Valkyrie with Dale
"Rooster, sit on your Second before you all get kicked out," Bella said as she nudged him with her hip and picked up the syrup carafe with its broken handle. "No more syrup, Marcus."
It seemed Dale's team was struggling with nerves in the early morning of the battle. Marcus' hands slipped under the table, and his knee began to twitch. Carlisle shook himself and smiled before patting her hand on his shoulder. Bella glared at me, and I shrugged.
Carlisle frowned at Bella, "You're closing at noon? You and Es will be there?"
I watched Bella's eyes soften before she busied herself wiping the table. "Please, like my aunt is going to miss this. She's already walking around her house trying to figure out what will fit in yours."
Carlisle leaned his arms on the table and said, "Is she now?"
Bella placed her hand on her hip, "You've got an uphill battle before claiming your prize, Rooster." She turned and walked behind the counter before he could respond, but a tiny smile lingered on his lips.
Marcus stretched to the table behind us for syrup before settling next to me and pouring it into his coffee. "There's a new team this year, The Raleigh Rebels. Alec is having kittens, according to sources." He licked the rim of his cup before taking a satisfying gulp.
I looked to Carlisle. "What does that mean for your wagers?"
Carlisle sat back and threw his wadded napkin on his plate. "Not a damn thing. If they win, neither Alec nor I will have to pay up."
"Or win," Marcus said as he made a puddle of syrup and melted butter on his plate.
Carlisle's jaw set as he stood and made his way to the counter.
Before leaving, Carlisle wrapped himself around Esme. "Love, a bet's a bet, and I expect you to honor our wager if I win."
Esme kissed Carlisle in her favorite spot. "I would be honored to honor our bet, Carlisle Cullen." He claimed her lips dipping her before stepping back to look into her eyes, and when satisfied with what he saw, he nodded and gave her one last parting kiss.
I looked to Bella, and she widened her eyes at me. Carlisle made it look so easy. Damn him. I had so much to learn, but one look at Bella let me know I'd get there. She grinned as I wrapped my arm around her waist and drew her to me.
Carlisle hit my back with his hat as I kissed Bella, "Come on, Casanova, we've got a pumpkin to fling."
A thill shot through me as I fell in line behind Carlisle and Marcus. It was time.
There should have been more fanfare as we rode onto the field. Three trebuchets towered over the field. Dale's banners and tee shirts were everywhere, but I also saw caps and tee-shirts for the Gunners scattered throughout. This fight between Carlisle and Alec seemed to have polarized the town.
A coin toss placed The Morton Gunners first, Raleigh Rebels second, and the Fling Kings last. I knew the wait would be a torment and wreak havoc on our team's nerves.
We spent the next hour lining up the trebuchet, and Tyler and Eric joined us. The team checked and rechecked the position and parts we would need to succeed in flinging close to one thousand pounds of pumpkin and shadowed Carlisle as he touched every moving part, as if in blessing.
We decided to keep our secret weapon hidden until the last minute, and the stands were filling by the time Emmett and his crew of faithful followers pulled up with the sling. A VW wagon of the geek squad followed the dually truck onto the field. The gang of jocks and geeks seemed to swarm with activity, and the field's energy spiked.
Tyler, Eric, Carlisle, and Marcus worked at hooking up the new sling, and I noticed Alec's crew stop to watch.
Paul swaggered toward us and shouted, "What the hell is that Carl, a diaper?"
Marcus took two steps toward Paul before Carlisle could grab his forearm. "Proof of the puddin' is in the eating." Carlisle threw his arm over his friend's shoulders, "Let's watch them choke on it, yeah?"
Marcus turned back to his buddy with a wide grin, "Yeah."
No automobiles could stay on the field but for the time to unload materials, and when the stands were packed, they called for all vehicles off the field. Emmett threw his keys to one of the JV, and with a wink, Tyler passed his keys to a girl with braided red hair. Paul Newton threw his keys to one of the geeks and told him to park his Cameo in the back lot.
I scanned the stands and found the girls huddled under a quilt. Esme was opening her thermos to share her liquid warmth with Carmen. I grinned at Bella as Esme poured alcohol into Bella's coffee. Bella took a sip and nodded and took another sip before she smiled at me and mouthed "good luck" as a horn sounded for all to take their seat, and the announcer began his spiel.
"Welcome all to the twenty-second annual pumpkin festival. Today is the last tournament, the granddaddy of all—the trebuchets. The trebuchet was a wooden siege engine designed to destroy castle walls with massive boulders. But rocks were not the only things trebuchets pitched, no sir. Urns filled with flammable material and dead animals were two more projectiles of choice. It was downright medieval!
"Today, we have three noble contestants on the field, and in order of the coin toss, we have the Morton Gunners." Paul and Alec fell over themselves, laughing as the crowd cheered. The disembodied voice waited for the cheers to die down before continuing. "And from North Carolina, we have the Raleigh Rebels." The MC paused for more applause. "Annnnnd finally we have the four-year underdogs, The Fling Kings."
Confetti bombs shot from the stands, and Carlisle and Marcus, dressed for Viking warfare, including helmets with horns, turned, lifting their arms and egging on the crowd. The chant "WE SAIL WITH DALE" started from the left side of the stands, right around where the cheerleaders were seated.
My heart swelled with pride for this student body. They would be great for this town, for the world, when they finally made it out there.
The MC hollered over the loudspeaker to regain order, and the crowd reluctantly found their seats.
"First up, our very own first family, Alec and Paul Newton, with a pumpkin weighing in at six hundred and twenty-three pounds. Now for you first-timers, the test of winning is the combined average of weight and distance. So here we go for the Morton Gunners."
Alec, dressed in tails and a top hat, stepped forward and bowed to the crowd as Paul did a final check.
The crowd cheered and quieted as Paul pulled the long rope releasing the counterweight. The large bucket moved back slowly, and the long arm propelled forward, sending the enormous pumpkin soaring. It felt suspended in time and space before gravity engaged and pulled it groundward. The massive crash of pumpkin and wood sent the crowd to their feet, cheering.
I couldn't help but clap with the crowd. The incredible power of the trebuchet was impressive.
The MC's voice rose above the noise, "A spectacular shot out the gate. We have our team of judges measuring the distance, and we'll report the results. But now, let's turn to our North Carolina friends. Led by Tim Horton and Ronnie Hue, the Raleigh Rebel's pumpkin weighs in at five hundred and ninety-six pounds. Let's see if they can send it farther than our sitting champions."
The Raleigh Rebels, dressed in camouflage and military helmets, scrambled to prepare for their launch. They signaled to the stands, and a horn sounded. They made a show of the whole crew pulling the rope, and the arm began to swing. A crewmember shouted as the pumpkin released. A cord snapped, and all watched in horror as it hit the nearest man before sending the pumpkin wobbling skyward. It fell to the ground far shorter than the Newton pumpkin. While some cheered, all seemed focused on the hurt member of the NC crew.
All activity stilled as medical staff gathered to help the man off the field. Bloody but walking, he waved to the crowd and sat on the sidelines while medical staff worked on him.
"Well, now that was all kinds of dramatic. Matt Johnson just told me our fine North Carolina fighter will be fine. They're loading him up to take him to be checked out more thoroughly. Let's give him a round of applause as he leaves the field."
All stood, clapped, and cheered as he waved once more with a grin from under his bandages.
"Now, let's continue our medieval battle. The Morton Gunners flew ninety-eight yards, and with a weight of six hundred and forty-eight pounds, it brings their score to three hundred and sixty," which brought a roar from the stands.
Marcus looked to Carlisle, and Carlisle gave him a sly fox grin that had Marcus laughing and bobbing his head. Carlisle was cool and collected as he walked around the massive machine, touching here and tugging there as the MC carried on.
"Now, our brothers of North Carolina, today wasn't your day. Glad no one was seriously injured, and your crew put in a valiant effort, but the distance of the Raleigh Rebels was only sixty-seven yards. Their weight of five hundred and ninety-six pounds brought their score to three hundred and thirty-one. Let's give them a Morton round of applause."
The stands rose to their feet, stomping and cheering like Friday night football.
I took a deep breath as the crowd found their seats, and the MC's voice continued. "Now, last but by no means least, we have The Fling Kings run by the renowned Carlisle Cullen and Marcus Bentley."
At this, Carlisle and Marcus egged on the roar from the stands. Ride of the Valkyries blared through the speakers as Carlisle held his arms high like a massive Viking warrior, and Marcus did cartwheels that sent the crowd wild. Carlisle brought Marcus back to the trebuchet, and the crowd quieted in anticipation.
"All right now, The Fling King have the monster of all pumpkins this year. Weighing in at nine hundred and forty-eight pounds, it stands to break records if they can make the distance."
The crowd cheered, and Carlisle waved as he and Marcus got in position. I stood to the side with Tyler and his gang, who looked nauseously excited. Tyler stood slightly apart with his feet wide and arms crossed over his chest. He nodded to Carlisle, and Carlisle pursed his lips and nodded back.
Marcus pointed to Emmett and Rose, and they began the count down. The crowd joined in, and Carlisle and Marcus pulled the long rope to send the trebuchet into motion at three-two-one. The stands fell silent as the giant weapon began to move. It lumbered slowly to haul the massive weight, and all held their breath as the arm rose and released the behemoth gourd. It seemed suspended in the air as it soared and finally began a graceful descent crashing magnificently to the ground just feet from the Newton's launch. The crowd's roar was deafening, and Carlisle and Marcus danced and embraced.
The MC didn't try to get control of the dancing, cheering crowd. Dale had served us all well.
I stood, watching the town's reaction, and marveled at their emotional investment in throwing a pumpkin across a field. But I felt the pain in my cheeks as I realized I was smiling as wide as everyone else.
The MC yelled, "A distance of ninety-seven yards has The Fling Kings winning this year and shattering the weight record with a score of five hundred and twenty-two!"
A cacophony of cheers erupted, and I looked for my uncle and found him with his arm around his best friend's shoulders, looking up into the stands for his best girl. I saw Esme, Carmen, and Bella up in the stands. Carlisle spread his arms wide as he raised his eyebrows in question. Esme shrugged and lifted her hand for the Beyonce's Single Ladies wave and laughed as Marcus jumped up and down, congratulating his friend by slapping him on the head and shoulders.
Carmen got Marcus' attention, bringing him to a dead standstill when she lifted her shirt before blowing him a kiss. Marcus fell to the ground, and Carlisle laughed with tears as he pulled his friend to his feet.
I glanced back to the stands to see Esme and Carmen laughing, wiping their eyes, and finishing off the last of the thermos. Bella's tear-filled eyes searched the field and, finding me, blew me a kiss. I caught it and pressed it to my lips. After all, to the victor goes the spoils.