I break back into the clearing, bounce, and stretch. “Can we go again?”
Clancy stumbles around, his mouth hanging open, hands clasped firmly on top of his head. He glances at the stopwatch.
“Twenty-five minutes.” He gulps air. “That was twenty-five minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll go faster.”
He tries to laugh, grabs his waist, and winces. “You will never lead again.”
MY FIRST WEEKS PASS, and I’m in heaven. We learn parachute landings and airplane exits and letdowns from eighty-foot pine giants. Then we add the gear. Sixty pounds of weight accompany us on our runs. It will not slow me down. I lap most of the group on seven-mile full-pack runs. Twice, I win.
I love it, love it all. The tree-climbing, the firefighting techniques, safety school . . . but Clancy wakes us on a beautiful Monday with the best news of all. “We’re going up.”
This will be a clear-sky jump onto a wide-open field. We clamor into the plane, spiral higher, and pull the door. The engine roars, the draft licks my hands, and even from this height the air smells of sweet pine.
I turn into the plane. Our load is six. Four peaked faces, Grandier—a French guy not too much older than me—and myself.
Hankinson, our jump instructor, runs it all our first time out. He whips draft streamers out the open door, watches them flutter in red and blue, and yells toward the pilot.
“It’s good.”
We cruise to 2,700 feet, and my heart pulses. I’m here. Completely. I’m alive. Completely. How I got here does not matter. Dad’s calls and my lack of experience fade away. Heaven has reached down, and for this instant, I’m a believer.
Hankinson slaps my back, screams in my ear. “Little draft. It’s all you, Jake. To the door.”
The world whips by, yanks at me, tugs at my heart.
“Jump!”
I leap forward. All senses fire, and I free-fall.
“Jump one thousand, look one thousand, reach one thousand . . .”
I stabilize and hurtle like a bullet for the ground. I reach for the pull cord, force my hand loose.
“Wait one thousand, pull one thous—!”
My torso thrusts back, and the red chute unfurls against the blue sky.
“Whoa!”
I glance toward the ground. I’m too far left. I yank the toggle and float gently into the field. I hit soft, roll, and stand as the chute collapses over me.
I fight out, raise my arms, and scream.
“Again! Yeah. Do it again!”
This is my life. My time.
The following weeks, we practice leaping into terrain, collapsing into trees. We learn to use the tools and chainsaw trees and set back fires. There is nothing better than this job and the rush it brings.
Then training ends.
I feel lost. Here in Herndon I’ve found what I’ve been looking for. Why rappel from a copter when you could leap from an airplane?
But it’s not right either. Salome’s laugh isn’t here. And while she finished senior year, graduated, shared that laugh with her friends, I’ve almost forgotten what it sounds like.
On our last day, I wake early and wander to the tarmac. I run my hands over the planes, now my friends, that carried me to thrill after thrill.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to push you.” Clancy stands at my side. “But you pushed yourself plenty.” He looks at me, and I drop my gaze. “I finished my report. I ranked you as high as they come. Should be enough for Richardson.”
I nod and stare off.
“That is what you wanted, isn’t that right, son?”
“I guess so.”
“Mox is as good a fighter as I’ve ever known. You’ll learn a ton about rappelling.” He breathes deep. “But when you’re done in Brockton, after you get your years in, you come back. There’s a place for you here. You’re one heck of a kid.”
I force a smile. Then why won’t she return my texts?
CHAPTER 14
MY NEW HOME RESTS JUST outside of town and overlooks the Apido Valley. Apart from a few Immortals, it’s quiet and ghostlike during winter, but now that summer’s here, Vista Estates bustles with crazies and do-gooders all here to do one thing: knock the crap out of wildfires.
It’s a rowdy bunch, more than half born-and-bred Brockton boys. Kyle had lived here. Had Scottie stuck around, it would have been his home, too.
I haul my stuff to number three. Mox’s crew is housed nearest the helicopters and apart from the fifty other full- and part-timers. Judging from the AC/DC that blares out his open window, it’s likely those others don’t mind.
“Will you look at that?”
I glance over my shoulder and set down my duffel.
Will and the rest of Bulldozer Crew #1 walk up to me. “You better just be visiting.”
Chuckles change to stone-faced seriousness.
I shake my head. “Mox picked me up.”
The thin, balding fighter on the right—the one with Scottie’s expressions—tenses. “The Forest Service has turned into a Forest Circus. You have no fire experience except backyard barbecues, and you’re on a rappel team?”
“He’s got a daddy. Ain’t that right?” This speaker is new to Brockton, but he’s already up on the situation. “A daddy with Richardson’s ear.”
I want to tell them that I didn’t ask for Dad’s help. That if a certain friend of mine would study journalism in Anchorage, I’d have no quarrel smoke-jumping in Alaska. What they say is true—I don’t belong here. I know Dad worked the phone, and Mox hates that I came.
“Leave him alone.” Will steps up and shakes my hand. “If there’s better proof of Moxie’s character, I’ve not heard it.” Will throws his arms around his two buddies. “And after the toll the King family has taken on him. What was your brother thinking? Mox is a saint of a man, I’d say.”
I shrug. “I don’t keep track of what Scottie does, but I’ve never heard him lie. Ever.”
Will lowers his arms and points at the open window. “He caused a great man pain. Mox has lost a lot of young men to stupidity. He deserves better than the investigation your brother put him, and all of us, through.” His gaze turns to me. “Make it up to him. Listen and do what he says. Come on, guys.”
They jostle on and leave me alone on the step.
I breathe deep. Scottie caused pain? That’s my job. The proof was scarred into Kyle’s face. This crew is my last chance to make things right.
I dig out my key and push through the door. Koss sits at the kitchen table and greets me with a smile.
“You’re rooming with me. If you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine.” I dump my backpack and duffel in the entry and look around.
The walls are green, least I think that’s the base color. Paint-ball explosions splotch every surface, every lamp and couch. Koss stands, chuckles, and glances around. His welted, reddened cheeks stretch into a grin. “It was a good fight.”
I puff out air. “You guys have rules?”
“Yeah.” He stretches, and muscles ripple beneath his white T-shirt. “No goggles allowed, and no shots below the neck.”
I love it here. I’m home.
“The others went for a swim to wash off. I waited for you.” He exhales hard and checks his watch. “Up for a hike?”
I nod and throw on my boots.
We descend into Apido Canyon. The only way down is a long, winding trail hemmed in with pine spires that stretch back toward the villa. Koss leads. I don’t know what he wants to say, but he’s in no hurry to speak.
“So how many years you been with the Forest Service?” I ask.
“Fifteen in California.”
More silence. I roll my eyes and try again.
“You been on Mox’s crew the whole time?”
Koss nods.
Strange, I haven’t seen him around. Brockton isn’t that big. A guy this imposing would be easy to spot. I tell him as much.
“I don’t spend too much time h
ere. My fiancée lives in Holdingford. We’ll marry in December.”
“Well, congrats. What’s her name?”
Koss bends down and picks up a branch, and I stop short. He stares at his stick, his voice now far off. “No names. Keep their names to yourself.”
“Whose?” I shift my feet and try to catch Koss’s gaze. When he does look up, his eyes are sad, and I wish he’d go back to his twig.
His reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “You’re so young.” Koss stares back up the trail. “What’s said here, stays here. Can I trust you on that?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Koss looks at me hard, chuckles. “You’re the second King son I’ve spoken to about this. The first one listened to me.”
“Scottie.”
“I will make it brief. Mox is going to give you something to wear. It’ll feel good. It’ll feel like you’re part of something. You might even feel like you owe him something. After you get comfortable in it, he’ll ask you to join his little band. You say no to both offers.”
My face must look blank because he rolls his eyes and tightens his jaw. “He’ll offer you a brown Immortals jacket. If you take it, you’ll be one of them—an Immortal. And that would be just fine if it stopped there, but being one comes with a price, and when there’s an opening, he’ll ask you to join his club. Let’s call it the Rush Club. Don’t do it. Scottie listened and walked out of here.”
“I’m different than Scottie.”
“I know.”
“That’s it? That’s the reason for all this secrecy?”
“That’s all.”
“Those jackets, I’ve been wondering about them a long time. If you can give me a good reason not to take one, fine. But otherwise . . .”
Koss bends down, takes that twig he holds, and scratches in the dirt. Draws first a circle, then an arrow, like a one-handed clock. He straightens.
“Sometimes it’s best to trust. I need you to trust me.” He looks down, points at the drawing. “When we started this, I thought we were doing right. Two crazy rookies passing time and taking matters into our own hands.” He stares at me. “But since I left the club—well, it’s gotten out of hand. Good kids dying in the spin.”
In the spin. In the spin. Kyle!
“Kyle said that. He said he was ‘in the spin.’” I point at Koss. “Do you know what happened to Kyle?”
Koss inhales, taps the ground with his stick. “That happened to Kyle. Same as what happens to them all. Sooner or later the spin catches you. Look, Mox doesn’t want you. He’s probably going to push you extra hard. And now that he’s mad at your brother?” He sighs. “Jake, you stay with me, and you’ll be okay. Thing is, eventually he’ll get you alone. Then you say no to his offers.” He grinds his toe across the ground, erasing the clock face. “Or you could do the next best thing. Quit and leave town now.”
I shake my head. “You’re kidding, right?”
He says nothing. Koss pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and works it hard.
“People have been down on me my whole life, and I’m still here.” I point down to the dirt. “Whatever that thing was you warned me about, if it has anything to do with getting a jacket, I’m taking it. To be on a rappel crew and to join a bunch of adrenaline junkies like the Immortals—this is like a dream. I’ll take care of me.”
“You talk about what you don’t know.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Don’t tell me about the Immortals. Don’t lecture me with rumor. The Rush Club was my idea. Young, stupid me.” He swallows, rubs his eyes hard. “But I didn’t make the rules. You got to believe me, I didn’t make the rules. That was all Mox.”
Koss grabs my shoulders, and his eyes plead. His hands are vises. There are precious few times I’ve felt I couldn’t break free, but I know I’m stuck here until he lets me go.
“Since I don’t know what you’re talking about, I forgive you. Can you let me go?”
“Yeah.” He releases me. “I’ll let you go.”
The next minute fills with awkward silence.
Koss straightens. “So you’re sticking around?”
“I’m not Scottie.” I step back and massage my arms. “Tell me about Kyle. He was an Immortal. Where did he get his jack—”
“Not another word.” Koss purses his lips. “We never spoke. My job’s done.”
He lights up again, and we walk back up the trail. He talks easily now. We cover his nameless fiancée, his home in Montana, and life on the fire line. Our earlier conversation becomes a weird, irregular heartbeat that doesn’t fit with the rest of the day’s easy rhythm.
I unpack, settle onto the colorful couch, and the three swimmers reappear dead drunk. Fez and Fatty fall into the place, and Mox stumbles over them, regains his balance. I stand to greet, but two men stay down, passed out on the floor. Mox looks at me, and it’s a horrible gaze. Because he’s still in control of it. His body’s loaded and barely vertical, but somehow his eyes still pierce. Terrifying.
“Come on, Jake. Give me a hand.” Koss walks to Fatty, hoists him up as if he was hollow. I reach down and muscle Fez over my shoulder. I follow Koss into the second bedroom and dump Fez into his bunk.
I collapse into my own bed and wonder how it is Dad knows so little. This is everything he hates. The wildness, the irresponsibility. This isn’t the norm for firefighter crews. He lobbied me onto an aberration, an outlier, the one crew in California as crazy and reckless as the fires we’ll face.
TRAINING IN BROCKTON IS a breeze. Two weeks of conditioning followed by rappelling and helicopter work. After leaping from planes, sliding down a cable hanging from a copter feels natural.
We gather in the old hangar turned gymnasium for refresher training and physical checks. Fats and Fez shove and joke and wait for their chance to impress.
“Wilson, Fatty.”
Fatty rises to catcalls and whistles, struts slowly up to the front of the gym. He turns, lifts up his T-shirt, and flexes his biceps.
“You all want some of me?” He laughs, and the firemen assembled hoot.
I cringe. It’s a gruesome thing to see.
He fails every test. Sit-ups. Push-ups. Fails them all. But they wink and nod him by.
He flops back down beside me. “There’s more leeway here than in Herndon.” He pats his gut after his two-pull-up effort. “As long as I make weight, I’ll be fine.” Fatty slaps my back and gazes around the gym.
“King, Jake.”
I stand when called. Around me it’s silent. I approach the pull-up bar and peel off forty-six in a minute. I walk through the stares and plop back down by Fatty.
“Sheesh. You’re like some monkey boy.”
I smile and gaze across the room at Mox and Koss. They lean against the wall, watching. Koss grins back, but Mox’s eyes are slits.
After our recs are complete, our crew walks from the gym back to the villa.
“What you been eating?” Fez grabs my biceps, and I pull away. “No Twinkies. That’s for sure.”
Mox leads the pack. Koss joins him, reaches out, and grabs him by the scruff of the neck. “Kid might turn out just fine.”
“A few push-ups—”
“Forty-one in a minute. One-armed?” Fatty chimes in.
“And rabbits can run—”
“That was a base record.” Fez nods in my direction.
“Doesn’t mean anything when trees fall and wind shifts. Doesn’t mean anything when the kid’s fire experience is a birthday candle. When his dad and Richardson force him on—”
Koss steps in front of Mox. “Let it go. It’s done.”
Mox peeks back at me, then forward to Koss. “No, my friend. It’s just beginning.”
CHAPTER 15
MONTHS PASS, AND WILDFIRE season begins.
My first drops are uneventful. Small fires easily extinguished. But with each rappel, I see the skill of my crewmates. We zip 250 feet straight down from the copter on a half-inch rope in fifteen seconds. Then comes their genius, their art. Mox
and Koss hit the ground, circle, and their eyes meet. They speak without words, and both know it all—safety zones, wind shifts, urgency—they close their eyes for a moment, and when they open them, everything is clear, the deadly dance begins, and in hours the fire will surrender.
Koss slowly brings me into the blaze, teaches me the tells of each fire. But not Mox. He barks at me with the hate of the burn. Then I watch him throw himself in front of the fiery beast, all to save a house. An empty house. And I have no idea what to think of him anymore.
Koss no longer warns me about the club, and I don’t want him to. Life with the guys feels so good. Rappelling into fires by day, partying extreme-style all night. Then the villa fills with faces I’ve never before seen in Brockton. It’s as if there’s a secret entrance to town I never knew about. Koss watches the mayhem, then quickly vanishes into our room.
I slap on a smile, try to find a friendly face in the crowd. For a while it works. The craziness rubs off, and I feel part of this crew. Then a different face worms into my mind. I haven’t heard from Salome in months; it’s the longest we’ve ever been apart.
Soon I lie on my bed and listen to Koss snore and wonder what she’s doing now.
IN THE MORNING, THE FLOOR is littered with beer cans. Mox, Fatty, and Fez are gone, vanished along with the other Immortals who wander the estates. So far, I’ve seen eighteen different Immortals jackets. On the rappel crew, the hand crew, the dozer crew. When here, they strut around the condo like they’re holding some inside joke. That’s fine by me, because there’s always Koss. He’s the older brother Scottie never was, the one I never knew I wanted.
But hanging with Koss can’t fill the big loss in this bargain.
I need to see her.
Three hours later I search the parking lots of Mid-Cal State. Her car has to be here. If I know her, and I do, she’ll be studying.
The library.
Sure enough, her green Saab is nearest the door. Though it’s Friday, I bet she’ll be here all day.
Rush Page 8
