had robbed him blind last week, but the rest of the secondary had been mortal. The only reason Arkham had intercepted him three times was he wanted to go after her, he wanted to complete passes to her side of the field. Hokor had told him to avoid her, but Quentin hid from no one. You just don’t give up a whole side of the field. If he’d have stayed away from Arkham, gone to the easy side of the field, he probably would have come out with no INTs at all.
But the Warpigs were different — there was no easy side of the field. The Warpigs didn’t have anyone as good as Arkham, but they had four players who were almost in her ballpark. Four. Every time Quentin dropped back, every receiver seemed covered. And if they looked open, they probably weren’t. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, throwing two interceptions in the first quarter, including one that Keluang, the Warpigs’ corner, took to the house for a 33-yard touchdown. The secondary switched from woman-to-woman to zone in the same play, zone to woman-to-woman the next, two-deep with zone under the next. The ‘Pigs linebackers were also damn good, covering passes over the middle and in the flat, trying to take away dump-passes to the tight ends and running backs.
His arm hadn’t done anything for the Krakens. What had worked, however, were two pairs of Human feet — his and Mitchell Fayed’s. Late in the second quarter, Fayed already had 80 yards on the ground and a TD. Quentin had added a rushing TD and another 40 rushing yards, mostly from scrambling because there was no one to pass to. Those two touchdowns put 14 on the board that matched the Warpigs’ two TDs.
Second-and-4 on the Krakens’ 22. Quentin looked to the sidelines as the Krakens huddled up.
“Keep it on the ground,” Hokor said into his ear-piece. “Forty-six sweep right.”
Quentin breathed a sigh of relief, then felt a wave of anger swarm across his thoughts. What kind of a pansy was he turning into? He’d felt happy because Hokor called a run play? Quentin called the play in the huddle, then walked to the line, marveling at how this defense had taken him right out of his game.
“Red, twenty-one… red, twenty-one, hut-hut!”
The ball slapped into his hands. Quentin stepped to his left, planted his left foot and pivoted backwards all the way around in a smooth motion. Holding the ball in front of him with both hands, he gently flipped it to Fayed, who moved left, five yards back and parallel to the line of scrimmage. Right guard Wen-E-Daret pulled to lead the block, taking a few steps back and then scuttling right, horizontal to the line. The big Ki lineman got in front of Fayed, leading the running back to the outside as they both looked to cut upfield. The Warpigs’ outside linebacker picked up the play and drove straight at Wen-E. The two collided, and Fayed slipped past the block, trying to find open space. Keluang, the Warpigs’ left cornerback, came up fast, a streaking blur of black jersey with teal numbers and a teal helmet. Fayed tried to cut outside, but Keluang dove and tripped up the running back, taking him down for a four-yard loss.
Third and 8.
Quentin’s stomach churned with butterflies. He had to pee. Tie game, passing down.
“Spread right, twenty-two post,” Hokor said. “Look for Kobayasho’s out-cut. Don’t go deep, Quentin, we need to hold onto the ball and play for field position.”
Quentin watched his team gather in the huddle. He looked back at the Warpigs, who were gathering in their own huddle.
Was Keluang limping? Was she hurt?
Quentin’s mind raced. If she was hurt, he had to go after her. He called the play and the Krakens lined up for the snap. Twenty-two post held a couple of options — Hawick on a deep post down the left side, Kobayasho on an out-cut, and Scarborough on a flag right, which would put her head-to-head against Keluang, deep down the field.
“Bluuuueeee, sixteen, hut-hut!”
Quentin dropped back, ball held high, eyes watching the entire field at once.
BLINK
The receivers sprinted downfield in that weird real-time slowmotion dance. He saw Kobayasho cut out to the right, where he already had a step on the linebackers. Hawick was covered like stink on a skunk. Quentin planted and stepped up — at fifteen yards, Scarborough broke right on her flag cut, a half-step ahead of Keluang.
Quentin fired the ball on a rope. The brown missile streaked through the air at eighty miles an hour, so fast that Keluang never had a chance at it. Scarborough turned back, the ball hit her in the chest so hard it knocked her over. She slid out of bounds twenty yards downfield.
First-and-10 on the Krakens’ 42. Three minutes to play in the half.
Keluang turned and ran back to her huddle. She was limping, just a bit. Her stats flashed through his head: four-year veteran, played two seasons of Tier Three ball with the New Orleans Saints of the Earth League. She’d clocked a 3.1 forty in full pads, while Scarborough’s best was 3.2. She could also jump twenty-two feet into the air. And, she’d missed two games last season with a fissured left lower leg.
The same leg she seemed to be favoring now.
“Nice pass,” Hokor said in his earpiece. “Now back to the ground-attack. Basic package, sweep left.”
Quentin looked to the sidelines. Hokor stood there, clipboard in hand. Pine stood next to him, helmet under his arm like a picture off of a Wheaties box. “But Coach, Keluang looks hurt, let’s go after her.”
“Keluang looks hurt?” Hokor said. He turned to Pine, who viciously shook his head no.
“Stick to the ground,” Hokor said, turning back to look onto the field. “Pine says Keluang is faking it.”
“Faking it?”
“Just run the plays that I call, Barnes!”
Quentin jogged back to the huddle, his eye on the play clock. He had to get this play off in fifteen seconds or suffer a delay-of-game penalty.
Faking? What defensive back would fake an injury and allow a twenty-yard pass? She wasn’t faking, she was hurt.
“Okay, kiddies,” Quentin said to his huddle. “Let’s get this play off quick. Y-set, roll out left, double post. Scarborough, does Keluang seem slow to you?”
“Yes,” Scarborough said. “Not as fast as before.”
“Then you bust your little rear end downfield, got it? We’re going to take the wind out of their sails right now.”
Quentin broke the huddle and sauntered up behind center. A quick ba-da-bap on the center’s carapace.
“Red, twelve, red, twelve, hut-hut!”
The trenches clashed as Quentin, a lefty, dropped back and rolled out to his left, eyes constantly scanning downfield. Hawick looked open for a second, but the free safety came over to help out the right cornerback, taking away that option. Fayed ran a five-yard out pattern, staying in front of Quentin, while Tom Pareless shuffled to his left, looking to block the first defender that broke through the offensive line. The right defensive end slipped past Kill-O-Yowet’s block, then Pareless undercut the multi-legged Ki with a nasty head-first dive. The Ki crumbled clumsily to the ground, leaving Quentin completely free of pressure.
Scarborough was already forty yards downfield.
And Keluang was a full-step behind.
Quentin launched the ball, a deep, arcing, perfect spiral.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered as the ball started its descent.
Suddenly, Keluang’s small limp vanished. Her legs moved perfectly as she strode downfield, her eyes turned back to the ball.