“How about some hot chocolate?” August asked her.
“Sure,” said Deena, snapped back into the present. “Sounds great.”
As they walked from the bleachers to the refreshment stand, dozens of people greeted Deena. Every few steps, somebody new – a student, a parent, or a faculty member – hailed her with a “Good afternoon, Dr. Goode,” or “How ya doin’, Dr. Goode?” or “Enjoying the game, Dr. Goode?”
And Deena responded to practically each and everyone by introducing them to August.
“Do you know my friend, August Andersen?” she said again and again and again.
The whole thing made August feel awkward. What was everybody going to think – that he and Deena were a couple?
When they finally got on line at the concession stand, August felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around.
“Long time no see,” said Chief Rudolph. “Away on business, Andersen?”
“Just away,” said August.
“And now you’re back?”
“Back for now.”
“Well, August,” said Chief Rudolph, “let me be frank. I’ve been actually kind of hoping that you, because of your special expertise, might help us here with the unique aquatic problem we’re currently experiencing.”
“Believe me, Chief,” said August. “If I could snap my fingers and make the problem go away, I would’ve done it long ago.”
“Actually I was hoping you’d try something a little more scientific,” said Chief Rudolph. “Unless finger snapping is the best method you can come up with?”
While August and the Chief were chatting, Deena was at the concession stand counter buying two hot chocolates. She turned around holding a steaming stryrofoam cup in each hand.
“Oh, Chief Rudolph, hi!” she said, handing August his hot chocolate. “If I had realized you were here – and if I had an extra hand – I would’ve gotten one for you, too.”
“That’s quite all right, Dr. Goode,” said The Chief. “But the extra hand I’m actually looking for belongs to your friend, Mr. Andersen.”
Suddenly a great rumbling, like a stampede of cattle, shook the earth beneath their feet. The two teams – eighty football players – were charging back toward the playing field.
“If I make any headway, I’ll let you know,” said August.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” said Deena. “But shouldn’t we get back to our seats before we miss any of the action?”
Chief Rudolph’s head shook slowly from side to side as he watched the two of them walk back toward the bleachers.
*
The Rams were set to receive the kickoff to start the second half.
JJ placed the ball on a tee at the 35-yard line. The players lined up. At top volume, Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones blared through the loud speakers. The cheerleaders raised their megaphones and led a cheer that swelled to a roar as JJ’s leg swung beneath the ball.
It sailed end over end, deep into Ram territory.
JJ had really nailed it. The ball landed on the five-yard line, took one bounce, and rolled into the end zone. The Rams’ deep back picked up the ball and seemed to consider running it out. Then he changed his mind and began lowering his knee to the ground. The onrushing Snappers racing down the field slowed their charge.
It was exactly what The Rams’ return man was hoping for.
Just before his knee touched the turf, he took off, sprinting upfield. Fooled by his feint, the Snapper’s were a second too slow. He was past them in an instant.
In a flash he was almost to mid-field. And then there was only one player left with a chance of stopping him: JJ.
Coach Lupo had instructed JJ to hang back on all kickoffs – just in case the return man got past the first wave of onrushing defenders. And now it had happened. If JJ didn’t tackle him, no one would.
The return man was racing down the left sideline. JJ ran toward him. He thought he had a chance to either tackle him or force him out of bounds. Then suddenly the runner cut back. JJ tried to stop his own momentum by planting his right foot. At the same time he lunged backward in a last ditch effort to trip up the runner. But the cleats on JJ’s right shoe stuck in the turf. As he lunged and twisted, searing pain shot up his right leg.
JJ crumpled to the ground. Coach Lupo and Coach Jenkins didn’t even wait for the Rams’ player to cross the goal line before they started jogging toward their fallen player. JJ was curled up in a ball when they reached him.
JJ looked up through the bars of his facemask.
“I screwed up,” he said.
“You didn’t screw up,” said Coach Lupo. “I did. Don’t you worry.”
It was the coach’s job to prepare his team for any and every eventuality. If they were fooled, he was the fool. It was his fault.
Lupo knelt down on the field.
“Where’s it hurt?” he asked.
JJ reached behind his right ankle.
“Did you hear anything snap?” asked Coach Lupo.
“I don’t know,” said JJ. “Everything was so loud.”
Lupo looked up at Jenkins.
“We better play it safe, Georgie,” said Coach Lupo. “Get a stretcher. It could be his Achilles.”
Coach Lupo turned back to JJ.
“Don’t worry, JJ,” he said. “This kind of thing can be fixed.”
In his own mind, he was thinking, “But it couldn’t be in the sixties.”
Back then a torn Achilles was the end. Bill knew. His good friend Oscar knew it, too.
A moment later, a stretcher appeared. Two players and Tufton Mason, the team physician, helped JJ onto it. One of the two players was Ian Copeland.
“Hang in there, JJ,” he said. “You’re going to be just fine.”
As JJ was rolled toward the locker room, he heard a cheer from the bleachers on the visiting team’s side. The Rams had made the extra point.
It was the last point scored in regulation time.
*
In the locker room, Doc Mason gingerly removed JJ’s cleats.
“Can you curl your toes up toward your knee?” he asked.
“I’ll try,” said JJ.
They both looked down at JJ’s foot. His toes curled up.
“Good sign,” said Doc Mason. “Now try pointing them down – like a ballerina.”
JJ did.
“Well,” said Doc Mason. “The good new is you didn’t tear the tendon. You may have hyper-extended it, but I think you got lucky. You may get away with nothing more than a sprain.”
Doc Mason helped JJ get off his uniform and equipment, then he elevated the right foot and wrapped an ice pack around the ankle.
“This will help keep the swelling down,” he said. “But your foot’s going to be very tender for a number of days.”
Doc Mason leaned a pair of crutches up against JJ’s locker.
“Until we get the x-ray results, I want you to use these,” he said. “I want you to keep all your weight off that foot. Is that clear, JJ?”
“Got it, Doc,” said JJ. “And thanks.”
*
After Doc Mason left, JJ was alone in the locker room. For half an hour he sat icing his ankle, listening to the crowd sounds that came through the open locker room doors. Then everything became quiet. Sixty minutes were up. The game was deadlocked.
The Snappers came clattering into the locker room, their metal cleats scraping and scratching against the tile floor. There was a five-minute break before sudden death began.
Coach Lupo saw JJ with his wrapped ankle. He walked over to him.
“You okay?” he asked, putting a hand on JJ’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” said JJ.
“You’re a lucky kid,” said Coach Lupo. “Doc Mason told me it’s not your Achilles.”
Then he turned to face the rest of the team.
“Listen up, guys,” he said. “This is what we’ve practiced for. This is why we were out here in August busting our guts running wind
sprints. This is why we’re out on the practice field every afternoon instead of hanging out in a booth down at Bonds’. You guys have gotten yourselves this far. Now it’s time to finish what you’ve started. You gotta reach down inside yourselves for everything you’ve got left. Are you with me?”
“Yes!” the players shouted. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Then let’s go back out there and take what’s ours for the taking! Does anybody here wanna be conference champs?”
The players stood and began chanting.
“Snappers! Snappers! Snappers!”
As the players began pulling on their helmets and snapping their chin straps, Bobby Savarese glared through the chipped bars of his facemask. He looked like a wild animal glowering through the bars of a cage. Then he reached down and with the knuckles of both hands he began drumming on the hard enameled shell between his legs. The other players began drumming on theirs. Soon the room was filled with a frenzied hammering of knuckles rapping on the hardened shells of dead snapping turtles.
“Okay, Snappers!” shouted Savarese. “Let’s go, go, go, GO!”
The players crowded toward the door then raced back out onto the field.
*
The first ten minutes of sudden death was just like the game before it: a defensive battle. Each team went three-and-out, twice. The game went back and forth between the two thirty-yard lines.
On the cinder track between the field and the bleachers, the cheerleaders had raised their megaphones and were exhorting The Snapper defense to stiffen.
“Push ’em back, push ’em back, way back!” they chanted for the hundredth time that afternoon.
Mary Robinson was chanting and shaking her pompoms, but her heart was no longer in it. She kept looking back over her shoulder, stealing glances toward the painted metal doors of the boy’s brick locker room. They were open.
Suddenly Mary turned to Sandy Danks, the cheerleading captain.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said.
“To the bathroom?” asked Sandy.
“No,” said Mary. “I’ve gotta go and check on something.”
Sandy saw Mary steal another look toward the boy’s locker room.
“You can’t go now, Mary,” said Sandy. “You’ve just got to wait.”
“I can’t,” said Mary. “I’ve got to go now.”
Mary put down her megaphone and pompoms. She ran across the practice field like a gazelle. When she reached the steps to the locker room, she took them two at a time. She ran through the open locker room doors without hesitating.
“JJ?” Mary called out once she was inside. The locker room was an unfamiliar maze of metal lockers and wooden benches.
“Mary?” JJ called back, hardly believing his ears.
Mary came around a corner and saw JJ sitting in front of his locker, his right foot elevated, wrapped, and iced.
“Mary!” he said. “You can’t be in here.”
Mary ignored him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting down so close that the skin of their bare thighs touched.
“I think I’m going to be fine,” said JJ. “Doc Mason says my Achilles isn’t torn – maybe just a little hyper-extended.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” said Mary. “The way your leg twisted – it made me think the worst. I was really worried.”
Mary’s gaze suddenly dropped down to JJ’s bare torso.
JJ looked down too. The claw marks across his chest and stomach weren’t a pretty sight. JJ tried to cover himself with his two hands.
“You don’t have to cover yourself,” said Mary. “I saw them in the paper.”
“I know they’re ugly,” said JJ. “You’re probably disgusted.”
“They’re not so ugly, JJ,” said Mary. “Want to know how I know?”
JJ nodded.
“Because I cut the picture out of the paper,” she smiled. “And saved it.”
JJ blushed.
For a minute they said nothing. The silence and the wooden benches made it feel like they were in church. It was strange to be alone together when practically everybody else in the whole town was just a hundred yards away.
“I didn’t see your father in the stands today,” said Mary, breaking the silence.
“I know,” said JJ. “He had some kind of real estate thing he had to attend in New York. I told him I didn’t mind.”
“Oh,” said Mary, looking into JJ’s eyes like her mind had already moved on to something else.
Then Mary leaned toward JJ. She began to close her eyes and part her lips. Their lips were about to touch when a loud roar made them both jerk back.
“I think somebody just scored,” said JJ.
“Or almost,” smiled Mary.
“You better go,” said JJ. “You don’t want to be in here when the team comes back in.”
“Alright,” said Mary. “If you say so.”
Then she began to chant in the softest, singsong voice.
“Hey, ho, twenty-four, watch me walk right through that door!”
Mary bounced up and started skipping toward the door. JJ’s eyes were glued to her. Mary looked back once and smiled.
“Caught ya!” she said.
Two minutes later, the cleats of forty players came clattering up the concrete steps into the locker room.
“What happened?” asked JJ, as the team burst in. “Did we win?”
“By a field goal!” shouted Ken Lubowsky. “A fifty yarder!”
“Who kicked it?” asked JJ.
“Copeland did,” said Lubowsky. “He limped out there and drilled it through the uprights – with his fake foot.”
* * * *
August explored the lake every morning for two weeks straight. Still he hadn’t seen the slightest sign of Grundel.
Wherever the giant snapper was, it was not being lured out of its lair by the strange underwater vessel that was trespassing in its domain.
And still no one – except Deena – knew what August was up to. Chief Rudolph remained in the dark.
Getting into the lake unnoticed was easy. August went out each morning before dawn. It was resurfacing that concerned him. He surfaced as close to shore as possible, and then quickly hid the sub in the undergrowth that grew right down to the shoreline. Still, in those few minutes, there was always the chance that someone would spot him.
It was Connie Konsulis who eventually did.
Since she had been the one who spotted Jack Sully’s body, Connie also wanted to be the one who spotted the giant snapper. Each morning she took her morning coffee out onto the deck and scanned the lake below. She was sure that one morning she would look out and there it would be: the domed shell of the giant snapper breaking the surface. Connie even put Chief Rudolph’s number on speed dial.
And now as she looked toward the lake’s western shore, Connie saw something strange pop up to the surface. It was too far away to say exactly what it was but she wasn’t going to wait. She hit Chief Rudolph’s number.
“Chief Rudolph here,” he answered.
“I can see it now!” Connie said into her cell phone. “It’s coming out of the water right this second – over on the far shore!”
“Hold on a second!” said Chief Rudolph. “Who is this? And what’s surfacing where?”
“It’s me, Chief. Connie Konsulis! It’s the snapper! I just saw it surface across the lake from me – near the old Andersen cabin. What should I do?”
Chief Rudolph didn’t answer.
He hated to be rude to Connie – her sparkly pink running shorts were still vivid in his mind – but every second counted.
“Hello!” said Connie. “Chief Rudolph? Are you there? Did I lose you?”
She had lost him. Chief Rudolph was already in the front seat of his cruiser, gravel shooting out from its rear wheels as he sped out of the lot.
*
August had just slid his sub into the bushes.
“So that’s what you’ve been up to,” said Chief Rudolph.
; August looked up. Chief Rudolph was standing there with a shotgun cradled in his arms.
Like Jack Sully, Chief Rudolph was ready to blast the snapper straight to hell. But there was one thing he wanted the beast to leave behind: its shell. Chief Rudolph wanted to hang it above his fireplace. He didn’t even mind the idea of bullet holes in it. He imagined himself absent-mindedly fingering the holes as he told the tale of how he had killed the giant snapper in Turtleback Lake.
“I didn’t hear you drive up, Chief,” said August.
“I turned off the engine and just kind of rolled in,” said The Chief. “Quiet-like.”
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked August.
“Well, actually, August, I was just wondering if you’ve seen any of the signs that deputy Rhodes has gone to such great lengths to post prominently around the perimeter of the lake.”
“I’ve seen them,” answered August.
“But have you read them?” asked Chief Rudolph. “That’s the real question. You know, by law, I could arrest you here and now.”
“And what good would that do anyone?” said August.
“Maybe it wouldn’t do anyone any good,” said Chief Rudolph, “But it’d be a lot better than having a situation in which maybe your little sub there malfunctions out in the middle of the lake and sinks to the bottom without a trace. Then I’ve got yet another problem on my hands.”
“I’ve been coming and going around here for years,” said August. “If I sank to the bottom, nobody would even notice.”
“I’m thinking you’re wrong, there, August. I’m thinking that maybe your new next door neighbor might notice.”
August remained silent. He had the right to.
“All I’m driving at, August – and I’m a reasonable man – is that I’d like to know what you’re up to. You can’t be in on this thing all by yourself.”
Chief Rudolph felt the weight of the double-barreled shotgun resting in his arms. The fingers of his left hand were curled around its cool metal barrels. The fingers of his right hand gripped its smooth wooden stock.
Snapper Page 15