Curse of the Spider King (22 page)

“You'll need to get them all,” she said. “If even one gets back to warn—”

“Leave it to me,” he said. “Old Charlie gets the job done.”

“You're a godsend, Mr. Charlie,” said Mrs. Galdarro. “There'll be fresh scones and tea waiting for you when you're finished.”

Mr. Charlie swept past Tommy and spun around with the mop as if it were a dance partner. “Yes, ma'am, I do like that tea of yours.” With that, Mr. Charlie disappeared down the office hallway.

Tommy had been confused by plenty of adult conversations before. But this one topped them all. “Mrs. Galdarro, what's going on?”

“We need to have a long talk, Tommy Bowman.” She paused and studied him for a moment. “Eight hundred years is a long enough wait.”

“What?”

“Never you mind,” she said. “We will talk soon. I need to check some things, and then I will call for you. For now, stay away from
ALL
strangers. You will listen this time, won't you?”

Tommy swallowed. “Yes, ma'am.”

21

Unstoppable Force

JETT GRINNED as the announcer began calling the players for the home team. It'd been quite a challenge convincing his mom to let him play football this soon. But in the follow-up visits since the accident, all of the doctors had declared Jett 100 percent healthy. “Good as new,” they'd said. “The Miracle Boy. Strong as an ox.” Maybe stronger.

In the days that followed, Jett had cut seven cords of firewood. He'd removed the big tree stumps from their side yard. And he'd even fixed the fence around their three-acre property—the whole fence. Jett's dad had no idea how his thirteen-year-old son had managed that feat.

Given the test results, the professional opinions, and what they'd seen Jett able to do, Mrs. Green gave in at last. Coach Tucker was so relieved he sent Jett's mom a bouquet of roses. Jett was relieved, too. He wanted to play. Needed to play. This afternoon's contest was the regional final against their biggest rival. And it wasn't that the Raiders couldn't win without Jett, but he was certainly a huge part of their success.

Jett heard the cheers and watched his teammates charge out of the tunnel onto the field. He put in his mouthpiece, preparing for his entrance. He couldn't believe he'd been in the hospital just a week before. He felt too good. In some ways, he felt better than ever.

“And now Greenville fans”—came the tinny announcer's voice—“let's give it up for number twenty-eight, your Raiders running back, Jett Green!”

Jett tore out of the tunnel, smacked hands and pounded the fists of his teammates, and jumped all around. And to the crowd's surprise and joy, Jett did a back flip. He landed lightly on his feet and laughed.
Never done one of those before!

Jett felt a hard pat on his shoulder pad and turned to find Kyle Merkel, the Raiders' quarterback, standing there. “Jett, lighten up on the high-fives, man,” Kyle said, shaking his hand like it still stung. “I gotta throw with this hand, y'know?”

“Why throw when you can just hand the ball off to me!” The two pointed at each other and laughed.

To Jett's surprise, Coach Tucker didn't put him in on the kickoff team. “I know the docs say you're fine, but I don't want to wear you out.”

“Coach, I'm good,” said Jett.

“I'll use you when we need you.” And then he turned and walked toward the assistant coaches. Coach Tucker was like that—few words, many decisions, and no one dared argue.

The Raiders kicked off. The ball sailed end over end and landed in the arms of Cleat Ferguson, Clifton's burly running back. They called him “The Brickhouse” because he didn't just run past his opponents; he ran over them. Cleat returned the kick past his team's thirty-yard line and found a seam between blockers. Then, like a locomotive train building speed, he charged across the fifty before the first Raiders' player got in his way. Cleat hit him so hard he spun around. The Brickhouse made it to the Raiders' forty-yard line before Raiders' players gang-tackled him.

Jett watched from the sideline but felt so full of energy he couldn't sit still on the bench. Besides, things weren't going well for his team, and he hoped Coach Tucker would put him in soon. It would prove to be a very long wait, and . . . a very long afternoon.

Midway through the third quarter, the score was Clifton Tigers 24, Greenville Raiders 3. Every other play, Jett begged Coach Tucker to put him in. Jett's teammates tried, too. Even Jett's mother, who had originally been reluctant to let Jett play, found herself hollering at the coach.

But Coach Tucker ignored them all. He was like that.

Jett looked up to his parents, saw their frustrated expressions, and gave them an I-don't-know-either kind of shrug. Jett started to turn back to watch the game when one of the spectators caught his eye. It was the way he was dressed, too warm for a North Carolina afternoon, even in the fall. Dark trench coat, gloves, big, wide-brimmed hat. Jett thought the hat was cool, kind of like Indiana Jones.

“Jett!” called Coach Tucker. “Get over here!”

Jett took a last look at the oddball in the stands and then raced over to his coach.
Finally
, Jett thought,
I'm going in.

But Coach Tucker wasn't ready to put Jett in. Instead, he rallied his troops on the sideline. “Wrap the Brickhouse up!” he challenged his defense. “You try to just knock this guy down, he'll pulverize you. But stop his legs from churning, and he'll go down like a ton of bricks. Ha!”

“Put Jett in,” mumbled Derek Moody, a linebacker and one of Jett's best friends on the team.

Coach Tucker gave Derek a steely glare. “We are a team, not one player! We just need to execute our plays! Fundamentals: make your blocks, wrap up on the tackles—simple as that.” Then he gathered the kids and did hands-in for a cheer.

The next few possessions went a little better. The Raiders scored on two of their first three possessions, and they were able to stop Brickhouse a few times. But with the third quarter winding down, the Chargers still led 30–17.

The Raiders kicked off, and the Clifton kick returner let the ball get away from him. It hit the turf and bounced between his legs before wobbling to a stop at the ten-yard line. The Raiders dove, but after the referees sorted through the mound of players, one of the Chargers had somehow come up with the ball.

The Chargers then began a long, time-consuming drive. And once again, it was Brickhouse dishing out the punishment. He barreled through the line for fifteen yards on one play and, while blocking for his quarterback, flattened a Raiders' defensive lineman. The Chargers sat on the Raiders' twenty-yard line, and they'd eaten all but the last three minutes of the clock. Coach Tucker knew even a field goal would put the game completely out of reach. Without even turning around, he yelled, “Jett, you're in at middle linebacker! Let's go!”

Jett sprang off the bench and raced out onto the field. The hometown crowd cheered. Even the Chargers turned from their huddle to see what all the noise was about.

The Raiders' defense huddled up, and Jett said, “All right, we know they want to chew up the clock. They're going to try to run it down our throats. And you know what we're going to do?” He looked each player eye-to-eye. “We're going to close every hole and give 'em no place to go but DOWN!!”

They broke their huddle almost chanting, “Down, down, you're goin' down. Down, down, you're goin' down.”

The Chargers lined up with one running back in the backfield, the Brickhouse. They tried to spread the defense by putting wide receivers far out on both sides of the line and putting one of them in motion, but the Raiders' defense didn't bite. The handoff went to Brickhouse, and he lumbered toward the line. His offensive linemen were adept blockers, and they'd opened a hole. Brickhouse came charging through, and the Greenville crowd cringed, expecting another big gain. But something shot through the gap and hit Brickhouse. Not only did he stop, but he was driven backward five yards. He landed hard on his back on the turf. And Jett Green, grinning like it was Christmas morning, landed on top of him.

The crowd went wild.

“Get off me!” Brickhouse yelled. He shoved Jett off and clambered back to his feet. He eyed Jett. “You got lucky!” he said as he lumbered back to his team's huddle.

Coach Tucker called a time-out. The clock stopped at 2:18 to play. He ran out to the huddle where the defense was busy slapping Jett on the pads and whooping it up about his crushing hit on Brickhouse. The coach broke up that little celebration. “What you think? You win the Super Bowl?” He glared at his players, especially Jett. “All you saw was a player make a play he was supposed to make. Now, get your head in the game. We're playing for our play-off lives. You have to stop them right here and right now. Either get me the ball or drive them back out of field goal range!”

The Chargers came to the line of scrimmage. This time, they brought in a fullback and two tight ends. They weren't even trying to pretend they might pass.

One tight end went in motion.

The Raiders' defense shifted.

Jett kept his eyes on Brickhouse.
Man, I feel good
, he thought. He flexed the muscles in his chest and arms and even did a little hop. Then he got low.

The center hiked the ball. The Chargers' quarterback looked for a moment like he might actually pass, but at the last second, he slipped the ball to Brickhouse. Again, the offensive line cleared a running lane. But this time, Brickhouse had a fullback running ahead of him, trying to pick Jett off.

Jett saw the fullback, a big kid himself, rumbling his way. And he could see Brickhouse behind the fullback, following his lead block, ready to go the opposite of the side Jett committed to. But Jett had other plans. Jett surged forward with a burst of speed. He stayed low, got under the fullback, and put his shoulder hard into the fullback's chest. Jett hit the fullback so hard that he drove him directly back . . . into Brickhouse!

The stunned running back tried to spin around, but by that time Jett had detached himself from the fullback. Jett felt like he'd been holding back before, and so he hit Brickhouse with all his might, using his legs and driving his shoulder into Brickhouse's gut. The collision was terrible. The crowd
ooh
ed, and then instantly went silent.

The Chargers' running back groaned and flew backward, and the football came loose and bounced on the turf. Jett climbed over the fallen Brickhouse and scooped up the ball. Two Chargers players were there to try and stop him, but Jett was too fast. He split his opponents and raced eighty yards for the end zone.

“That's my boy!” Mr. Green hollared, slapping high-fives with everyone he knew and didn't know in the stands. The place went ballistic.

Jett's teammates surrounded him again. And again, Coach Tucker put an end to the party. Still, as the coach walked Jett back to the sideline, he said quietly, “Jett, they can't stop you. You hear me? You are an unstoppable force!”

Jett felt joy and pride bubble up inside. For once, he couldn't even talk. He just beamed at Coach Tucker and went to the sideline.

The extra point was good. That made it Chargers 30, Raiders 24. The score wasn't the issue anymore. Holding them on defense and going down to score was doable. But the game clock on the scoreboard stood at the end of the field like an immovable object. One minute and thirty-seven seconds. If the Chargers got the ball on the kick-off, they could simply run out the clock.

“HANDS!!” Coach Tucker bellowed. He needed the wide receivers, tight ends, and anyone who was adept at catching the ball. The Raiders had to try an onside kick.

“Coach!” Jett yelled. “Coach, let me go out there on special teams!”

“It's an onside kick, Jett!”

“I know. C'mon, Coach, I have an idea.”

Coach Tucker didn't answer, but he grabbed Jett by the shoulder and practically threw him onto the field.

Jett ran on and lined up between the kicker and his friend, wide receiver Bryce Tomlinson. “Bryce, c'mere!”

“What?” Bryce asked, looking anxiously at the referee.

Jett whispered in Bryce's ear. Bryce took a step back and said, “You're going to do
what
?”

“Look,” Jett said. “Just follow my lead. I'll get it done.”

“Okay, Jett . . . you're crazy.”

Then Jett called the kicker over and whispered in his ear. The kicker stepped away. “Are you sure?” he asked. “But Coach usually has us—”

“Trust me,” Jett said as he lined up. “I'll get it done.”

The kicker shook his head and bent down to adjust the football on the tee. He took three steps backward and two to the side. The Chargers' players had to line up twenty yards away. Knowing an onside kick was the Raiders' only hope, the Chargers watched the kicker carefully.

The referee blew the whistle. The Raiders' kicker stepped toward the ball as if he might kick it sharply to the right.