Page 55 of Puck'n Bully
I get hold of the puck soon and I’m streaking toward the goal but something feels off. Glancing to my side, I see Mitchikov and our defenders following me closely, doing their best to keep the Bears from attacking me before I can score another goal.
I strike the puck but the Bears’ goalie stops it from entering the net.
That’s not a problem, though. I can take another shot, especially when no one is opposing me.
Suddenly, a loud, collective gasp erupts in the stadium, distracting me.
An evil smirk comes on Connor Sawchuk, the Bears’ goalie.
“Shit, Johnson’s down,” someone says, making me whirl around to look toward our goalie.
Logan is lying on his back, barely moving. The Bears circle around him like hawks, waiting to strike him again. They probably would have taken the opportunity if the referee didn’t blow his whistle to stop the game.
My breaths come out in erratic gasps and pants as I skate toward the crease. My muscles burn from my aggressive movements as I speed toward Logan.
A low buzzing fills the arena as a group of paramedics rush onto the ice.
My teammates surround me, all eerily silent as we hold our breaths. Only the occasional scrape of a skate or the low murmuring of voices of the refs talking to the paramedics fills my ears now.
Staring ahead, I take in Logan’s motionless body.
He’s not just our goalie, but our captain as well. While I score the goals, he anchors the team, making sure we stay focused on our strategies no matter what the opponents throw at us.
Seeing him lying on the ice with his helmet half off, his face horribly pale and his eyes squeezed shut, I know something’s gone very wrong. Logan’s pain tolerance is almost as good as mine. Since he’s still not getting up, I’m sure he’s been seriously injured.
The Silver Bears watch from a far corner of the rink, observing and assessing. Was this their plan all along? Distracting us by giving us free reign of the puck while they collectively went behind our backs to attack our goalie.
“Put the neck brace on.”
“Careful while you lift him. Watch his leg!”
“Take it easy on him while you place him on the stretcher.”
I catch bits of conversation among the refs and paramedics.
Logan lets out a pained groan as they roll him onto the stretcher.
My stomach churns at the sound.
Logan never lets on that he’s hurting. He didn’t even let anyone know he’d broken a rib during a game last season. He even shakes it off when they hit him across his face, sometimes cracking his helmet. If he’s making a sound now, it’s serious.
Shit! This is bad, I realize as they haul Logan onto a stretcher and carry him away.
I glance toward my teammates. Mitchikov and the rest have their jaws clenched up as they shift uncomfortably. Tyler, our backup goalie, gets into the rink, his gait careful and measured. He tries to look like he’s ready to take Logan’s place but fails to hide the fear in his eyes.
“You have five minutes to warm up,” the referee tells Tyler.
He nods, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. His movements are stiff and he’s barely staying steady on his feet.
The buzzer sounds again, signaling the restart of the game.
The Silver Bears have already smelled blood. They know he poses no threat to them. They gather around Tyler like sharks, intimidating him by hitting their sticks loudly on the ice.
I try to get hold of the puck but lose it as two of the Bears come at me from different angles. Before I can whirl around and chase the puck, Larson is already storming toward our goalie.
Tyler barely reacts as the puck shoots past his right foot and enters the net.
Our wingers and I turn all our attention to get back the puck but the Bears are just as ruthless. They don’t let us break through their defenses while Larson takes the opportunity to score two more goals.
