head-on, Bullet’s broad shoulder driving straight into Rhino’s gut.
Bullet bounced .
Rhino didn’t even slow down. If anything, he sped up. Bullet tumbled head over ass, ending up flat on his back, senseless.
Gorp, the second Goldshirt to make contact, employed a different strategy. He circled around and leaped on Rhino’s back. His idea was to use his weight and momentum to send Rhino face-first into the dirt. It should have worked. Gorp was a big guy, maybe 250 pounds. But Rhino just reached up with his left hand, grabbed the back of Gorp’s shirt, and flung him.
When Gorp hit, we all heard his collarbone snap.
The third Goldshirt, a red-faced kid named Rush, was a relative midget at only 200 pounds. He tried to tackle Rhino by diving into the back of his knee and wrapping his arms around one of Rhino’s massive legs. It almost worked. Rhino kept moving forward, but he was seriously slowed down by the kid attached to his left leg. After dragging Rush about ten yards, Rhino stopped, reached down, peeled him off like a dirty sock,tossed him aside, and continued his journey.
Hammer accepted the ball wordlessly, staring first at Rhino, then at the three incapacitated Goldshirts. The first one was still unconscious, Gorp was holding his shoulder, moaning piteously, and Rush was simply sitting on the turf staring at Rhino with a mixture of bewilderment and awe.
Rhino lumbered over to the building and sat down beside me.
“You think I made the team?” he asked.
“ Made it? I think you destroyed it,” I said.
That night neither Maddy nor Karlohs made an appearance in my dreams. Instead I was being chased by Goldshirts, and I fell and they were on me, jumping up and down on my back. I woke up with a shout. My mattress was alive, pounding into my spine.
“Okay, okay!” I said, grabbing the head rail to keep myself from flying off. “I’m awake already!”
The kicking stopped.
“You were making weird noises again,” Rhino said.
I sat up. My back felt as if it had been stomped by a dozen Goldshirts. “I was having a nightmare.”
“Yeah, I figured that out all by myself.”
“Next time how about you don’t kick so hard.”
“Sorry. You dreaming about your old girlfriend again?”
“I dreamed I was being chased by Goldshirts.”
“Oh.”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, then Rhino spoke. “Hey, Bo? You think any of those guys I hit got hurt bad?”
“I think you broke Gorp’s collarbone.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You are. You went through those guys like a locomotive.”
“They were in my way. I didn’t mean to hurt them.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“I don’t want anybody to be scared of me.”
“But you want to be a Goldshirt, right?”
He thought about that, then said, “I wouldn’t mind eating Frazzies for a change.”
The next morning, two hours into our shift, a blueshirt pulled Rhino and me off the production line.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” said the blueshirt. He led us out of the production area, past the mess hall, down a dim corridor, and through a set of double doors to a locker room. There were no actual lockers—just a row of benches, places to hang clothing, and a shower room—but I could tell it was a locker room from the distinctive aroma of sweat and toe jam.
The blueshirt led us to a steel door.
“Go on out,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
They were waiting ? I didn’t like the sound of that. Rhino and I just stood there.
“Get a move on!” The blueshirt gave Rhino a shove with his baton. The stick sunk several inches into Rhino’s side but failed to move him. Rhino turned his head and gave him a look. The blueshirt quickly withdrew his baton and took a few steps back.
Rhino shrugged and pushed open the door. A flood of sunlight blinded us. I followed him out, shading my eyes. The door slammed shut behind us. We were outside
Bullet bounced .
Rhino didn’t even slow down. If anything, he sped up. Bullet tumbled head over ass, ending up flat on his back, senseless.
Gorp, the second Goldshirt to make contact, employed a different strategy. He circled around and leaped on Rhino’s back. His idea was to use his weight and momentum to send Rhino face-first into the dirt. It should have worked. Gorp was a big guy, maybe 250 pounds. But Rhino just reached up with his left hand, grabbed the back of Gorp’s shirt, and flung him.
When Gorp hit, we all heard his collarbone snap.
The third Goldshirt, a red-faced kid named Rush, was a relative midget at only 200 pounds. He tried to tackle Rhino by diving into the back of his knee and wrapping his arms around one of Rhino’s massive legs. It almost worked. Rhino kept moving forward, but he was seriously slowed down by the kid attached to his left leg. After dragging Rush about ten yards, Rhino stopped, reached down, peeled him off like a dirty sock,tossed him aside, and continued his journey.
Hammer accepted the ball wordlessly, staring first at Rhino, then at the three incapacitated Goldshirts. The first one was still unconscious, Gorp was holding his shoulder, moaning piteously, and Rush was simply sitting on the turf staring at Rhino with a mixture of bewilderment and awe.
Rhino lumbered over to the building and sat down beside me.
“You think I made the team?” he asked.
“ Made it? I think you destroyed it,” I said.
That night neither Maddy nor Karlohs made an appearance in my dreams. Instead I was being chased by Goldshirts, and I fell and they were on me, jumping up and down on my back. I woke up with a shout. My mattress was alive, pounding into my spine.
“Okay, okay!” I said, grabbing the head rail to keep myself from flying off. “I’m awake already!”
The kicking stopped.
“You were making weird noises again,” Rhino said.
I sat up. My back felt as if it had been stomped by a dozen Goldshirts. “I was having a nightmare.”
“Yeah, I figured that out all by myself.”
“Next time how about you don’t kick so hard.”
“Sorry. You dreaming about your old girlfriend again?”
“I dreamed I was being chased by Goldshirts.”
“Oh.”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, then Rhino spoke. “Hey, Bo? You think any of those guys I hit got hurt bad?”
“I think you broke Gorp’s collarbone.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You are. You went through those guys like a locomotive.”
“They were in my way. I didn’t mean to hurt them.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“I don’t want anybody to be scared of me.”
“But you want to be a Goldshirt, right?”
He thought about that, then said, “I wouldn’t mind eating Frazzies for a change.”
The next morning, two hours into our shift, a blueshirt pulled Rhino and me off the production line.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” said the blueshirt. He led us out of the production area, past the mess hall, down a dim corridor, and through a set of double doors to a locker room. There were no actual lockers—just a row of benches, places to hang clothing, and a shower room—but I could tell it was a locker room from the distinctive aroma of sweat and toe jam.
The blueshirt led us to a steel door.
“Go on out,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
They were waiting ? I didn’t like the sound of that. Rhino and I just stood there.
“Get a move on!” The blueshirt gave Rhino a shove with his baton. The stick sunk several inches into Rhino’s side but failed to move him. Rhino turned his head and gave him a look. The blueshirt quickly withdrew his baton and took a few steps back.
Rhino shrugged and pushed open the door. A flood of sunlight blinded us. I followed him out, shading my eyes. The door slammed shut behind us. We were outside
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