Dead Shot Clock Page 4

traitor.

  Halftime.

  Jacob wasn't even facing the door as the team came in. He heard desperate gasps for air. What he thought might be weeping. He kept his head down as they walked around him, sat down on the ground, leaned against the wall. He knew they would not speak to him, could never speak to him again.

  "Jacob," said Carlos.

  Jacob looked up. A still-sobbing Daequan's face was buried in Carlos's shoulder. Emma had a vicious cut over her right eye, trails of blood smeared across her face. She was the one who'd sat on the floor, and she was looking in a daze at her ripped-up shoes. Dewayne held Deandre up, Deandre who was wincing in pain and massaging his knee.

  "Where's Eric, Carlos?"

  "Eric's dead."

  The words didn't sink in. Jacob couldn't let them. "He went on a shooting streak?"

  "No. We're all cold. They just... Eric went up to the basket and... One of those things just cut him down." Carlos gulped. "Like my Papa slaughtering a chicken."

  Daequan growled. "Eric wasn't a... a...." The tears kept him from continuing.

  All Jacob could do was nod. He wasn't sure what he was nodding at, but his head knew to nod.

  "Can't play anymore," said Deandre. "I'm limping. Jacob... tell me you won't turn into a zombie out there."

  Jacob didn't say anything. What he did was put on his jersey. Put on his shorts, his socks, his shoes. He lightly jumped a few times to get his blood pumping. Then he turned to the team. His team. "What's the score?"

  "We're down by ten," said Carlos.

  Four-possession game. No, Jacob corrected himself, five possessions just to tie. No three-point line. They would have to keep the demons from scoring five times. Eric was... gone. That left Emma as the only real driver. Dewayne was clearly burnt out. Daequan never could keep up a dribble. Jacob would have to dwell out near the perimeter and be the jumper specialist for Emma. He'd have to do some driving too, keep watch for a rolling-out Carlos. He had to hope the team was realizing this the same time he was, because they didn't have time to discuss this. They didn't even have the energy to discuss this.

  The door opened up behind him. Their escort wasn't even going to say anything. He just held the door open. This was Jacob's window. Jacob's speech. He thought of repeating what Coach Santos had told him, or saying, "For Eric." Or, "For America." Or something motivationally profane.

  "Just remember," he said to everyone, "a point a minute. A point a minute will do it."

  They jogged down the corridor and then onto the court. The demons were already shooting around. Jacob's mind screamed at the sight of them. No two were alike. Monkey faces on some. Snake scales on others. Wings. Feathers. Vicious fangs. Six-appendages on that one. Nine on the other. No jerseys, but armor composed of gold, spikes, and leather. Jacob did not dare consider what the leather was formerly. They were clicking to each other, and then screeching howls that trailed off as their pitch went beyond audible. Jacob couldn't even tell what he was looking at. A mess of flesh, of exoskeleton, of jagging bones erupting out of backs. They were one yet legion, flocking together, and then swirling about, a hurricane of nightmarish shapes and sounds.

  Behind the demons' scorer table, similar monstrosities chattered into microphones, their shrieking chants pounding out of the PA system. Struggling to compete were the soldiers' announcements, a stern square-jawed sergeant shouting, "On the floor for this half! The home team! Emma Pembrooke! Dewayne Wilson! Carlos Meringuez! Daequan Quarters! And subbing for Eric Starr, Jacob Saintan!" A quick breath. "And for the away! Ixiqotle! Zuna'ahu! Echi-Kuni-Potpla! Azm! Poodah of Mitnal!"

  Behind the human's table was a lump covered over by olive tarp. Leading away from the bundle was a crimson trail that ended at a sideline underneath a basket. No, Jacob realized, not ended. Began. Eric.

  Deandre took a seat in the human area, notably far from the covered pile. A hulking monster with four clawed hands and skeletal wings stomped its way towards the human team, a blast of putrid air leaving its maw with each earthshaking step. In one of its paws, it held a basketball. The referee, Jacob instantly knew. The treaty insured a demon ref in compensation for humanity's home court advantage. The beast handed Jacob the ball. Grabbing it forced Jacob to brush flesh with the creature. For a second, a terrifying wave of nausea washed over the teen, and he eyed his hands. Their color stayed lively. False alarm.

  He slapped the ball. "Two! Two! Go!" The humans scattered, the demons stalking behind them. Emma was open, but Jacob had no idea how quick the demons were. He cannoned the pass to her. Emma's defender let the ball slide into her hands. She raced around the demon and pitched the ball to Carlos. Carlos to Daequan, who eyed his slobbering defender with trembling terror. Daequan to Jacob. A pull up jumper. It slapped high off the backboard. A demon rebounded with three hands on the ball.

  "Defense! Let's go!" Jacob took up post at where the free throw line would be, but saw his teammates were guarding the demons racing down the court man-to-man. "No, no! Zone! We've got to go zone!"

  Carlos matched shoulders with a winged horror, the monster's arm brushing its defender back. "Jacob! They can't shoot! Watch this possession!"

  The demon's point guard skittered on its triple-jointed legs down to the basket before slinging the ball to the rim without fading away. Clank. Jacob raced to catch the ball, but Carlos's assignment stomped to it first, body slamming Jacob back. Second chance shot. Bonk. Third chance. Thunk. Jacob and Carlos tried to wrestle back into the play. Fourth chance. Off the backboard, through the hoop. Down twelve.

  Carlos inbounded to Emma. "Go!" Jacob said, waving her forward. "Pick up the pace!" Emma drove down, halting in front of two demons waving their claws in the air, forcing her to look around. Jacob clapped for the ball. Emma to Jacob. He ignored the defender lumbering towards him and aimed.

  Score. The margin was back to ten.

  Back and forth, back and forth. Jacob was getting a sense of the game's flow now. Offense was an afterthought to the demons. There was no off-the-ball action and little passing. They excelled at offensive rebounding, but second-chance points still came with difficulty. Defense was their specialty. Inside scoring was nigh impossible. Their double teams couldn't be broken. They ignored the half court, allowing Emma to call out plays with impunity. The perimeter was always open, but without an outside bonus, there was no way to punish the demons from beyond the "arc."

  Eric was an afterthought. Earth's safety was an afterthought. The bonk-bonk-bonk of the basketball was Jacob's universe. He didn't distinguish the demons from each other; they all shot with equal ineptitude and they all hulked well over the kids they guarded. The humans were catching up, but the clock was unforgiving.

  Down four. Emma faked a pass to Jacob, and then used her defender's lunge as an opportunity to drive the lane. A double team awaited her. Pass to Dewayne. He went up with the ball. A flailing monster smacked him to the ground.

  The referee stormed to the felled Dewayne. "Grrrrrrrrshhhhhhhnaaaagh!"

  "Foul on Ixiqotle!" reported the human announcer, the demon announcer's screams echoing incomprehensibly alongside him. "Two shots for Wilson!"

  Carlos dragged Dewayne up. The teams lined up at where the ref decided the sides of the free throw lane were. Dewayne was still trying to shake off the hit, clutching his shoulder in anguish. Jacob looked at the demon next to him. Monkey-faced. Fangs. Wings. Armored. In a way, it was one of Jacob's creators. Knowing the creature couldn't respond, he asked it, "Why? Why do you want to play us?"

  The demon turned to Jacob and in hissing, unaccented English said, "Because we like to watch you run and jump and yell. And die."

  "This isn't a game to us," Jacob responded without hesitation. He turned away from it and watched Dewayne shudder his way through warming up for the shot. Five bounces. Exhale. Two bounces. The shot.

  A miss. Jacob jumped past his opponent and tipped it in. Two points down.

  The demons tried to fast break back to the basket, but the ball
handler lost the rock on the sideline. The thing screamed in frustration, causing the humans to hold their ears in pain. Less than a minute left. Emma flung the ball to Carlos, who took an outside shot. Jacob prepared himself to groan, but the field goal was good. Tie.

  Another fast break, but this time, the demons actually passed the ball. Daequan tried to steal the ball from behind, but the monster pulled away from him and bounced the ball to the corner. Jacob charged screaming at the devil, glaring right into its inky eyes, waving his arms like a deranged eagle.

  Ball in the air.

  Clunk.

  Emma had the rebound and the pass to Jacob. He dribbled it to half court. Seconds passing. The lethargy from the long inactivity in the locker room was biting away at him. A taste of metal in his mouth. He swallowed it down. No. He was Jacob Saintan. He was the team captain. He would not fail his team. A turn to the human sideline. "What happens if we tie?"

  A soldier stood up, his expression cold. "Don’t tie."

  Twenty seconds left.

  Carlos set a screen against Jacob's defender. Jacob waved his teammate off. The guarding demon's face was inscrutable, a mess of feathers and ridges and incisors. Fifteen seconds left. It took a step forward, and in a flash, Jacob knew. An intentional foul. The play made perfect sense. Kill the shooter, and end the game. A pass would be snagged away. A shot from here would hit only air.

  He raised the ball up. It quaked in his quivering hands. His defender took another step forward. Nausea again. Right eye rolling up. Palms clammy. Skin whitening.

  "Nnnnnnrguh!" he said, jumping. The ball out of his hands. Floating. An orb of burnt orange streaking through the air.

  "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnndgrrrashhhhh!" screamed his defender.

  Emma caught a glimpse of Jacob's face and ran towards the locker room.

  Zero seconds left.

  Floating.

  Soldiers tensing.

  Carlos crossing himself.

  The backboard. Into the hoop.

  Through the net.

  Frothing blood flew out of Jacob's mouth as he seized on the floor. The demons, gnashing their fangs and whimpering, fell away from the court. A soldier yelled over walkie-talkie for reinforcements to take the demons back to their hell. Daequan whooped and stretched his arms into the air. Carlos fainted. Deandre limped onto the court from where he'd been sitting, shouting exultant cries of, "YES!"

  Another soldier bounded over the table and rushed to Jacob, grabbing the boy, shaking him while laughing, while cheering. "YOU DID IT YOU DID IT YOU DID IT!" A siren went off somewhere on the base. The entire team was piling onto Jacob now, Carlos drunkenly weaving his way over, Daequan laughing uncontrollably. They didn't care about the blood and froth that got on them or the strange groaning noises coming from their captain. All they knew was a crazed dizziness as tears of joy trickled down their faces. Jacob, though incapable at that moment of remembering what the United State's capital was, unable even to click his tongue, could feel their arms around him, their cheers in his ear.

  The clock blinked its glad tidings - Zero Colon Zero Zero. The Americas were safe. Emma rushed back into the arena, kit tucked in her arms. She pulled her exuberant squad mates off Jacob and held him down as she prepared the injection. As she sucked the solution into the syringe, she looked down at the grinning, paling boy underneath her, his one unrolled eye staring joyfully up at her.

  She smiled at him. "You made Coach proud, Captain."

  Down went the needle.

  * * * * * *

  About The Author

  Blaise Marcoux has bounced around the United States, from California to Kentucky to Indiana to Kansas and now to North Carolina. What remained consistent throughout all these locale shifts is Blaise's passion for writing intriguing, innovative fiction. He grew up on a reading diet that included CS Lewis, Isaac Asimov, Douglas Adams, Stephen King, and Berkley Breathed. After toying around with the conceit of being a professional basketball player in middle school, he finally realized that all those years of getting excited about spelling bees, bookstore visits, and short story writing were probably preparing him for a more literary career.

  Since that realization, Blaise has had science fiction short stories published in various Internet periodicals and had a comic strip called "Cool Thing" published in Kansas University's campus newspaper for two semesters. He also received the Edgar Wolf Award from Kansas University for his short story "Left in Transition" in 2011. He continues to work on his bachelor degree in creative writing while striving to craft tales he hopes entertains readers as much as his favorite writers entertained him. More of his work is at www.betterlivingthroughlowselfesteem.com.