SteVo+ 3,702 Posted February 3, 2017 (edited) | | | | Knights of Andreas Part VI Based on Characters Created by: badgers Bangy Barracuda Bay BigBen07 BradyFan81 BwareDware94 CampinWithGoatSampson Chernobyl426 DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F eightnine FartWaffles Favre4Ever GA_Eagle JetsFan4Life Maverick OAK RazorStar Sarge seanbrock SteVo Thanatos Turry theMileHighGuy Vin Zack_of_Steel Chapter Sixty-Six – Fault Line A shuffling noise in the dark wakes Merle up. He reaches out and feels Melinda next to him. He’s been asleep awhile, he thinks, but it’s still dark—a few hours until practice, at least. He recognizes the noise as Bowser, trotting through the second floor. Bowser typically moves around the house through the night, sleeping in different rooms for hours at a time. Merle still can’t see through the dark, but he hears the bedroom door creak, then feels the thud of a leaping Bowser landing on the bed. Melinda rolls over, apparently awake, extending her hand for Bowser to lick. “Is Trish home?” Merle asks. “No, she spent the night at Jon’s.” Merle grunts as Bowser crawls forward, laying his head on Merle’s stomach, whimpering. “What’s the matter, boy?” This is strange. Bowser didn’t quite grow into the tough dog Merle hoped, but it’s not like him to whine in the middle of the night like this. Merle doesn’t understand. Then he feels it. The living room TV is still on when Chance wakes up, leaning forward on the recliner and rubbing his eyes. NFL Network is airing a rerun of last night’s game. He fell asleep before the fourth quarter, but through blurry eyes he spots the ticker at the bottom of the screen: Broncos 21, Panthers 20. The defending Super Bowl champions are 1-0, bad news for the Knights. Chance gets up, planning to sleep a few hours in bed. He loses his footing, stumbling forward a few steps. Did he stand up too fast? He balances himself, taking the next few steps carefully. Then he feels the ground shaking, and he’s wide awake. “MELISSA!” he screams as he reaches the bottom of the staircase, the entire house rumbling. “EARTHQUAKE!” He hears screams from the upstairs bedrooms as he treks up the stairs, swaying between the railing and the wall with framed pictures falling at his feet. After the top step, he cuts left toward his bedroom. Melissa holds Kimmy in her arms, both okay. Chance spins around towards the boy’s bedrooms. “Jack! Max!” A violent jolt throws him off balance near the top of the staircase. His arm grabs for the railing but misses, and he tumbles down the stairs. He feels his right leg buckle, falling forward, and blacks out. Mav and Trisha open their eyes within seconds of each other. Neither is a California native, but the unnatural shaking around them is unmistakable. They both sit upright on the bed, spinning their heads around in the darkness. To Mav’s left, he sees the large bookcase nailed to the wall, books sliding off and falling onto the bed. “Look out!” He grabs Trisha and pushes her off the bed. They land on the rug as a few books strike Mav’s back. Apparently safe, they stay still, holding each other, eyes closed. They hear a series of bangs, crashes, and thumps from around the house, each more terrifying than the next. And then it’s over. They come to their feet cautiously, flinching every time something else smashes against the floor somewhere in the mansion, but the ground below them is stable. “Are you hurt?” Mav asks, rubbing a spot on the back of his head where a book landed. “No, I’m okay,” Trisha says. “You?” “Fine.” He looks around, heart pounding, still not able to see much. “That was a big one, wasn’t it?” “I should call my parents.” She grabs her phone off the end table and calls her dad’s number. As she waits for an answer, Mav looks for his slippers, knowing there could be shattered glass all over the floor. “Straight to voicemail,” Trisha says. “That’s not good. That means his phone’s off. His phone is never off.” “I’m sure he’s fine. The whole city probably lost cell service. I’m surprised you were able to get a call out.” “What if he’s not? What if—” “Listen, we’ll get situated here, and then we’ll drive to their house. Okay? Stay here for now. Let me make sure the rest of the house is safe.” The final hours of darkness across Los Angeles are filled with the sounds of police sirens, car horns, and news helicopters. Eastern Americans wake up to horrifying news shrouded with uncertainty. The country has been waiting for “the big one” to strike California for years; is this it? Geologists pinpoint the earthquake’s epicenter and magnitude (western Pasadena, 7.2), but the extent of the damage remains hidden in the night. The sun rises, unveiling a plume of smoke covering most of the city. Fires have popped up everywhere, most of them small but growing. The downtown skyline stands tall, all skyscrapers intact, though some smaller buildings throughout the city have collapsed. Construction sites have been reduced to ruin. Bridges and major highways have suffered catastrophic damage, disrupting traffic throughout Southern California, though hardly anyone drives to work today. Massive subterranean damage lurks, invisible underground but affecting the entire city. Water and power lines have been ruptured and will not be fixed easily. Millions of people will be without water and electricity for days, maybe months. Over all of this, though, looms the loss of human life. Landslides have destroyed homes built on hills and mountains. People driving during the earthquake have swerved their cars into fatal accidents. The media tracks the amount of casualties, initially relaying ambiguous reports of deaths in the “tens, maybe hundreds.” It soon becomes obvious “tens” is irresponsibly conservative, and CNN changes its breaking news headline to, “THOUSANDS FEARED DEAD IN L.A. QUAKE,” a figure that hits hard for everyone watching, coupled with live shots of the country’s second largest city, partially destroyed. Los Angeles will soon learn that the timing of the earthquake saved thousands of lives. Reports estimate that had the earthquake occurred during the business day, just a few hours later, the death toll would have quadrupled—at least. President Obama addresses the nation, asking citizens to keep Los Angeles in their thoughts and prayers, and urging them to lend support to the recovery effort. Despite the damage, parts of the city experience normalcy, including the MedComm Center, where backup generators have been operating since dawn. Through a series of phone calls the organization learns that, mercifully, no Knights players or coaches were harmed in the earthquake, nor were any immediate family members. The only injured Knight will not be listed on this week’s injury report. Phillips makes his way to the trainer’s room, not for an update on a nagging hamstring, not for a diagnosis of a knee injury, but for x-rays on his right leg. He is diagnosed with a fractured tibia and given an eight-to-ten-week timetable for recovery. Team doctors cast the leg and give him a pair of crutches. He takes the elevator to the second floor. Once there, Phillips learns the effect of this morning’s chaos on the team: Harden allows players to come to practice late, based on their circumstances at home. The Saints game in two days is second priority to the well-being of everyone’s family. Phillips has barely had time to relax at his desk, still getting used to moving around with the cast weighing his leg down, when Schneider appears in the doorway. “We’re taking a trip to the stadium,” Schneider says. “You’re coming with me.” “Wayne, c’mon,” Phillips says, pointing to his leg and the pair of crutches leaning against the wall. “I’d like to just sit down for a while, if you don’t mind.” “We’re driving, it’s fine. Besides, you need to break those crutches in. Let’s go.” Thirty minutes later, the duo treks across the Farmers Field grass (Schneider on his feet, Phillips on his crutches), where Frank Serkin, President of Farmers Field, talks with some construction workers. As Serkin walks to meet them in the south end zone, Phillips looks around. From what he can see, the stadium looks fine. “Well?” Schneider asks. “Structurally, everything is fine,” Serkin says. “Bits of damage here and there, but nothing we can’t fix in a day or two. Internally, however…” “Spell it out, Frank.” Serkin shakes his head. “There’s serious damage. Electrical wires, water pumps…And the worst part is, I don’t even know how bad it is.” “It’s your job to know how bad it is.” “I’d have to dig up half of L.A. County to be sure. For now, all I can say is the lights won’t come on, and only half the toilets flush.” “We’ve got a home game in nine days. I don’t want to move it to the Coliseum—Lord knows that’s probably fucked up too—or anywhere else. I want it here. I want our fans to come through the same gates, sit in the same seats.” “It’ll take a miracle.” “Then a miracle is what we’ll get.” Serkin shrugs his shoulders, not hiding his uncertainty, so Schneider presses on. “After next Sunday, we aren’t home again until week 5. Just pull it together, I don’t care what it takes. Make this place a goddamn house of cards that can stand for three hours, then take the time to get it right. Okay? Get it done.” Serkin jogs back toward the construction workers and yells urgent instructions. Schneider looks around, though he doesn’t seem to be inspecting for damage. “I’ve always liked the architecture of this place,” he says. “You have to be at field level to truly appreciate it. Reminds me of…a fortress. Or a castle, maybe.” “I don’t know,” Phillips says. “Always seemed more like a palace to me.” “A palace…Yeah, maybe.” Phillips soon notices Schneider walking towards the tunnel. He digs his crutches into the end zone grass to catch up. With players filtering in throughout the day, coaches struggle to build any sort of cohesion on the practice field. Eventually, everyone just stands around, throwing footballs, sharing their earthquake stories. The first question everybody asks is “Do you have power?” Most players live in Los Angeles’ more affluent neighborhoods, which were spared from the worst of the earthquake’s wrath. “Briggs,” Martin says, “I heard half of Beverly Hills lost power. Which half do you live on?” “The one with refrigerators full of rotten food.” Grodd tells another group of players, “Man, I didn’t even know anything happened. Woke up when my parents called a few hours later.” “Fuckin’ A, cowboy,” Schwinn says, “what if your family had been there?” “That’s why I don’t have a family yet.” “Leave him alone,” Penner says. “You got time, Chase. How old are you now, fourteen?” “Twenty-six, old man. I’d ask your age but I’m pretty sure you lost count.” “This old man can still kick your ass, so watch it.” Luck and Bishop invariably get together, as they have all offseason, for another round of updates. “What’s Ashley’s due date again?” Luck asks. “November 21st,” Bishop says. “What about Brenda?” “Just got bumped to the 25th.” “Is that Thanksgiving?” “Day after.” “At least it’s not a Sunday.” “Not crossing that bridge yet. Boy or girl?” “We don’t know yet.” “C’mon, Logan. That’s weak.” “Nothing wrong with a little suspense. Boy for you, right?” “Yes sir. Sam Luck Jr.” “Seriously?” “No, I don’t know. We don’t know yet. Just excited to have a baby boy.” Players assume everyone was asleep during the earthquake, which struck around 3am, until hearing Brock’s story. “I was partyin’, man. We didn’t know what the fuck was going on.” “What a shock,” Grantzinger says. “Never change, Sean.” “I’m as ready for Sunday as you,” Brock shoots back. “Just because I didn’t go on some gay, weird ass diet this offseason, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna bring it.” “It’s organic food, Sean. Organic. Far from the weirdest diet out there, you dumbass.” After tossing passes back and forth for a few minutes, Maverick and Watson come together to talk. Maverick tells him about the extensive damage throughout his mansion. “Was Trish at your place when it happened?” Watson asks. “Yeah, she was.” “She’s good, though, right? Nobody got hurt?” Maverick gazes across the field towards Harden. “Yeah, everybody’s fine.” Players leave for home having hardly practiced at all. The day has served primarily as a morale-boosting get-together for players. Surprisingly, Harden is fine with forsaking his last day of practice, telling Phillips and Schneider, “We’ve had a whole goddamn offseason to get ready for this game. If we’re still not ready, you can blame my ass, not theirs.” Still, Harden is firm on one thing: tomorrow’s team flight will lift off on schedule, and any players not on it won’t play in New Orleans. This is part of the team’s refocusing on routine and structure, a direct consequence of last season’s disappointment. For example, Harden used to sometimes skip introduction meetings at the beginning of the week, finding them useless. This year, the Knights will have sixteen meetings for sixteen games, each with a clear, focused message about their upcoming opponent. For tonight, players and coaches return home to their families, many beginning physical repairs to their houses. Those with functioning TVs tune into news coverage, where an escalating death toll supplements every report. By sunset, there are between 625 and 650 reported dead (the number varies between news outlets). A few hours later the numbers are between 650 and 675, and by the time Los Angeles goes to sleep, most estimates top 700. A full day of recovery passes with only minor aftershocks, despite citywide fear, and Sunday arrives. In spite of the earthquake, or perhaps because of it, many citizens table their rebuilding plans in favor of their fall Sunday routine: alcohol and good food scheduled around Knights football. After all, these fans have spent the last eight months dissecting every aspect of the team’s roster, tracking every free agent move, researching every draft pick. While plenty of fans stay at home for the first full slate of 2016 NFL action, many are still without power and elect to go out. This leads to jam-packed sports bars across the city, including Knight’s End, one of the few downtown restaurants to avoid extensive damage in the earthquake. By 10am, mimosas and red beers are flowing all over the restaurant. Anticipation mounts as the pre-game shows conclude, only one commercial break between the first round of Sunday football. Cooper and Sampson watch anxiously as the crowd surrounding the bar grows, extending close to their table. Kickoff can’t get here soon enough. “One more week,” Sampson says. “Hey, I’ll drink to that,” Cooper says, clinking glasses and chugging the rest of his beer. He looks for their waitress, difficult to flag down in this madness. “The game’s still at Farmers, right?” “Schneider said they’d make a final determination Tuesday or Wednesday, but I think so.” “Awesome. Wow, look at Harden!” Cooper points to the big screen nearest their high top. “He’s lost weight.” “I told you,” Sampson says, referring to a preseason observation he made weeks ago. “He looks a lot older, too. And look! Look!” The camera captures Harden as he lifts his hat to wipe sweat away from the top of his head. “He’s almost completely bald.” “Damn. Father Time gets us all, huh?” “Oh my God…” “What? What?” Sampson points toward the bar. “Smokin’ hot chick. Next to the guy in the Rose jersey.” Cooper whips his head around, seeing through the crowd a monstrous, 250-pound behemoth of a woman, rolls of fat hanging over her bar stool. “Scale of one to ten?” Sampson asks. Cooper purses his eyebrows, squinting as if he’s legitimately thinking about it. “Eight,” he says. “Eight? Out of ten?” “Yup. On the Richter scale. Oh!” Cooper raises his glass and drinks the remaining drops of beer in it. Sampson looks mortified. “What, too soon?” “Much too soon, man. Much too soon.” Cheering and screaming inside the Superdome builds to a crescendo as the newest NFL season kicks off. The ball sails beyond the end zone, and the Knights set up on the twenty-five-yard line. It is a dark coincidence that the Knights open their season in New Orleans, a city familiar with natural disasters. Saints fans show a lot of class regarding the earthquake, many holding up signs with messages of good will towards Los Angeles. Players in white jerseys, though they won’t admit it, are glad to be opening the season away from home. Maverick calls his cadence over the crowd noise behind #54, trying not to think about this being the last season taking snaps from Penner. He drops back and looks right, hitting Wilkes on a short post route. With McKenzie calling pass plays, Maverick throws to his right side: Wilkes outside, Watson in the slot. Bishop lines up right but spends most plays blocking to keep Cameron Jordan, the Saints’ greatest front seven threat, contained. The Knights cross midfield, and Maverick finally looks to his left, firing for the 6’2” 22-year-old first-round pick, who catches it for his first career reception. Knights players, coaches, and fans are all eager to see Joaquin Harper start the season strong. A strong possession receiver lacking elite speed, he’s essentially a taller, more physical version of Alex Johnson—without the injury concerns. Maverick keeps throwing, soon reaching first and goal thanks to Bishop’s first reception. Harper catches a slant at the one-yard line, then Maverick misses an end zone fade for Wilkes. Third and goal. Maverick lines up behind a bunch formation, motioning his receivers and calling adjustments. He takes the snap and hands the ball off. Jameson spots an opening, lowers his shoulders, and barrels through multiple bodies into the end zone. The Superdome goes quiet as the Knights celebrate their first touchdown of 2016. Jameson is all smiles on the sideline, happy to put his preseason foot injury behind him and enjoy another season in Los Angeles thanks to his five-year, $33-million contract. He’s not thrilled about the offense becoming pass-heavy, but he’ll never complain about putting points on the board. McKenzie hovers over his position coaches as they debrief with players, but there’s not much to criticize. The Knights are returning nine starters on offense, and it’s not outlandish to think Harper could end up as an upgrade over Johnson. Doctors say Johnson could be back by late October, but McKenzie is determined to make sure the team doesn’t miss him. The offense has barely rested when a Saints punt returns them to the field. This time, they work the ground game with Jameson, running behind an offensive line with only one new starter: second-year right guard Adrian Dunn, replacing Kevin Zeitler. Anchoring the group of young linemen is its 36-year-old center, still as dominant a run blocker as ever. Penner feels fresh, miles better than the end of last season. He took it easy on offseason workouts this year, and it’s helping. The question remains how long he’ll hold up, but he can worry about that later. The Knights cross midfield again, but pass rush forces Maverick to throw it away on third down, and Keith Reynolds, the seventh-round rookie replacing the legendary Shane Lechler, comes on for his first punt of the year. Known for power more than accuracy, Reynolds skies it to the seventeen-yard line, where a fair catch puts Drew Brees back on the field. Harden watches from the sideline as his defense lines up against one of the best in the business. He knows many are critical of Brees’ age, but a quarterback as accurate as him is always a threat. He also knows Brees is watching to see if the Knights reinstitute last year’s hybrid defense, which was nowhere to be found during the preseason. For now, they play 3-4 exclusively. Randall relays the play calls—simple, but very much Merle Harden. Grantzinger blitzes, Martin and Brock blitz, Grantzinger and Randall blitz, Brock and Schwinn blitz. Brees faces pressure but gets a few first downs with good throws. Near the end of the first quarter, the Saints face third and five. Brees lines up in shotgun as all four linebackers inch closer. On the snap, Brock and Grantzinger blitz and the inside linebackers drop back. Brees steps up and fires toward the sideline. Harden sees an open receiver, but #20 sprints from across the field, swatting it away. Fourth down. “Nice play, Flash,” Harden says. “Thanks, coach,” Flash says, taking a seat on the bench as the punt teams come on. Flash feels good to be back on the field, even if he hasn’t yet escaped Los Angeles. He was ready for free agency, house on the market and everything, when he got franchise-tagged. That really burned him. Then there were the trade rumors. His agent said a deal was close, but it never happened. Trade buzz surfaced again during the draft, but that fell apart too. This offseason was a mess, and he spent the summer months putting it all behind him. After more Jameson runs, McKenzie opens up the play-calling. Just like the first drive, Maverick sits back and hits his targets. This time, though, he forces a few passes Wilkes’ way, even when he’s not open. The Knights’ number-one receiver proves his worth, making catches in traffic and taking the drive into the red zone. “We’re going to make D-Jam a focus this season,” McKenzie said during training camp. “We’ve been treating him like our number-one, which he is, but we need to start treating him like he’s the league’s number-one.” Wilkes, of course, loves every bit of that strategy. And it’s about damn time Maverick realizes he shouldn’t avoid throwing his way just because he’s covered. Twelve yards out, Maverick drops back and sees a safety shading Wilkes’ way. He hurries and fires a bullet. Wilkes tries to grab it, but it bounces off the corner’s helmet and into the air, where he reels it in and plants his feet in the end zone. Worry fills the air among Saints fans watching a decidedly one-sided game. Brees soon rejuvenates the crowd, though, taking his offense seventy-five yards in nine plays, capping the drive with a twelve-yard touchdown pass to Brandin Cooks. Neither team makes any splash plays in the quarter’s remaining minutes, and the Knights take their 14-7 lead into halftime. McKenzie considers going no-huddle in the second half but decides against it, confident the current pass game will put up more points. It does. Maverick leads another ruthlessly efficient drive, spreading receptions around until Harper gets his first career touchdown. McCabe’s extra point bounces off the inside of the upright, still good, and the Knights lead, 21-7. The Saints look primed to respond, but a third down sack by Grantzinger gives the Knights back the ball, and Maverick picks up where he left off. From their designated luxury suite, Schneider and Phillips feel increasingly comfortable as the Knights go down the field again. This is just what the franchise needs, Schneider thinks. Probably what the city needs too. He looks over at Phillips, who doesn’t look the least bit satisfied, stoically taking notes as always. Schneider has to hand it to him. After an absolute disaster the final weeks of last season, Phillips responded with a beautiful offseason. In the face of Flash’s aggressive rhetoric, he had the balls to franchise-tag him, knowing the team wouldn’t have a quality free safety otherwise. He aggressively re-signed Watson, recognizing his stock would never be lower after that infamous week 17 drop (which is still inexcusable). Then, he played the running back market beautifully with Jameson. Knowing teams wouldn’t be eager to throw money at a downhill runner with plenty of tread on his tires, Phillips waited until the last possible second, striking an incredibly team-friendly deal after Lamar Miller signed with Houston. To be fair, Phillips wasn’t scared to lose Jameson, ready to spend a second- or third-rounder on his replacement, but it was brilliant management regardless. Finally, Phillips aced the draft, where the Knights originally had the 20th overall pick. But Phillips was able to drum up a trade market, getting Denver to trade up for Paxton Lynch, a move the league thought would happen in the mid-/late-20s. Then, after acquiring extra picks, he landed Harper, a steal at 32nd overall. One of the biggest knocks on Harper was his inconsistent production in college. During a combine interview, he blamed that on his coaches, a mistake that sent him tumbling down draft boards—but Phillips was smart enough to realize it didn’t matter. Schneider himself didn’t have a bad offseason either. Thanks to some of his best wheeling and dealing at the owners meetings, he thwarted relocation efforts to Los Angeles. It’s only temporary, and he probably won’t be able to hold them off two years in a row, but he bought himself valuable time, with which he was able to gather options. And, of course, a few weeks later, Super Bowl 50 went off without a hitch. Screams from the crowd direct Schneider’s attention back to the field, where Watson surges through a receiver screen into open field, and his speed takes him into the end zone untouched. Knights 28, Saints 7, 2:42 to go in the third quarter. Relaxation sets in on the visitors’ sideline, particularly among offensive players. When FOX returns from commercial, an infographic appears with an interesting statistic: the Knights scored 28 points only once in their final nine games last season. The festive mood fades as the Saints go back to work, mixing in more run plays, surprising to Harden considering the 21-point deficit. It moves the chains, though, and on the fourth quarter’s first play, Brees finds Coby Fleener in the back of the end zone. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy with this guy,” Harden says on the sideline. “Settle the hell down and finish.” Defenders have just enough time to review what went wrong before they’re back on the field with 13:25 on the clock. Brees operates exclusively out of shotgun now, though the Saints are in no hurry. Mixing in fewer runs, Brees leans on his outside receivers, working the Knights’ starting cornerbacks. From the sideline, Harden and Ripka watch nervously. Seeing Stone and Lucas get beat in coverage brings back painful memories of last season. Ripka agreed with Harden’s unpopular decision to stick with the young duo, anticipating major steps forward this season, but perhaps those steps won’t come today. Harden sends more linebackers on blitzes, realizing Brees isn’t throwing over the middle. This brings up third and nine, but Mark Ingram catches a screen pass and runs all the way to the three-yard line. The next play, Brees fires for Willie Snead, who beats Stone for a jump ball in the end zone. The Superdome goes wild. The home team is down seven with 8:03 to go. “Short memory,” Ripka tells his secondary. “Next play.” Ripka gathers with his other positional coaches, new faces on this sideline. The Knights hired a new defensive line coach after theirs got poached for a coordinator job in college, and Harden stunningly gave in to the front office’s request to hire a linebackers coach. So, Ripka is now the most tenured position coach on defense, complete with the designation of “assistant defensive coordinator” and a pay raise. Feeling panicked, McKenzie does what he can to run the clock, leaning on Jameson for a few first downs before punting with 3:18 to play. Brees starts eighty yards from the end zone and reaches midfield in two plays, hitting Snead and Fleener for big completions. Another quick pass to Cooks puts the Saints on the Knights’ forty-five at the two-minute warning. “Let’s go!” Randall yells to his teammates. “Stay sharp! One turnover wins this thing!” The Knights get pressure on blitzes, but Brees converts a few third downs, and the Saints reach the eight. First and goal, 1:10 to go. A draw to Ingram goes nowhere, and the Saints call timeout. 1:04. Brees lofts an end zone pass for Fleener, but Randall tips it out of bounds. 0:57. Brees drops back again, and Brock gets a hold of his jersey. He fights to get away, but Grantzinger finishes the job. Brees gets up and calls timeout. Fourth and goal from the fifteen, 0:49 on the clock. Harden calls an outside blitz, man coverage with safeties doubling over the top. He doesn’t want to get beat by a simple comeback route on the outside. The Saints line up in shotgun, four receivers wide, against the Knights’ nickel. Randall stares down Ingram in the backfield, unafraid of a screen fifteen yards out. He decides to blitz. Brees takes the snap and looks right, towards Snead, running against Stone. Snead runs a stop-and-go, and Stone gets tripped up. Brees fires as a wide-open Snead runs toward the end zone with Schwinn closing. The safety sees the pass—he won’t get there in time—lowers his shoulders, and crushes Snead just as he catches it in the end zone. Schwinn gets to his feet as Snead shows the ball to the nearest official. Touchdown. The extra point ties the game, 28-28, and everyone on the Knights’ sideline feels sick. Three touchdowns allowed in three drives, and an easy win is now going to overtime. The most comfortable looking player is Maverick, causally tossing passes back and forth. “Still 44 seconds left,” he says. The ensuing kickoff is a touchback, and the Knights take over. In the huddle, Maverick says, “Don’t anybody doubt we can do this. A field goal wins it, and we got all three timeouts. A few catches, and we’re there. Let’s roll.” Maverick drops back and sees three deep safeties, a passive defense he will gladly exploit. He hits Bishop over the middle for seventeen. Timeout. 0:36. Watson catches a sideline route, jukes his man, and runs upfield another fifteen yards, going out of bounds. 0:27. The Knights are across midfield, approaching McCabe’s range. Anticipating the Saints will tighten up a little, McKenzie goes for it. Maverick drops back and looks deep for Wilkes, who breaks on a deep crossing route. Maverick steps up and throws a devastating pump fake, getting both safeties to bite and breaking Wilkes free. Wilkes catches the bullet pass at the goal line and throws the ball into the stands at silent Saints fans. The Knights’ sideline is now the loudest part in the stadium. McCabe misses the extra point, but nobody cares. When Brees gets the ball back, he can only manage one completion before a Hail Mary lands well short of the goal line, and the Knights win, 34-28. The plane ride home is a party. Players relive every detail from the game, excitedly moving around the cabin. Maverick showers his offense with praise, insisting today is the beginning of a great season. Wilkes brags about his eminent greatness to anyone who will listen. Schwinn says of the game-tying touchdown, “I hit that fucker as hard as I could. How he held onto the ball I’ll never know, God bless him.” Harper gets extra congratulations from everyone on the plane for his first touchdown, and for a promising start to his career. Brock accuses Grantzinger of stealing half a sack from him, to which Grantzinger replies, “He was about to break free when I finished him off, pussy.” Players and coaches on defense still feel uneasy about the fourth quarter, but that can wait until film review. For now, they allowed fewer points than the offense scored, and that’s all that matters. “Holy shit!” Martin yells, staring out the windows on the right side of the plane. “Look!” Hardly anyone hears him at first, but those who do press their heads against the nearest window, horrified at the view. Others catch on, and the chatter fades. Soon, everyone jostles for a window seat, and the festive mood evaporates. Los Angeles looks like something out of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. A twisted combination of white and black smoke surrounds the city. Damaged and destroyed buildings are visible through the smog. The unbroken highways are lined with red and blue flashing lights. An uncomfortable silence fills the plane. Everyone slowly moves away from the windows, finding a seat and descending in silence toward their broken city. Edited February 3, 2017 by SteVo 6 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Sarge+ 3,436 Posted February 3, 2017 Wow, Steven. If this is chapter one, I can't wait to see what happens next. All that planning you put into this final journey has paid off already. Honestly couldn't believe what I was reading at first. I thought several players were having an Inception-like dream about the earthquake. The way you wrote their reactions during the quake was amazing. I'm going to read this again later to see if I was biased or not, but I think this is already one of my favorite chapters ever. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Barracuda 629 Posted February 3, 2017 Richter scale! Oh! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
RazorStar 4,025 Posted February 3, 2017 Oh no the word filter strikes again. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Vin+ 3,121 Posted February 3, 2017 I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied. Learn to swim. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
seanbrock 1,684 Posted February 3, 2017 (edited) The whole earthquake scenario allows for a lot of interesting sub plots. Good shit, looking forward to the next chapter. Knights should cut Brock though because he's pretty much an overpaid bum lol. Edited February 3, 2017 by seanbrock Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Thanatos 2,847 Posted February 3, 2017 Awesome work Stevo. As Sarge said, might be my favorite chapter overall here. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014 Posted March 25, 2017 I loved how you delved right in and told the offseason through game 1. Happy to see Flash still on board. Enjoyed the couple scenes with Zack and Brock. The organic food thing was a nice touch. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites