Chapter Five
It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it. - General Douglas MacArthur
Ryan fiddled with a loosecorner of the bandage on his elbow. Nervous energy ran through his body like electricity. Even though he had no desire to take part in the game itself, he was anxious to get going. His motivation had little to do with enthusiasm and everything to do with determination.
He had to do this. He was determined to do this. He was determined to weather the storm; and the sooner the storm got started, the sooner it would be over with and then he could let some other kid take over his position.
One game. He just had to endure one game.
He glanced over his shoulder and watched Johnson step up, in Luke's place, with the player from the other team, both players waiting for the coin toss while the referee replaced his broken whistle on the sidelines.
"Well if it isn't Terry Johnson"
Ryan focused on the two players when he heard the taunt in the opposing team's captain's voice. Ryan kept his distance, but his curiosity got the better of him. He tilted his head to the side so he could hear more accurately over the wind.
"How's your fag of a brother" Phoenix's captain smiled maliciously.
Johnson's face twisted with rage as he took a step toward his antagonist. Ryan recognized the physical change in Johnson's demeanor as he prepared for the imminent fight.
"Where the fuck did you hear that, Rickard" Johnson's response wasn't loud, but carried well downwind and Ryan didn't have to strain his ears to hear.
"Jamie Johnson, right? Goes to UCLA with my brother. My bro said the fag kept hitting on him." Rickard let out an exaggerated laugh. "Hope it doesn't run in the family… I guess I'm going to have to watch my ass all game"
"Keep your fuckin' mouth shut, Rickard" Johnson's voice rose, bitter and spiteful.
Ryan glanced around to see if anyone else had overheard the conversation that was bound to get out of hand. A few of his teammates were talking in a circle off to his right, but they were apparently oblivious to Johnson and Rickard's confrontation.
"What are you gonna do about it? Huh"
If Johnson responded, it was swallowed by the wind.
Rickard smiled sarcastically and looked around before facing Johnson once more. "That's what I thought. You better keep your faggot-ass away from me or I swear to God"
The threat halted abruptly when the referee approached for the coin toss.
Johnson glanced over his shoulder; too fast for Ryan to turn away. In that millisecond of eye contact, Ryan could see that Johnson knew the conversation had been overheard by at least one person.
"Shit" Ryan mumbled under his breath, fixing his eyes on the burnt grass of the field.
He didn't even want to think about what that knowledge would do to his standing in Johnson's books. The guy already had an unreasonably large grudge against Ryan; the last thing he needed was to give Johnson another reason to fixate on him. By being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Ryan had managed to draw more unwanted attention to himself. The weekend kept getting better….
Ryan turned, shaking his head in disbelief as his brain swam with the new information he wished he hadn't learned. After all of the shit that Johnson had put Luke through for having a gay father, Johnson had a gay brother. It suddenly made more sense to Ryan. Johnson was overcompensating because he was scared or embarrassed.
Ryan guessed that Johnson's brother's sexual orientation wasn't common knowledge, or Johnson would've been blackballed like Luke, or at least more sensitive to the matter. Ryan wondered if Luke would have turned out the same way had his secret not been revealed. He shuddered at the thought. He had to give Luke credit. People sure could change….
The linesman to Ryan's left blew forcefully into his whistle, signifying the start of the game. Ryan cringed and tried to avoid the sharp sound by turning his head to the right.
"Sorry, kid." The middle-aged man smiled.
Ryan nodded and held up a hand in forgiveness. He turned and jogged to center field. The deafening whistle intensified the headache that had been threatening to break out all morning. He slowed to a walk and reached up to run a hand through his hair in an effort to lessen the tension gripping his skull.
Just one game.
Johnson was already in position when Ryan walked by. "If you say anything…" Johnson threatened.
Ryan squinted and shook his head. "What" He didn't want to hold his newfound knowledge against Johnson. He definitely didn't want to discuss it. He just wanted to play the game and get the nightmare of a weekend over with.
"Don't fuck with me, Atwood." Unlike Johnson's previous threats, all of which were delivered in a tone of arrogance and cockiness, the words were desperate. Fearful.
The approach scared Ryan. A fearful Johnson would be a dangerous one.
Ryan took as deep a breath as his lungs would allow and continued walking to his position, feeling Johnson's eyes on his back the entire time.
"This is going to be fun" Johnny remarked quietly with mock-enthusiasm. Ryan's brow furrowed in confusion as he skeptically eyed his friend.
"You know" Johnny continued"this team, Phoenix, was Western champion last year. It's stacked with college prospects. They killed us last year. Johnson and Rickard all but had it out on the field."
"That's just great" Ryan mumbled facetiously, swallowing his nervousness and diverting his eyes to the ground.
"They're tough" Johnny stated seriously. "I mean, in the finals last year, they knocked off four or five players from the other team before half time. I'm just glad we only had to play them in the exhibition round; you know, when it didn't matter." He shook his head in awe. "They were vicious…."
Ryan turned away from Johnny and scanned the field for players dressed in Phoenix's red jerseys.
Big. Bigger. Giant.
Ryan often felt small, but he couldn't ever remember feeling…overwhelmed. As he gauged the size of the members of Southern California's opponent, an unfamiliar anxiousness settled in his stomach. He couldn't compete with these guys, especially when he didn't have his legs. He was outmatched.
"You'll be fine, man. Just use your speed and stay out of the way." Johnny's voice sounded overly confident. Ryan had his doubts.
"Right." Ryan nodded and forced a smile, ashamed that he'd allowed Johnny to see through him so easily. "Just stay out of the way."
Johnny smiled and took a few steps back toward his position.
On any other day, Ryan wouldn't have given the game a second thought. Today, he had no confidence in his body's abilities and that really bothered him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to keep up.
He was doomed from the get-go.
………………………………...
Near the end of the first quarter, Ryan felt like he'd lapped the field 50 times. He'd forced himself to run as fast as his legs would carry him because he figured if he could beat his mark - the player from Phoenix he'd been assigned to guard - to the ball every time, he could pass it off right away and avoid any physical contact. For the most part, his plan had worked. He'd only been knocked on his ass once when he was caught in a goal-mouth scramble that left several players sprawled on the grass in its wake.
Ryan groaned when the ball flew toward him again. He forced his legs to cooperate as he chased it down. He managed to reach the ball first, and was glancing around the field for a teammate to pass to, when an extended whistle interrupted play.
He couldn't be bothered finding out what caused the play to stop. Instead, he bowed his head and leaned over, letting the ball roll to a stop several feet in front of him. He coughed as his chest, which was tighter than it should have been, fought for oxygen. His lungs burned intensely, and with every passing play, it was getting increasingly difficult to catch his breath. His bruised ribs only added to the difficulty. He listened intently as every breath caught in his throat.
He shouldn't be here. He knew he was in over his head.
"You! Out"
Ryan lifted his head long enough to see the ref waving a red card in one hand, while the other pointed at a player wearing the blue and silver colors of Southern California,
McCauley.
McCauley blatantly ignored the referee's order and pursued his opponent, pushing one of Phoenix's players backward. The other player pushed back with enough force to knock McCauley backward several steps. McCauley used that distance to launch at his challenger and the two engaged in a forceful wrestling match before any officials could intervene.
Ryan watched as several players from each team migrated toward the action, some pairing off with their own rivals. Ryan instinctively inched closer, despite wanting nothing to do with the entire ordeal. If he'd wanted to play a physical game, he would have chosen to play football instead.
The collage of red and blue was peppered with a couple of black and white linesmen's shirts. The ref stood off to the side, his whistle emitting short, sharp warnings that were lost amongst the yelling.
"Hey! Hey! I'll kick you all out" Exasperated, the ref stomped toward the shoving match.
Ryan felt a pat on his back and watched Johnny run by, toward the flurry of activity. Ryan would never have thought Johnny was the type to get involved in something like this, but his mark was in there, and there was an unwritten rule that you're always responsible for handling your own mark… even if it's not directly related to the game.
Ryan scanned the crowd for his assigned man on Phoenix's team, who was usually easy to spot with his unruly mop of vibrant red hair. Ryan's eyes finally settled on the distinctive hair on the fringes of the riot. He seemed to be waiting for an opening that would allow him to jump in.
"Shit" Ryan mumbled, summoning his energy and jogging tentatively toward the skirmish.
Ryan approached from the side, hoping that his presence would be perceived as passive. The last thing he needed was to be pulled into another shoving match.
The two caught eyes, and Ryan let out a sigh of relief when his counterpart with the curly red hair, gave him a half-smile. "Well this is a fuckin' mess" the kid joked quietly.
Upon hearing his voice, Ryan realized the kid was a lot younger than he had pegged him for. Ryan had assumed that by the kid's size and the way he held his own on the field, that he was much older.
"Get your God-damned hands off me, you prick" McCauley had his man by the jersey, and a frazzled linesman was doing his best to separate the two giants.
Ryan was suddenly bumped from behind, forcing his body forward into the red-haired kid. The kid steadied Ryan before submissively pushing him away, more for show than anything else. In a game like this, you didn't want to be seen helping the opposition in any way.
Ryan steadied himself and shuffled to the right to avoid being bumped again by Johnson, who, for once, didn't appear to have intentionally run into Ryan.
Rickard and Johnson were exchanging forceful shoves and exaggerated obscenities. Ryan noted that Johnson's face was a dark shade of red, but couldn't determine if the flushness was the result of anger, exertion or embarrassment.
"C'mon, Johnson" Rickard pressed him, smiling as he tried to get a rise out of his opponent. "If you're so fuckin' tough, let's go then. Huh" Rickard shoved Johnson again. "Or are you all about rainbows and shit like that"
Johnson set his jaw and calmly stepped forward and nodded, all but verbally accepting the invitation to brawl.
The red-haired kid stepped back and out of Ryan's peripheral vision. Ryan glanced over his shoulder, where he noticed that the riot appeared to have grown. The linesmen were in the middle of it all, and the referee stood off to the side, holding one of Southern California's players in place with one hand while half-heartedly waving the red card around in the other.
"Shut the fuck up, Rickard. I swear I'll hurt you…." Johnson's eyes narrowed as he eyed Rickard.
For once, Ryan noted that Johnson's threats sounded solid; he was going to follow through. It's not that Ryan ever doubted that Johnson would hurt him given half the chance, but this time around, there was emotion in his voice. He was serious. He was going to hurt Rickard…or at least give it a valiant effort.
"Let's just play the game" Ryan's voice was low. However, the snapping heads that turned in his direction made it clear that he'd been overheard.
"Who's this, Johnson? Is your little boyfriend trying to save your ass" Rickard laughed as he gestured toward Ryan with a tilt of his head.
Ryan rolled his eyes, unable to figure out why he was everyone's love interest this weekend.
"Shut the fuck up, Atwood" Johnson spat.
"C'mon, Terry, he's just trying to stop me from kicking your ass."
The crimson shade of Johnson's face deepened. He opened his mouth, but two firm hands of one of the linesmen, grabbed his arms from behind.
"Break it up, guys. C'mon, move it out." Another linesmen joined moments later, taking
Rickard by the shoulder and pulling him back a few steps.
"You" Rickard stated firmly while being dragged backward"and you" he added, nodding at Ryan"watch your backs because I won't let up. If you're in my fuckin' way, I won't let up."
"All right, all right. Just shut your mouth already" the irritated linesman scolded Rickard.
Ryan stood immobile for several seconds, watching as Rickard was dragged to his team's half of the field. Once Rickard was out of reach, Johnson was released by the second linesman, who was mumbling something about not getting paid enough to put up with this kind of crap.
Johnson spun furiously, stopping abruptly before colliding with Ryan. Johnson didn't speak, or glare, or give Ryan an extra shove. Instead, he took a step to his left and walked around his smaller teammate.
Ryan dropped his eyes to the grass under his feet and swallowed the lump in his throat. He wished Johnson had pushed him, or called him a fag or a punk or a loser or… anything. Instead, he'd seen his teammate's raw emotion. Fear. Johnson was scared. Ryan just hoped he wouldn't be the ultimate outlet.
The officials were spiritedly discussing the penalties to be doled out to both teams, giving Ryan an opportunity to steal a glance at the bleachers. Both Sandy and Luke were watching him. Even from a distance, Ryan could make out their solemn expressions which carried over from the prior scene. He forced himself to turn away from their stares and walked back to where the rest of his team awaited the officials' verdict.
Even with the delay and lack of activity associated with all the commotion, Ryan was still significantly out of breath. His chest was constricted, making it difficult to draw in enough breath to sufficiently feed his system with oxygen. The pounding behind his eyes intensified, and he wished he'd just swallowed his pride and stayed in bed all weekend.
"Hindsight…" he mumbled.
"What"
Ryan lifted his head. Johnny was standing a few feet off to the right, curiously arching his eyebrows.
"Nothing." Ryan shook his head, slightly embarrassed.
"You all right" Johnny asked.
Ryan closed his eyes. He was sick of the question. He hated lying. "How much time's left"
"Sorry" Johnny scoffed. "We're not even to the half yet."
"Right" Ryan whispered as he pulled his eyes open and nodded, unable to hide his discouragement.
"Well, the good news is it looks like Johnson's too busy fighting another battle to worry about you. It's not surprising that the moron's got more than a few enemies, right" Johnny asked.
"Yeah, well… now I'm… dodging Johnson… and his enemies."
"What? How'd you get involved in that"
"God." Bewildered, Ryan shook his head. "I have no idea."
Johnny couldn't hide his smile. "You just can't catch a break, can you"
Ryan gave Johnny a sideways glare, which was disregarded when Johnny changed the subject. "The whole thing started when McCauley spat on their goalie."
"Really"
Johnny nodded. "Yeah. What can I say? The guy's an idiot."
There was no arguing with that. Unfortunately, though, spitting on another player was a red card offense, which meant that at least McCauley would be ejected from the game. As the bench thinned, the chances weren't good that someone would be available to fill Ryan's position for the remaining games - assuming they won the match in progress.
The two teams gathered on their respective sides of the field. Several players lingered dangerously close to the center line, but no one made any move to pursue the battle further.
Both coaches had effectively chastised their teams. Phoenix's coach ranted and raved, demanding his players focus and grow up. Ryan couldn't help but notice that, in contrast, his own coach appeared somewhat proud of his troops. Sure, he went through the obligatory spiel, but there was a hint of delight in his voice. He seemed happy with his team for finally putting forth a spirited effort, and hesitant to completely douse the fire with a lecture.
Ryan lingered in the background during the lackluster scolding, keeping one eye on the coach and the other on Johnson, whose gaze, in return, was set on Ryan.
Ryan preferred Johnson's hateful comments when they had no basis. Now they were defensive - his threats had purpose. He didn't want his secret revealed. Johnson now had a solid foundation for his grudge without Ryan physically doing anything to support it.
He just wished there was a way to convince Johnson that he didn't care enough to reveal his secret. He didn't. In fact, he wished he'd never overheard the conversation in the first place. Ryan knew that bringing the matter up in any way, shape, or form, would only dig himself further into a hole. It was a lose-lose situation that only perpetuated his frustration.
I won't let up.
Rickard's words echoed in Ryan's head. On any other day, under any other circumstances, he would have shrugged it off, but for many reasons, the words continued to play on a loop in his mind. Rickard was big, probably the biggest guy on the field. It was all Ryan needed to not only have to dodge Johnson, but also worry about avoiding the Mack truck in the form of Rickard. Ryan's head pounded harder as he thought about the new obstacle in the already complicated situation.
The referee pulled out of the huddle and marched toward the benches. After much deliberation among the three officials, it was clear that they'd reached a verdict.
"Twelve, blue. Seven, blue. Fourteen, red. Twenty-three, red" the ref called out to the players as he booked the red-card offences.
From Southern California, Guilder and McCauley reluctantly made their way to the bench, the latter swearing audibly under his breath as he strode past the referee.
The coach stared disapprovingly at the two ejected players before turning his attention back to what remained of his team. He clapped his hands together several times, shouting out tips and words of wisdom as his team filed by.
"Prusek, stay up close on thirteen; he's quick but you'll catch him" the coach advised.
"Johnson, you steer clear of trouble, you hear" He paused.
"Atwood." Ryan froze in mid-step and jerked his head to the right, catching the coach's eyes and waiting
"Stick to the left when they clear. We're counting on you for speed."
Ryan stared blankly ahead for several seconds. The coach's eyes widened as he silently waited for a reply. Over the coach's shoulder, Ryan saw Sandy and Luke standing in the bleachers.
Sandy had his arms folded across his chest and Luke was draped heavily across his crutches. Neither looked overly impressed. Ryan didn't have the energy to deal with Sandy's disappointed glare, so he dropped his eyes once more, nervously fiddling with the bandage on his elbow.
"Atwood"
"Right… yeah; stick to the left. Got it." Ryan's voice was muted by the wind, but the coach seemed satisfied by the attempted response.
"All right, then. Get out there"
Ryan jogged back toward the middle of the field. The penalties canceled out any on-field advantage for either squad, but as much as Ryan hated to admit it, losing McCauley was going to hurt his team. If McCauley brought anything to the game, it was his size. Since they were playing against a team of overgrown teenagers, he was a fundamental addition to Southern California's strategy.
Ryan settled in position and found himself lined up against Rickard. Despite Ryan's best efforts to avoid eye contact, Rickard insisted on communicating.
"I wasn't kidding, fag."
Ryan let out a shaky sigh and kept his eyes on the ref, who had the ball tucked under one arm.
"If you wanna side with that loser, I'm serious. I won't let up."
Ryan tilted his head in acknowledgment and his hair fell over his eyes, shielding them from Rickard's glare.
The players scattered once the ball was launched back into play.
Ryan focused on sticking to the left. He figured there was very little about that he could screw up.
………………………………...
Light rain fell intermittently, showering the field and the players every so often. No one complained because the short showers were a nice way to cool down in the stifling heat and humidity.
Ryan wiped at his face with his forearm, not bothering to brush back the hair plastered to his forehead and occasionally dripping water into his eyes. It would just fall back the next time he ran.
Unfortunately, he'd found that as big as his opponents were, they were equally as fast. The pace increased as the game progressed and the chances to score were high. Despite the rapid tempo of the high-paced game, closing in on the final ten minutes, the teams were deadlocked at two goals apiece.
Johnny kick the ball high into the air, split the defense and tracked it down again on the other side of the defensive wall of players.
Ryan's heart jumped as three players in red headed straight for his smaller teammate. Johnny looked up just in time to sidestep them and still managing to maintain control of the ball and close in on the net. The goalie dove out and made an easy save, but Johnny's effort drew bursts of applause from the spectators.
The stalled play allowed Ryan to stop, struggling again for breath. As the game wore on, it became more difficult for him to keep up. Several times in the past few minutes, dizziness and nausea had forced Ryan to slow down and pull away from the action.
The red-headed kid, who'd introduced himself as Sean, was Ryan's only saving grace. Despite his size, the kid wasn't as aggressive as the majority of his teammates. Several times in the last quarter, he'd even asked Ryan if he was all right, taking the risk of being overheard by his more insensitive teammates.
"Get the fuck away from me, you homo."
Without even looking up, Ryan knew that Johnson and Rickard were going at it once again. Though the two of them had only exchanged words and harmless shoves up to this point, the officials were forced to intervene several times to prevent further escalation.
The ref's warnings were repeatedly disregarded and Ryan silently voted for the older man to put his foot down and kick them both out of the game. That would be a load off everyone's shoulders.
However, they'd been allowed to continue. Ryan wasn't overly worried. They deserved each other and as long as they were berating each other, they weren't thinking about going after him.
Ryan coughed, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. He could deal with the pain. He was good with pain. The panic he'd been feeling when he couldn't get enough air was what really bothered him. He'd felt like he was drowning and only then did he back off.
Ten more minutes.
Just ten more minutes and he'd have put in a full game, proving to Johnson that he wasn't going away and taking a stand for Luke, who couldn't physically do it for himself. Ryan would win, even if the team lost.
Johnson and Rickard fought for position when play continued, and though the ball was on the opposite side of the field, neither gave an inch.
Johnny passed the ball up the middle and ran around the crowd to get in front of the net. Ryan begged his legs to cooperate as he tried to run full speed ahead and cover his position. Sean gave a valiant effort, but couldn't catch Ryan before he reached the ball.
Ryan saw an opening and bolted through before anyone could touch him. In the background he could hear his teammates yelling for a pass, but he couldn't actually see anyone open to pass off to, so he continued to run.
His legs felt disconnected, and the sounds around him were muffled. Full-force panic set in. Breathing was no longer a minor struggle, he was completely deprived of oxygen
No longer in control, Ryan stopped and his upper body pitched forward, forcing him to lift his arms to break his fall. Much to his surprise, he was able to remain on his feet, staggering a few steps to his left, toward the benches. The sound of his heart beating in his ears reminded him of nightmares involving being held underwater.
Ryan was bumped lightly from behind, which pushed him further forward and closer to losing his balance completely.
"Dude! What the hell're you doin'" The voice was annoyed.
Ryan turned and caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It was one of his teammates, but he couldn't put a face to the voice. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting off the field - breathing.
He heard himself take a shuddering breath, like someone who'd been laughing or crying too hard for far too long. He continued moving forward, not bothering to check if the coast was clear.
He stumbled forward but stopped as the play moved directly in front of him. A few feet in front of Ryan, Rickard and Johnson jockeyed for position.
"Don't touch me, faggot" Rickard spat at Johnson, who responded by pushing his foe from behind.
Rickard turned to face Johnson, but the ref stepped between them and both players accepted the intervention and continued in pursuit of the ball.
"He just call you a faggot" McGregor breathlessly asked Johnson, as they each fought off their marks and tried to push deeper into the center of the tightly packed scrum.
"Shut up, McGregor" Johnson yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Oh, you've got to be fuckin' kidding me" McGregor laughed incredulously.
Johnson left his mark and turned to face his teammate, his anger evidently boiling over. "I said shut the fuck up"
Ryan stepped up closer, eager to get to the sidelines, but realizing that he'd have to weave his way through several game-focused players to do so. So he waited. He didn't have to energy to dodge them.
"I should have known you were a fag, too…." McGregor's voice traveled well in the wind, but Ryan couldn't be bothered listening for Johnson's response.
"You had to know people would find out, you fuckin' fag" Rickard sounded like he was enjoying himself, rubbing it in Johnson's face.
Johnson, for once, looked close to tears. He had hit breaking point by receiving a healthy dose of his own medicine. Suddenly, Ryan didn't feel so bad about having to leave the game. Things were finally falling into order.
The ball was booted into the far corner of the field. Players from both teams raced after it. Ryan waited for the crowd to thin. The red-haired boy was in the lead, free of all guarding and unimpeded.
Ryan saw his opening and started walking toward the opposite side of the field. Rickard was calling out insults from Ryan's left, and Johnson was doing his best to ignore the words off to the right.
Ryan wished they would both just follow the rest of the players and play the game. The ball started to make its way back up field and Ryan realized he had to hurry across to beat the crowd. He prayed for cooperation from his body.
"I'm talking to you" Rickard yelled menacingly.
There was no response from Johnson, who had his back turned and appeared to be heading back into the fray.
"Oh, that's it" Rickard growled.
The player in red started running, gaining incredible speed with every stride. Even at a quick glance, Ryan knew the guy was going to kill whatever was in his way.
He turned to the right; Johnson was directly in the line of fire, oblivious to the force barreling down on him.
Ryan shot his eyes over to the ref, who was occupied with separating McGregor from one of Phoenix's players.
Again, Ryan snapped his head to the left. Rickard was getting closer; Johnson didn't appear to have a clue.
Ryan had to say something. He wasn't even sure if he could, but he had to at least sound a warning. Like it or not, Johnson was his teammate.
"Johnson" Ryan managed to yell. Johnson's head snapped around as he spitefully made eye contact with Ryan. "Watch it"
Johnson's brow furrowed, and his eyes suddenly widened. Before Ryan could turn around, an extraordinary force knocked him off his feet.
The noise was too loud.
It was dark, too dark. Something wasn't right.
Ryan couldn't wrap his brain around the sudden change in conditions. The air was hot and thick, not at all breathable. He could hear muffled screaming off in the distance. What felt like sharp knives stabbed at his stomach, chest and legs. But the weight - the extraordinary mass pressing down in him - was what scared him the most.
He was compressed, flattened under an enormous load that just kept increasing. The noises were louder, more urgent. The pain was more intense. The darkness got blacker. But the weight…the weight was unforgiving.
……………………
"What's he doing" Sandy asked aloud, the question directed at no one in particular.
"I don't know…." Luke shook his head and squinted against the wind, leaning forward to the edge of the metal seat of the bleachers in an attempt to get a better view.
One second Ryan was running full-force with the rest of the players, the next he has doubled over and staggering across the field. He'd since stopped, and was standing motionless in the middle of the field. It looked like a couple of players from either team were speaking to him, but from where Luke was sitting, there wasn't a chance in hell he could hear what was discussed between them.
The ball was kicked back toward centerfield, and Ryan took a few steps back, then forward, but still made no obvious effort to rejoin the play.
"Something's wrong…" Sandy mumbled, keeping his eyes set on the field as he stood and started making his way through the crowd and down the steps of the bleachers.
Luke fumbled with his crutches and muttered his apologies as he awkwardly maneuvered through the bodies and followed Sandy.
Luke approached Sandy from behind, his feet were just behind the thick white line of paint that marked the edge of the field.
If it weren't for the large '27' stitched Ryan's back, Luke would have never recognized his friend. He wasn't the tallest guy in the world, but Luke had never seen Ryan look so small. He stood in place while the others ran circles around him. He'd take a few steps forward, look around, then stop. He was fighting a battle that Luke couldn't even begin to understand and he felt his stomach twist as he observed the scene.
Sandy was right, something was very wrong.
Out of nowhere, Ryan called out to Johnson. Luke shook his head to make sure he hadn't imagined it. It made no sense; Ryan had been avoiding Johnson at all costs the entire weekend.
In his confusion, Luke hadn't noticed the player in red, running at mach speed in the direction of Johnson - and Ryan.
"Watch it" Ryan forced the words out breathlessly.
As Ryan spoke, the player in red changed his direction a couple of degrees. Luke craned his neck to see around the players whipping by in front of him, chasing after the ball.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Sandy stiffen, and felt his own body go through the same subconscious reaction. The player in red was aimed at Ryan. And he wasn't letting up.
It all happened so fast, too quickly for Luke to say anything. He couldn't warn his friend, who, ironically, was trying to warn his enemy. Instead, Luke braced himself as if he were about to receive a hit of equal magnitude.
Luke swore he heard the collision before he saw it. The sound was so sickening that it caused a shiver to run from one end of his body to the other.
He blinked and held his breath. Others piled on. First Johnson, then three or four giants from the other team. Within seconds, that, in Luke's mind, lasted for a torturous eternity, the heap was piled six or seven high.
Several players were yelling, arguing, fighting with each other, but Luke didn't look at them, he stayed focused on the pile of bodies in the middle of the field.
Despite all the noise, he heard the short, panicked breathing pattern emitted from the man beside him. Sandy stood frozen, shocked. He was right, something was wrong.
Three men in black and white jerseys started peeling players off the top of the pile. As the layers of red and blue were removed, Luke saw it.
Underneath all the mayhem, from the bottom of the pile, a single hand was sticking out, grasping at and ripping out blades of grass in a gesture that could only be conceived as the act of someone in complete and utter agony. Luke took a step forward and swallowed when his fearful guess was confirmed.
"Oh my God" Sandy whispered slowly. Luke swallowed again.
Whistles continued to blow. Bodies continued to fly. It was full out war and no one could win. Ryan had already lost.