The Canadian anthem played, and Grayson held a hand over his heart and closed his eyes, unable to help feeling nostalgic, knowing this would be the last time he’d be on the ice for the patriotic hymn.
As part of the defense for the first line, he was on the ice when the puck dropped. Was first to get tossed in the box for high-sticking. First to score, despite being a defenseman. First todrop gloves when number eighteen laughed after crashing into their goalie.
All in all, the usual kind of game for him.
Nearing the end of the third period, with the score tied at one, Grayson snagged the puck and skated hard on a breakaway. He danced around the opposing team’s defense and headed for the net. The half-crouched goalie waited to stop him and tried to stare him down.
Grayson kept his eye on the prize. Top left corner. As he pulled his stick back to slap the puck, the ice exploded!
The violence of it tossed him onto his back, and he hit his head hard. Thank fuck for the helmet or he might have been knocked out cold. It took a few seconds of dazedWhat the fuck just happened?before he could register anything. First and foremost, the screams, not of pleasure or excitement, but terror. A still slightly stunned Grayson sat up and gaped. For one, a huge hole cratered the ice. Second thing to catch his gaze, the goalie, splayed in front of the net, blood seeping and steaming on the cold surface. Why did no one help him?
Wh-h-ohm.
The odd noise turned his head, and he blinked then blinked again at the sight of a creature, two-legged, four-armed with a tail, aiming some kind of bazooka device at the screeching and fleeing crowd.
Wh-h-ohm.
The bazooka shot out a beam of blue light and evaporated a section of seating. Like literally, gone. As for the people caught in the arena? They never had a chance.
A glance to this other side showed two more creatures, climbing over the arena glass and launching themselves at those who’d decided to gawk rather than flee. The blood spatter of those attacked startled the other lookie-loos into motion. However, where could they go? The full stadium couldn’t funnelthe mad stampede of panicking people. They pushed and shoved as if that would move those ahead faster. The spectators should have found another exit or hidden because they became easy targets for the hunting monsters.
A wince tugged Grayson’s face as people got torn apart by the two creatures.
Wh-h-ohm.
Another section of seating disappeared, and Grayson finally realized, if he didn’t move his ass, he’d end up dying—like Tommy, his defense partner, who lay on the ice in two pieces.
Getting to his feet, Grayson glanced around seeking the best place to escape and noticed one person not stampeding. The man, thick and determined looking, vaulted seats, since the staircase aisle was jammed, and headed for the creature who’d bitten off a head and crunched it.
Was the dude fucking nuts? Apparently, because he strode onto the ice and pulled a fucking gun. He fired and blew a hole in the monster’s head before immediately aiming at the creature with the bazooka. The thing must have sensed the incoming threat because it whirled with a screech and aimed its cannon at the brave—and soon-to-be-dead—man, who stood his ground.
Wh-h-ohm.
The energy beam blasted for the man who stood unflinching and simply held up his arm, as if it would prot?—
Well, shit. Somehow his sleeve deflected the attack right back at the monster, who exploded into chunks.
Hell yeah! At least someone was doing something, and even better, dude had just proved these creatures could be killed.
The man stalked for the other side of the arena, heading for the pair of monsters slashing their way through the crowds. The guy never saw the creature that crept from the hole in the ice, but Grayson did. He skated for it, the cracks in the surface reminding him of when he used to practice on the pond by hisplace as a kid. Bumpy, but still slippery enough for his blades to gain traction. He somehow still had a hold of his stick, and as he swooped close enough to the creature, he swung, bonking it in the head, not enough to kill, but it did stop its stalking of the man.
It whirled and hissed, obviously annoyed. Grayson looked it dead in the eyes—of which it had three—and snarled, “Go back to hell, motherfucker.”
When it rushed Grayson, he held up his stick and used it to keep the unhinged jaw from taking a bite. Fucker might not be as tall as Grayson, and maybe half the weight, but it was strong. Grayson planted the tips of his blades in the ice and pushed back, grunting and wondering exactly how to end this impasse. He didn’t have a gun. Didn’t want to put his fists anywhere near the thing’s mouth. If only he had some kind of weapon.
The idea hit suddenly, or should he say, the reminder of accidents he’d seen during his career? Letting go of the hockey stick, he spun and lifted his leg, spinning it—more specifically, the blade—across the monster’s midsection.
Guts spilled, along with black fluid that had to be blood. The monster didn’t die quietly. It uttered a noise that hurt the ears. Apparently, a call to its buddies, because suddenly two more appeared in the gaping hole, peering over the edge with their ugly three-eyed bulbous heads.
They ululated as they raced for Grayson, giving him the incentive to take off in the opposite direction, speedily, too, since his skates gave him an advantage on the ice.
He didn’t count on them using their claws to give themselves a grip.
Instinct more than anything had him crouch. A good thing, since a monster soared over his head. It hit the slick surface and slid, slamming into the boards. A woman popped up on the other side, wide-eyed with terror, holding the hands of two kids.
The monster decided Grayson wasn’t the tastier snack and began slamming the glass. And what did the stupid mother do? Stared instead of running.
For fuck’s sake.
