Rush

by Jonathan Friesen

“How about, ‘Town Idiot Gets Shot at Redemption from Most Unlikely Source.’”

  She scrunches her nose. “I like it. Punchy. And the subtitle?”

  “‘Jake Finally Comes to His Senses.’”

  Salome stares at me and bites her lip gently. “I’ll read on. Killer lead?”

  I scratch my head. “Let’s see. For too many years, Jake King, aka idiot, has fought against the undeniable, ignoring what stood right in front of him.”

  Salome lowers her pad. “If you’re making this up, Jake, you stop right here.”

  “Take it to the press. I’ll even give you another source so you can check my story. Dad.”

  “You told your dad how you feel?” Her eyes grow big, sparkle like they haven’t in months.

  “Come to think of it, he’s probably been onto this story a long time.”

  The door opens behind her and Mr. K. pops his head out. “We need you back in here. We’re discussing your prom-styles piece.”

  “Working on it right now,” she says, pushes the door shut with her foot.

  She puts her arms on my shoulders and steps way close. “Read me the last paragraph. Read it slow, and read it clear.”

  I grab her waist and watch her eyes twinkle. She’s so pumped for me.

  “I’ve settled it in here.” I point to my head. “I belong on Mox’s rappelling crew.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ROCKFORD. Three hundred miles due north. Five hours to fed headquarters.

  It’s plenty of time to think over my talk with Salome three days previous. I replay the interchange over and over. Her excitement. Her twinkle. Our embrace.

  Her slap across my cheek before she silently exited the library.

  Of course, she hates this: she already thinks Mox stole her brother. But I’m not like Drew. He was great, but I’m not like him. I’m not cautious or calculated, and I’m not fighting fire because it’s noble.

  I need it to live.

  I reach Rockford. I’ve been driving since five A.M., and I’m beat. They could have rejected me on the phone, but Chief Richardson wouldn’t say anything, so I still have a glint of hope.

  I park my Beetle, step out into California heat, and rub my eyes. I sigh and walk across the brown front lawn in front of the administration building.

  I push inside and glance around. Pictures of blazes taken from inside the infernos blanket the walls. Each photo holds a hero, a firefighter midyell, racing toward a nightmare that everyone else flees. And as I stand, my jaw tightens and I straighten. I want this like I can’t remember wanting anything else. That’s me in those pictures. It needs to be me.

  I turn toward the lobby and the four reclining men who own it. They joke and laugh like we’re at a comedy club. Mox reclines on the end, quiets when he sees me. They size me up, and I hate it.

  Mox is the leader of this group, I know that much. He stares at me from within his brown jacket.

  I peer at him and watch his face change. It hardens. Laughter turns to rage in moments. It’s like Mr. Ramirez turning from Salome to me. He hates me.

  “Richardson’s through that door.” Mox nods. “You’re late.”

  I frown, then turn and knock firmly.

  From inside, a cheery voice. “It’s open.”

  I enter slowly. Three men seated at a round table. One empty chair.

  “Sit down, Jake.” Richardson leans back, folds his arms across his tremendous gut.

  I nod and take a seat.

  All three men slip rubber bands off thick manila folders. “We want you, Jake,” Richardson continues, opens the first page, and sighs. “But I’ll be straight. We don’t want you now. You have no business on a hotshot helirappeling crew. With no experience, you’d be nothing but a liability.”

  I think of the photo gallery in the lobby, and my gut sinks. I don’t get it. “So that’s it.” I push back from the desk.

  “Hold on, kid. Hank made quite a case. I thought I’d at least take a look at where you might belong. Here’s what I found. Let’s see.” He adjusts his rims. “Willful property destruction, reckless endangerment . . .” He glances at the others. “There’s an irony for you, gentlemen.” He clears his throat. “Where was I? Let’s see, reckless endangerment, theft—” Richardson flips through several more papers. “Shoot, none of this makes us blink. We have whole inmate firefighting crews.”

  “So you do want me?”

  “Wanting and accepting are different matters. Let me ask you, do you want to be a rappeller?”

  “Yeah.” I rub my face. “Bad.”

  Chief Richardson leans back, and his chair creaks. “I won’t lie to you. I owe your father more favors than I’ve got fingers. He’s been pushing hard for me to waive your two-year fighting-experience prerequisite.” He exhales long and loud. “That’s pushing the bounds of sanity. You’ll hold men’s lives in your hands.

  “But Hank’s put me in a spot. He wants you with Mox, who I think would rather jam his hand in a hornets’ nest.”

  I nod.

  “I’ve called you up to say I will push this through, based on your next few months of training performance and whether you can satisfy one of our concerns.”

  “Just one?” I crane my neck to see his folder.

  Richardson reads something, lets out a loud blast of air, taps his own head. “In here.” He slams the folder shut. “I got a list a mile long of crazy stunts you’ve pulled. Firing bottle rockets off the top of your school.” He smiles and wags his head. “In kindergarten? Geez, Jake.”

  I bite my lip. “Can I see that list?”

  “We don’t care about that. But we can’t send you out if the mind’s not right.”

  I shift in my chair.

  “The fighter on your stick will put his life in your green hands.” The thin man with the thin frames massages the divot on his nose. “Your brother only lasted in Brockton two weeks. Good thing, too. It was a good thing he snapped off-season. There’s no place out there to make this personal.”

  I breathe deep.

  “And there’s this other matter of what you’ve described as a ‘brain cloud.’” Richardson looks worried. “Have you ever thought of suicide?”

  I force my hand through my hair. I haven’t talked to Dad about the fogginess for years. “Where did you get all this—”

  “What’s a brain cloud, Jake?”

  It breaks. All my posturing breaks, and my body goes limp. I slump down in my chair. “It’s like a confusion, you know? It’s on me most all the time. One big brain fog. And I think, why am I here?”

  I peek up. They look at one another.

  “Except when I’m pumped up. Like when I’m climbing or free-falling—Salome says I’m an adrenaline junkie.” I chuckle. “She knows me better than anyone.”

  I want to see her. Now. But I have to finish. “When that burst of adrenaline comes, the cloud goes, and I feel alive. I’m totally here, right? I focus and feel normal, and that’s one reason why this job is perfect for me.”

  I need Salome. She always bursts in and makes it right, makes me right. She’s been doing that since elementary school. I close my eyes and remember.

  “ADHD. E/BD. Oppositional Defiant Disorder. There’s no place here for Jake.”

  I stare down at rope-burned hands, the ones that climbed the gym rope, reached for the protective grate, and monkey-barred across the gym ceiling to a small window-sill.

  “You’re a school,” Mom says, “My son is eight years—”

  Principal Haynes stands, walks around his desk, and bends down. He stares at me.

  “When we must call the fire department to rescue your son from our gymnasium, we no longer provide the services he needs.”

  I glance at Mom. Her hands shake. They always shake. I want to get her to the pottery wheel, the one that makes me dizzy and calms her down. She can’t defend me, not alone. Haynes, like everyone else, thinks she’s crazy.

  She whispers through tears, “Where does my son belong?”

  Th
e principal stands. “There are facilities.”

  “What’s he talking about?” I ask.

  “Special school,” Mom whispers.

  I nod. “Can I go to lunch now?”

  Principal Haynes shakes his head. “The boy has no idea what’s going on—”

  I push back my chair. “You want to get rid of me. You don’t want to see me again.”

  “That’s not true, young man—”

  The door opens. Salome.

  “Excuse me—Oh, hi, Mrs. King!”

  “Hello, dear.”

  “Hey, Jake. You didn’t tell him, did you?” Salome’s hands raise to her hips, and she taps her foot.

  I say nothing.

  “You need to be in the lunchroom, Salome.” Haynes points out the door. “Now, please.”

  “Not until he tells you why he climbed. Not until he tells you that Kevin whipped my locket onto the sill above the gym. I’m not leaving until he tells you that he was climbing to get the gold locket my brother bought me, because Mr. Jenkins wouldn’t call the custodian to do it.” She looks at me. “When he tells you that, then I’ll leave.”

  The principal frowns and looks from her to me. “Is that so?”

  I dig in my pocket, bring out her heart locket, and hand it to her. “You can leave now.” I smile, and she does, too.

  My eyelids flutter open. She’s not here, and I stare down at the table and listen to the buzz of fluorescent lights. After they deny me, I have nowhere to go. Finally, Richardson clears his throat.

  “Where’s this Salome?”

  “Now? Brockton. Mid-Cal State in June.”

  “Does she matter to you, son?”

  I exhale long and loud and stare at ceiling tiles.

  “Good. Never had a problem with a man who cares for a woman.” All three of them rise. “Welcome to training, Jake.” Chief hikes up his pants. “You survive it, and we’ll talk about a probationary period on Mox’s crew.”

  I frown. “It’s just a few weeks of helicopter stuff and a couple push-ups, right?”

  Richardson clears his throat. “Maybe in Brockton. That would be the rappeller training you’d get. But you’re not training in Brockton. You’ll be in Herndon.”

  “Herndon? That’s a smoke-jumping base.”

  “Yes, and I’ve told them to push you as hard as they can through the two-month ordeal. If you survive that, I’ll feel much better about this little arrangement. Wait here.” Richardson slaps my back. “I’ll ask Mox to come in.”

  They leave, and I slump down into my chair, a mile-long grin on my face.

  Smoke jumpers. Jumping out of airplanes.

  Ten minutes later, I pace the room. Finally, Mox slips in. He closes the door and flicks off the light. The pale red glow from the exit sign does little, and we stare into darkness.

  “What frightens you, Jake?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dying? Are you afraid of death?”

  “No.”

  “How about losing your family?”

  “No. Pretty much lost them already.”

  “Tell me about Scottie.” Mox whispers. “Where’d he end up?”

  “My—No idea. I don’t care.”

  Mox breathes hard. “Are you two close?”

  “Turn on the light. I’m too old for ghost stories.”

  “Are you? Tell me about Salome Lee.”

  “You already know who she is. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  I walk toward Mox. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Are you afraid of losing her?”

  I pause, then say the first uncomfortable thing in this conversation. “Yes.”

  I feel his breath. A hand grabs my shirt, balls it tight. “Jake King, I hate this. I hate you here. It’s everything I fight against. Underprepared. Untested. I hate you on my crew. But this isn’t your fault. So I’m giving you some advice: flunk out of training.” His voice lowers. “Or bug out now like your brother. Because I didn’t pull your cert, and life on my crew won’t be pleasant.”

  He flicks on the lights, and I squint and blink.

  “Sorry about the eyes. I focus better in the dark.” He smiles. The menace is gone, and his other personality speaks. “If the burn is unreachable by truck, they drop my crew. We hike miles in with hundred-pound packs on our backs. We kill that fire and haul those packs out. If she sparks up again and headquarters has to send someone else after us to mop up, we’ve failed.” Mox backhands my chest. “We don’t fail.” He reaches for the door. “Come meet the guys.”

  Back in the lobby, there are high fives and back-slaps, and I can’t believe these are the same men who stared me down when I arrived. They don’t speak much. They don’t respond to verbal greetings. But if they’re pissed I’m here, they hide it well.

  Two of them are a matched set, leaning short and built like bulldozers. Their gazes flit around the room. Jumpy fellas.

  The other guy is different. Tall and massive and scarred. A sweep of thick blond hair on top and a goatee, and the only one of the four without a brown jacket. There’s no jumpy in him. His gaze is soft and reaching.

  “Fez, Fatty, Koss, may I present Jake King,” Mox says. “Should he pass smoke-jumper recs, he’ll be a probationary member of our crew. Now to the Jeep.”

  “Hold up. I need to tell a friend my news.” I smile. “Then I have to reserve a room at the villa. So if you don’t mind—”

  “She’ll wait. Let Salome wait.” Mox walks up to me. “And my crew doesn’t sweat small stuff. If you survive training, you’ll live with us.”

  I stare at him. It’s a command, and I bristle. I joined five minutes ago, and his invisible tentacles already try to wrap up every part of my life.

  “I’m going to see her, now,” I say. “If the apartment offer stands after that, I’ll take it.”

  Fatty and Fez stop jostling in the doorway. Mox is unreadable.

  “Let him go, Mox.” Koss, the watcher, slaps my back and stares into me. “It’s not every day you join a hotshot rappelling crew.”

  Mox nods, grins. “It was just a suggestion, kid.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses me an apartment key. “Three Vista Estates. See you in a few months. Maybe.” His face darkens, and his voice lowers. “Take my advice. Come on, guys.” Mox shoves Fatty and Fez out of the building.

  Koss doesn’t move. He looks down, then raises his gaze. “Do you trust your friend?” He speaks so low, I’m not certain he spoke.

  “Salome?” I ask.

  He doesn’t twitch.

  “With my life.”

  “Then visit her often. It’s those guys who have nobody on the outside . . . they can’t stand up against it.”

  I shrug and nod.

  He nods back. “Scottie is a good man. No matter what you hear—he isn’t a rat, and he didn’t bail.”

  “Koss!” Mox’s head pokes through the door. “You coming?”

  Koss slowly turns. “Talking training with the new guy.” He looks over his shoulder. “Those suggestions help?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Appreciate it.”

  Koss steps out and leaves me alone. I swallow hard.

  It. What it am I supposed to stand against?

  I peek out the door. Mox leans over the front bar of his Jeep. His hand flexes and tightens. I do the same with mine.

  Let’s get this started.

  CHAPTER 13

  APRIL COMES IN HOT and lonely.

  Inside, I’m cold. There are too many things about Salome I don’t understand. Why she can’t see the difference between her brother and me, why she stopped coming over, why she couldn’t bear to say good-bye. It’s just stupid. And she’s not stupid.

  I roll onto my back and stare at the coils on the bunk above mine. It’s my first visit to Herndon, and one night in, I already hate it.

  I roll over and stare out at sleeping giants. The Cascade Foothills and the Trinity Alps surround.

  “Everybody up.” A
dark silhouette fills the doorway. “My name is Clancy. My job is to get you in shape. Whether you end up suited for aerial delivery, Type I hand-crew work, or ecosystem management, you all must be prepared for isolated-wildland fire suppression. Which means you will go through me.”

  I scratch my head. “Isn’t this firefighter training?”

  He walks toward me, leans over, and stares. “All of you except for one know the rigors of fighting wildfire. But none of you has any idea what it’s like to hurtle out of a DC-3, twisting and free-falling into hell on earth. To watch your chute deploy, to land butt up in a one-hundred-fifty-foot ponderosa. To let down into charred field, run top speed five miles into the teeth of a blaze with near a hundred pounds on your back.

  “Up!”

  I jump up, my body quivering with the thought. “What are we doing standing here?” I spin a circle and watch twenty men groan and shake their heads. “What’s first?”

  Clancy chuckles, then laughs, and slowly others join in. “So green. Let me take a look at the young King.” He stares hard, but his eyes gleam. “So far you live up to your reputation. Everyone, meet me outside in five minutes for a light run.”

  I’m outside in two, stretching and jumping and watching men who want nothing to do with me spill out of our quarters. They gather in a circle, twenty paces from where I sit and stretch. Clancy plops down beside me.

  “You don’t deserve to be here. The other men aren’t gonna like you.” Clancy stares straight ahead.

  “I’m used to that.”

  “I’m supposed to be hard on you.”

  “I’m used to that, too.”

  Clancy smiles. “These guys are veterans. They know what a run through the woods is like. That in mind, you want to lead? The path is clearly marked. Five miles. If you run out of gas, well, I’m sure they’d all appreciate a leisurely pace on Day One.”

  “Yeah!”

  We walk to the trailhead.

  “Jake here has offered to take point.” Clancy shouts. “Keep your feet up. Go, Jake.”

  I leap into the woods, weave around trees, and skip over fallen branches. Behind me there is a smattering of voices, then all falls silent but my breath and the crackling of the twigs.

  Faster.

  A crunch behind me. I glance over my shoulder. It’s Clancy. Gaining. I quicken my pace, he quickens his, and when I reach the end of the loop, he’s only ten paces back.