AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Vista screamed back, words or pure rage, Valentine couldn't tell. Vista dashed off at an angle southward, running an oblique course for the Wildcat line.
Got you now!
Valentine's crook spun past his nose and he sidestepped-and caught it as it bounced in the air. This time he heard the cheers clearly. With fresh energy he tore toward the Wildcat side and the distant ball, hidden by a gentle fold in the earth.
Sorry, Vista. You'll keep your temper next time.
But the Grog had unguessed-at reserves. It pounded up behind Valentine, sounding like a galloping horse. Valentine risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Vista running in a two-leg, one-, arm canter, the long crook raised to catch him-
Vista swung and Valentine blocked. Valentine shielded his back against another blow and hurried on, then got a painful rap on the knuckles that opened his hand, and he lost his crook for the second time.
He could run better without it anyway.
Now for a real burn.
Valentine ran, extending his sprint. Were he still a fresh Wolf of twenty-two with an uninjured leg he would have left Vista gaping behind. As it was he increased the distance, but only just.
The ball would be an awkward thing to carry. Under his arm he wouldn't be able to run with a proper stride; held in each hand he'd be running upright, not a natural human motion. He could -kick it, but what if he mistimed an approach and missed? If only he had a satchel . . .
Valentine spotted the ball and changed his angle. Vista slowed behind him, perhaps conserving his wind to intercept Valentine on his sprint back. Even more distance yawned between them.
The referee caught up on both of them.
Valentine reached the ball and the Wildcats booed. He ignored the catcalls.
Vista pulled up, perhaps forty yards away, and blew air like an idling train engine. He left ample room to cut an intercepting course.
Valentine dropped his shorts. Someone on the Wildcat side had enough of a sense of humor to whistle, a twittering wolf whistle.
He picked up the ball and stuffed it into the elastic waistband, then closed most of the waist in his fist. The ball was too big to go out the leg holes.
Vista cocked his head, oddly doglike with ears outstretched.
Holding the ball in the improvised sack, Valentine ran straight at him.
The Grog, perhaps fearing another trick, widened his stance and rocked back and forth, crook held loosely in his right hand.
At three strides away Valentine feinted right, away from the crook-then leaped.
He tucked the ball into his belly as he flew through the air, not wanting it batted away as he went over Vista's head in a great Cat leap.
It swung its crook where Valentine should have been.
Valentine landed lightly on his good leg, had a bad split second when Vista's thrown crook struck him in the ankle, and ran, feeling rapidly growing pain from the blow.
Valentine managed to open the distance between them, and Vista let out a strangled, winded cry.
The Bulletproof danced and shouted behind their markers, some urging him on by circling their arms in wheels toward the red tape.
Valentine crossed the line-a gunshot sounded, and old instincts made him flinch-and fell into a mass of Bulletproofs. He felt a sharp slap on his bare buttock, and looked to see the craggy-faced woman giving him a gap-toothed grin.
Valentine turned to look at his opponent. Vista collapsed to his wide knees, pounding at the turf with great fists. He took the basketball out of his underwear, gave up trying to reach the Dispatcher, and tossed the ball in the air.
Limping, Valentine went out to Vista. The Grog jumped up, snarling.
Valentine offered his hand.
The Grog snatched him up by the arm and lowered his head with mouth gaping to bite it off at the wrist. Another shot sounded and the Grog pulled back, a bleeding hole in its cheek.
