Blood Candy (24 page)

Nigel stretched out his hand towards Candy and
vampires craned their necks to get a look at her. She hid her
burning face in her hands while whispers carried through the
stadium.

“Jolly good,” Nigel boomed. “And now to the
teams. Over here,” he pointed a hand to the Mullin team, “Balls
Deep!”

The only sound was Anastasia
clapping.

“Balls Deep?” White Paul said. “You have to be
kidding me. Tell me that’s a joke.”

“I don’t think it is,” Felicia said with a
laugh. Much to the chagrin of her fellow Misfits, she clapped
loudly and whistled. Some of the vampire spectators joined in with
a few half-hearted claps as well.

“And now the opposing team,” Nigel said.
“Playing for the girl and the pride of the Mother Island—Blood
Court!”

One of the vampire groups stood and cheered as
four vampires came out of a tunnel on the other side of the court.
Candy saw Hayden, Rupert, and Vivian, as well as another guy she
assumed to be their brother. The Misfits booed, and Candy wanted to
join in but she thought it might upset Anastasia or the Magister.
The four members of Blood Court walked out onto the basketball
court. In the corridor, Candy saw the shadow of a hulking figure
walking slowly towards them. Wendi glared at Hayden, who smiled
back at her.

Blake stepped next to Hayden and said, “What’s
the deal, Brit? Where’s your fifth?”

Hayden winked at Wendi before turning to face
Blake.

“Nice name, chump,” he said. “We’ll see what
balls go deep after the game tonight.”

And then the fifth Blood Court member emerged
from the tunnel. Everyone’s jaw dropped at the size of the colossal
man who stood well over seven feet tall. He had a craggy, square
face and by the looks of his teeth he might have been chewing on
rocks. The giant laced his fingers together and stretched out his
arms, popping all of the knuckles.

Cooper’s eyes went wide. “Who the fuck is
that?”

“My cousin,” Hayden said with a wicked grin.
“Harold.”

“Greetings, puny Americans,” Harold said in a
distinctly Western Bloc accent.

Blake’s eyes went just as wide as everyone
else’s. “That is
not
your cousin.”

“’
E’s ’r cuzin if I says ’e’s ’r
cuzin, you fawkin’ twat!” Vivian screeched.

The members of Blood Court had a good laugh as
they walked away. The Brits had their names on the back of their
crimson jerseys like the Mullins did: Hayden, Rupert, Vivian, and
Gavin. Printed on the back of Harold’s jersey in huge white letters
was the name MEATRACK.

“We are so dead,” Coop said.

Blake spun around. “That guy’s nothing more
than a hunk of muscle. We can run circles around him. Those Brits
screwed themselves this time.”

Chip smacked a hand down on his shoulder. “If
you say so. I, for one, will do everything I can to avoid that
beast the whole game.”

Nigel walked to the center of the court with a
whistle in the corner of his mouth. Thankfully, he didn’t have the
microphone anymore. He waved both teams over.

“Let’s have a clean game,” he said, and then
he laughed, shaking his head at his own silly statement. “The rules
have been set. Four fifteen minute quarters with a ten minute break
after the second. The winning team will be the one who puts the
ball through one of those basket-net-things the most. Any
questions?”

Everyone stared at him.

“Jolly good!”

Blake and Meatrack faced off at the center of
the court. Blake stood in front of the behemoth and glanced up to
his eyes, trying hard not to look intimidated. Meatrack glared back
down at him with a grin curling up one side of his square
face.

“I must break you,” Meatrack said.

Nigel took the game ball and joined them at
the center. He put the whistle to his mouth while holding the ball
down by his knees in the palm of one hand. Players of both teams
spread out, readying themselves for the tipoff. Nigel blew the
whistle then threw the ball up into the air.

Blake jumped up as fast as he could. Meatrack
didn’t jump at all. Instead, he cocked back one of his massive
arms. As Blake reached out to tip the ball down to Chester, a
massive fist slammed into his gut. Blake flew across the court,
plowing into the seats, ripping a few of them out of the concrete
floor.

Candy screamed and the Misfits stood and
booed. All of the other spectators clapped vigorously, including
Nigel. Meatrack snagged the ball out of the air and threw it to
Hayden, who caught it and slammed it into the basket.

“Foul!” Chester screamed. “Blow the fucking
whistle!”

Nigel stopped clapping long enough to blow the
whistle. Blake came out of the seats on shaky legs. He stood there
for a moment clutching his gut. Candy knew what was coming from the
look on his face. The other Mullins must have known as well—they
all scrambled away from him.

A torrent of blood the likes of which Candy
didn’t think possible exploded from Blake’s mouth. The horrible
sound of it alone was enough to make her, the Misfits, and the
vampire spectators cringe. For a full five seconds, blood erupted
from his mouth until an unbelievable quantity covered the sideline.
It was like watching a wreck on the side of the road—Candy wanted
to look away, but she couldn’t. The blood quickly congealed into a
sickly black mess. Blake swooned and doubled over with his arms
dangling down to the floor.

“Two points for Balls Deep!” Nigel
said.

Rupert stomped over to him. “They don’t just
get the points, wanker! They have to make the free
throws.”

“Jolly good!”

Nigel threw the ball to Blake, who didn’t make
an attempt to catch it. The ball bounced off his head and landed in
the pool of blood where it stuck like it had hit tar.

Chester rushed over to Blake. “Holy shit! Are
you okay?”

Blake shook his head and moaned. Blood dripped
from his nose and eyes.

“You have to take your shots,” Chester said.
“Oh, man. We are seriously screwed.”

Renaldo, not looking happy at all, came out
with buckets and mops to clean up the mess.

Blake, with pure determination on his ghastly
white face, tried to walk over to the free throw line. He stumbled
and went head first over the scorekeeper’s table. Chester and Chip
had to help him get into position for his foul shots.

“You sure you want to go on?” Rupert chortled.
He glanced at Candy and winked. “Throw in the towel now and save
yourself some shame.”

Coop and Wendi bristled, but they backed down
when Meatrack strolled over to his place for the free throws. Blake
weakly dribbled the ball a couple of times and, with blood still on
his mouth and chin, he looked up at the basket. He teetered side to
side before throwing the ball straight down at his feet. Then he
fell backwards.

“That shot counts,” Hayden said through
laughter. “He missed the first shot.”

“Hey, Hayden,” Wendi said. “Have I ever told
you how much I hate you? I have dreams about stringing you up by
your little British balls and watching as the sun rises to burn
your worthless flesh. I savor the scent of it. I catch it in
bottles so I can forever smell your burnt carcass.”

The smile on Hayden’s face instantly vanished.
Nigel watched on in anticipation, rubbing his hands
together.

“Bloody hell she’s saucy,” he said.

Chester and Chip helped Blake back up to his
feet. Blake dribbled the ball feebly while he took aim. He wobbled
for a moment, and then he threw the ball way over the backboard.
Hayden and Rupert cackled with glee.

“Shit,” Chester said. “Maybe we should keep
him on defense until he recovers. Just keep him beneath our
basket.”

Chip guided Blake over to his team’s basket.
Vivian took the throw in, with Coop covering him. Wendi covered
Hayden while Chester moved to cover Rupert. When Chip saw that
Meatrack was his man to cover, his eyes went wide like a kid
confronted by the most terrible monster of his nightmares and he
went to cover Gavin instead. With Meatrack wide open, Vivian threw
the ball to him. The enormous Russian caught it and took four
bounding steps that covered the whole length of the
court.

Blake made a meager attempt to block the
oncoming train. Meatrack kicked him in the face as he slammed the
ball through the basket, sending the Mullin flying backwards. Candy
winced and the Misfits shook their heads. The game had been going
for less than a minute and Blake already looked half
dead.

“Foul!” Chester cried.

“Incidental,” Nigel said. “If anything Blake
charged Harold.”

“He traveled!”

Nigel tilted his head. “Travel? Where was he
going?”

Chester balled up his fists while Nigel pulled
out a little book containing the rules to basketball and started
flipping through it. Candy hung her head, wondering if she should
try to make an escape now.

“It will be okay, dear,” Anastasia said,
patting her gently on the shoulder. “The Magister has informed me
that we may have cause for an appeal.”

Nigel ended up ruling that Meatrack did indeed
travel, so the score remained zero to zero. Blake took his
bloody-mouthed, ashen-faced position beneath his team’s basket
again. Wendi took the throw in and with a perfect pick from Coop
she tossed the ball to Chester. Chester took a half court shot that
hit nothing but net. The score changed to 3 – 0. White Paul moved
over to the seat next to Candy.

“At least they are winning,” he said. “So,
tell me about Wendi.”

Candy ignored him. Anastasia
didn’t.

“You’ll stay away from my daughter if you know
what’s good for you, lycan. I mean that literally, not as a threat
from myself. She will tear your heart out and eat it.”

White Paul, a little mortified and very
intrigued at the same time, retreated back to his seat. Candy
missed the blow Meatrack delivered to the side of Coop’s face. His
eye was smashed and bloody, but he made both of the foul shots. 5 –
0. Some hope began to renew within her.

It didn’t last long.

With the exception of Wendi, Meatrack
manhandled the Mullins one at a time. He smashed Chester’s nose
into a bloody mess and he uppercut Blake in the groin. Chip ran
screaming like a girl with the hulking Russian chasing him out of
bounds, and then he punched the fleeing Mullin on the back of the
head. By the end of the first quarter, the home team looked like
they had walked through a warzone. Candy didn’t have much hope for
their 33 – 22 lead if they would all be dead soon.

Balls Deep huddled at their bench on the
sideline near Candy and Anastasia. Blake collapsed on the bench,
looking utterly worn out. They were all bloodied and battered
except for Wendi. She took up the battle call.

“Listen up you pussies,” she said, to which
the Mullin boys glared at her unmarred face. “We need to play rough
if we want to keep up. Chip, you’re the best at running like a
bitch, so I want you to taunt Meatrack and keep him
occupied.”

Wendi slapped his arm when he tried to
protest.

“Chester and Coop, I want you to run mid-court
patterns. Get the ball to Chester as much as you can for the deep
shots. So long as we keep hitting those quick threes, we may have a
chance to keep this lead. On defense, stall them out as much as you
can. Swat at the ball. Get it out of bounds if you have to;
anything to buy time. Just don’t let them hit any
threes.”

She turned her head to Blake and rolled her
eyes. “Blake, you stay mid-court and do what you can. Run screens
for Chester.”

“What are you going to do?” Coop asked
her.

Wendi punched her open palm. “Payback,” she
said, her face matching the sinister words. “I’m going to make them
sorry they showed up tonight.”

By the start of the second quarter, Blake was
at least able to move around, though he was still mostly worthless.
Chip tried taunting the ugly communist to give the rest of his team
a chance. “Hey! I dug up your mother’s bones last night and pissed
on them.”

Everyone else did whatever they could to
escape the wrath of Meatrack. Blake wasn’t nearly as fortunate.
Being out in the middle of the court, he got run down several times
by the Russian freight train. It sounded once as if some bones had
snapped.

Wendi’s plan worked otherwise. She did her
part, roughing up Gavin by kicking in his knee, the sickening sound
of which made everyone cringe and gasp. She tackled Rupert and head
butt his face several times, leaving teeth scattered over the
floor. She tried to tackle Vivian, but the crazed British bastard
met her head on and it turned into a fistfight from which she had
to run.

The plan only worked until Wendi became
Meatrack’s new target. With Wendi now running for her life, Chip
was free to insert himself into the patterns Chester and Coop were
running. They hit a few more three-pointers, but it wasn’t enough
to make up for all of the foul shots Blood Court had hit, thanks to
Wendi’s roughhousing. At the end of the half the score was Balls
Deep 62 and Blood Court 58.