Rush

by Jonathan Friesen

  “WELCOME BACK.”

  A gentle hand plays with my hair, and I crack an eyelid. It’s dark, but it’s warm in my room, and Salome sits on the bed.

  I exhale slowly. “I’m glad it’s you—Wait, you shouldn’t be here.” I wring my hands beneath the sheets. Skin burns. A cold burn.

  “Is that a way to greet a friend? I could probably beat you to a pulp right now.”

  I close my eyes. I can’t put it together—why Salome is in the villa she hates, how I got here in the first place. I only know I’m a fool, and if I had the choice over again, I wouldn’t have gone in that cave.

  A shiver works my body, and Salome tucks blankets over my shoulders.

  “How—”

  “Shut up.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you the whole bizarre story, or the majority of it, including the headline—‘Keeping Guarantees Important to Young Women.’” She looks away.

  She continues. “I found your note and sat in the car for half an hour. I read that note over and over. I called three friends and my mom before I called you. Do you know what she said? Absolutely nothing.” Salome sighs. “I have a great mom.”

  “Yeah, you do. And I’m sorry—”

  She places her hand on my mouth and shakes her head. “So I headed back home and crawled into bed, with visions of you in my head. I’ve been trying hard to get rid of those. Then the phone rang.”

  “For you?”

  She doesn’t answer. “It was a nice guy, and he wanted to stop by Saturday.”

  My jaw tightens. “You said no.”

  “I said, ‘I already have plans.’”

  Salome places her hands on her lap, and stares at them. My face now burns hot.

  “Who was the jerk?”

  She gazes hard at me.

  “Who called you?” I ask.

  “What right do you have to know? He’s a good guy.”

  I wince, and she continues. “So all day yesterday I wait for seven o’clock. Because someone I hadn’t seen in way too long wanted to see me. And I wanted to see him. I waited until nine, went home, and called the other guy. I told him to come right over.”

  “You called—”

  “Just shut up. Ten minutes later, I heard the knock. And I’m dressed nice. I looked good. Because all day I’d been dreaming of having a good time, and I was going to have one. I threw on my happy face and threw open the door and just about threw up. Mox stood there dripping. He’d gotten my address from your emergency contact file. He was dazed and looked like he’d seen a ghost, which, now that I’ve seen you, wasn’t too far from the truth. ‘I need you,’ he said.”

  My stomach lurches.

  “‘What you need,’ I told him, ‘is a slap in the face.’ I started to lay into him about Drew, and he got a funny look. I’d say anxious, if he had an anxious bone in his body. He asked me to step outside. I told him to wait. I told him he came at a really bad time. But he grabbed my arm and yanked me to the road, and there you were, half dead in a Jeep.”

  “So I blew off conscious date number two, and hopped in back with the original unconscious note leaver. I assumed we were heading to the hospital, but no again, Mox the Magnificent insisted on bringing you here. Your friends, the fat one and the slimy one, carried you in and took off. They said they’d be back to check on us tomorrow, and tomorrow it is, and here you are.”

  “And here you are,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “How am I going to get rid of you?”

  We sit in silence and look at each other. I wonder what she thinks. How many more times she’ll put up with me.

  “Your dad was here most of the night. He just left.”

  I nod.

  “Bubbling Brooke stopped in, too. But she irritated your dad, and I think it may be some time before you see her again.”

  I roll my eyes. “I should’ve been at the library. I shouldn’t have gone.”

  “When will you stop?” I whisper.

  “Stop—”

  “Coming for me?”

  She turns. “I don’t know. It’s already different.”

  “’Cause I fight fire?”

  “No. You’re strong and brave, and I bet nobody on your crew can do what you do. I’m proud of that.” She inhales. “But time goes by, and life changes, and I hoped that one day you’d join a crew somewhere far from this place. Where you could be you, and maybe I . . .”

  She turns, and I follow her gaze to the balled-up brown jacket in the corner. She stands, walks over, and raises it to eye level.

  “‘Jake King,’” Salome reads. She drops it. Her gaze sticks to the floor. Minutes pass—they feel like hours—and she slowly returns to sit on the bed.

  “Well, look at you. You put on their jacket. I guess it fits.”

  She rubs my forehead, but I know her—the gaze tells me she’s not here.

  “I know this makes no sense to you.” I swallow hard. “But when I had no air, when I was sure I wasn’t going to make it, I felt so . . . normal.”

  Salome closes her eyes. I can’t watch. Again, she turns away. She can’t watch me either.

  CHAPTER 18

  THERE IS A SUN. Strips of light cover me, and I look like a photonegative tiger. I stagger up from bed, wait for the room to still, and stumble to the shade to let the fireball in full.

  Outside, Brockton cooks beneath the heat. It’s the same town today as yesterday. The hardware store, Randall’s filling station. It’s the same place, hemmed in by mountains that womb and isolate us from the world.

  But it’s not. It’s a different sun today shining on different mountains. The sun is brighter, the mountains not so protective, and the town, well, this morning it’s just plain ignorant.

  She’s gone.

  I RISE AND SHOWER. Water drips off blood-caked gashes on my arms and legs. I need to leave, to put as much space as possible between Mox and me. I dress with a grimace and step out into the heat. Minutes later, I wander Brockton’s streets. I’m not much for thinking—it’s uncomfortable to spend too much time in my head, and I walk blank-minded. I pass Dad’s place, once my place. I stare at his neighbors’—once Salome’s—home.

  But the houses are quiet, and nothing draws me.

  “You going to stand there in the street?”

  Dad steps out the front door, squints in the sunlight, and clears his throat. I drop my jaw to speak, but nothing comes out.

  Dad nods, walks slowly down the steps. “You well?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Dad strolls around front to Mom’s garden. I should move toward him. I’m his son. But my feet grow heavy, and I’ve nothing to say.

  “Ever think about your mom?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Will you sit with me?”

  “I need to get back to—”

  “Sit down, will you?”

  I puff out air, walk onto the lawn, and plop beside him on the grass. It’s silent.

  Movement, in the corner of my eye. Dad rocks gently and stares straight ahead. I don’t know the man who sits beside me.

  “Well,” I say. “This is great and all, but—”

  Dad grabs my forearm and squeezes.

  “You know how I felt when Scottie left. You can’t imagine my thoughts when Mox came by and told me about your stunt. He went after you. He tried to stop you from your craziness and save you from yourself, but you did it anyway.”

  My arm hurts, and I pull away.

  “I thought maybe a little discipline from a man like Moxie Stone would help.” He rubs his face with both hands. “But I don’t want to lose you, too.

  “I’d have visited again, but they said you just needed rest.” He slaps my back, and I wince. “You look good.”

  “I’m okay.”

  More silence. I peek at Dad, catch him peeking back.

  “I want you to leave the Forest Service, Jake.” His voice strengthens. “I know I pushed you into this. Your mom understood you; I never did. It seemed a decent fit.” Dad turns back to
the flowers. “What was this cave thing? That’s where they found Kyle.” Again, he clears his throat. “The pressure must be too much.”

  “You, Salome, Scottie, Koss, Mox. Every single one of you wants me off this crew. But none of you see what this crew does for me. They’re wild and—”

  “Think on it. I’ll say no more.” Dad stands, brushes off his jeans. “And if you ever want to, I mean, if you have time, maybe you’d want to visit.” He gazes at the house. “It’s pretty dark here without you guys.” Dad reaches down and squeezes my shoulders. It burns, but I don’t mind. “Take care of yourself, Jake.”

  My father disappears into the house.

  I look down at my Immortals jacket. My dad wants me to quit?

  I rise and take a right on Klaeburn. I need to get back to the villa, where there’s no thinking needed. Fires burn, training takes over, knock them out. And the entire time my head is free and clear.

  The rooms are empty.

  I collapse on my bed, fall into restless sleep. Hours later, I wake. I stand and pull the shade. Mountains rise black on gray in the distance.

  The cave debacle has faded, and the monster awakes. I need something, and I won’t find it here.

  I exit the villa. It’s too quiet, and night sounds suddenly amplify. I start to jog and freeze. Up ahead, a gray shape vanishes down the path leading to the ravine. I scamper after it. The crunch of its feet stop, start, and stop again. The silhouette is either careful or paranoid, and I duck off the trail and into the woods.

  I speed up and soon move beside it. It hates my being here and bends often to look into the trees, but I freeze and it’s dark and soon it ignores me.

  I let it go on ahead and follow twenty paces back. By the time I reach the bottom of the ravine I’m relaxed. Like I am with Salome—well, like I was.

  I pause and circle in what once was a stream. Now it’s dead—rocky and lifeless and cool in the night. I rub my arms as she had done, close my eyes, and see her sitting on my bed and wonder what makes this job so hard to leave.

  Laughter. Lots of it. I light-foot forward through the darkness and wind through the ravine. I round a rocky outcropping and stop. A hundred feet ahead, a bonfire burns, and fiery tongues lick the sky. The flame sets near twenty faces glowing. I know them all.

  I live with three.

  They all wear their jackets, the one I have on my back. I slip behind my rocky shield and peek over the top.

  “Well, gentlemen, we once again have an opening. We are nineteen. According to the rules, we must be twenty.” Mox places his arm around Troy’s shoulder. My buddy Troy. My left-him-laughing-in-front-of-Brooke’s Troy.

  My brown-jacketed Troy.

  “Our new member has been appointed, and now only one item remains undone.” He smiles. Fatty and Fez shuffle behind the fire, and I can’t see a thing. They reappear, lugging a wooden disc ten feet in diameter. They lower it onto a stake and step back. The wood wobbles, steadies, and the men circle.

  My breath catches, and I close my eyes. In my memory the images are clear—Koss scratches a clocklike drawing in the dirt, Mox wipes his finger in red spray paint. The wooden disc lifts, turns over in my mind, and both eyes shoot open.

  They were never drawing a clock. It was this wheel.

  “While you’re in the spin, you will speak to nobody about your task. We won’t speak to you.” Mox sounds triumphant.

  Troy looks at Mox. My buddy is scared. I see it one hundred feet away. “I do this, and I’m in?”

  Mox says nothing.

  “And then no more spins ever?” Troy looks around. Nobody answers. He’s staring down at this disc. I can’t see all his face, but half is enough. Half says whatever’s on the disc is more than he bargained for.

  “Spin, spin.” The chant starts slowly, quietly. It gathers steam. Eyes blaze, and the group bends down like they’re worshipping this thing, like it holds the script of their lives. Only Troy still stands.

  I want to call to him. I want to remind him he has a family and he doesn’t have to do whatever this crackpot tells him. I want him to take off running my way. We’d outrun them. I know we could. I step out from behind the rock. Troy falls to his knees, grabs the disc, and gives it a whirl.

  The chanting stops as the wheel turns and tilts and wobbles. It comes to a lazy rest, and everyone slowly stands.

  Troy jogs over to Mox, grabs his sleeve. Troy tries to catch Mox’s gaze but cannot. In the firelight, I see my friend’s face blanch.

  Mox rips his arm away and straightens his jacket.

  “Welcome to the Rush Club.”

  CHAPTER 19

  MY HEART RACES. It rarely races.

  But an hour after the wheel was whisked away, after nineteen men snaked silently back toward the path that leads up to the villa, my heart pounds harder than ever. Because Troy still sits, head buried in his hands, in front of the embers of a fire.

  I approach him quietly, and again feel the heavy press down on me. But this is a different heavy, a bad heavy, a weight that excites and sickens at the same time.

  “Troy,” I whisper. He doesn’t move. “Troy?” He jerks around and stares at me with wide eyes. His gaze shifts to where the wheel was, where the stake still is, and crawls back to me.

  “Just get here?”

  “No.”

  My word acts like an electric jolt. He’s on his feet. “What’d you see?”

  I walk toward him, slap his back, and plop to the ground. “Not sure. I was hoping you could fill me in.”

  Troy eases down to the earth, and together we stare at flickering embers.

  I lean into his shoulder. “Here’s what I know. Nineteen guys, you’ll make twenty. Guys from the dozer crew, the hand crews, and, of course, my sorry bunch minus Koss. Mox was in charge, as always. A big wheel came out. You spun, you freaked. ‘Welcome to the Rush Club.’” I peek at Troy.

  He nods. “You know, I always thought you were the freak. Even though we hung out, I’d go home and tell my folks you were crazy.”

  I dig in the dirt with my heel. “That’s not so far off the truth.”

  “I mean, when I started seeing Cheyenne, she’d ask me why I’d want to hang with a guy who had a death wish. Remember your waterfall dive? What was that?”

  I squeeze my forehead between thumb and forefinger. “People do strange things to feel normal.”

  His voice softens. “But at least you do your own thing. You don’t let Mox or anybody get to you.”

  “Can’t say that.”

  It’s quiet for a long time.

  Troy sighs. “I’ve done a lot of dumb things, especially when you’re around.”

  I wave him off. “True.”

  A weighty silence falls. It’s too big to lift. And in that silence a feeling births, a closeness with my friend that I’ve never felt. I know that whatever this club is, we’re in it together. Fifteen minutes pass and we say nothing. In the distance, there’s a howl, but we don’t flinch. Because Troy is a friend. I’m not going anywhere.

  We rise slowly and stomp out embers. It’s dark, and I know Troy’s dodging, so I grab him beneath the arm. “I need to know what I saw, and why you want something you think is cursed.”

  He sighs. “Can you see my face?”

  “No,” I say.

  “I’m in the spin. The Rush Club has an opening, and I just need to get through initiation.”

  “Do what’s on the wheel.”

  “Yeah,” he whispers.

  “Why’d they pick you?”

  “They didn’t. Immortals name their successor in case they don’t . . .”

  “Make it,” I say.

  Troy’s fingers flex and loosen. “Carter named me.”

  “This club, you don’t have to do this. Nobody can make you.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Think about this. You have a beautiful girl, and you don’t need any of this. You’re not like me.”

  “No”—his voice grows fainter—“but Mox can take away the circus. He trash
es my reputation, and no rappel crew in the country will pull my cert again. And Cheyenne begged me to apply here. Close to family. It’s the perfect place for us.”

  I nod, then frown. “But . . . you’re not on a rappel crew.”

  He smiles weakly. “Mox said he was going to pick me up real soon. He said there’ll be an opening, and this time he’s going to be the one to fill it. That means we’ll be on the same crew. Except I don’t know how he’s going to fit six rappellers in one copter.”

  He won’t.

  I lean over and rub my legs hard. “So does everyone join? Everyone just listens to Mox and half die?”

  “No. There was this guy picked up by the hand crew earlier this year. Kyle’s successor. He blew off Mox’s offer of immortality.”

  My eyes widen.

  “Yeah,” he continues. “Rumor has it you know him pretty well.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE PATIO BEHIND OUR villa is quiet. Unusual for our crew. But I don’t mind. Fatty tans on a burdened lounge chair and Fez chain-smokes over a crossword puzzle. That leaves Koss and me to work the grill.

  “Good news.” Mox saunters up to the barbecue, grabs a hot dog bare-fingered, and smokes it like a cigar. “We’re back on rotation. Put the coals out. There’s a fire up in Anderson.”

  Koss nods. Fez and Fatty whoop. And I take care of the coals.

  Ten minutes later we get our orders, and we jog, geared up, onto the tarmac. We swing into the helicopter beneath the thumping of rotors. In the distance, a finger of black spirals into the sky.

  This moment answers all the questions. The “why” Salome doesn’t understand and the reason I’ll never comply with Dad’s request. Inside, I burn a joyful burn, and darkness flees. I hate fire. I want to kill it. But I love it. It dances in my mind.

  We hover over the smoke. Radio scratches in the distance.

  “Abort, guys. Wind shifts in the canyon.” The copter pilot looks back and smiles. “It’s turning ugly. Not your war today.”

  Nobody pays attention. We stare at Moxie’s shadow. A red light flashes across his face.

  We’re near it. He smells it like I smell it. The mindless hate of an out-of-control burn. Only he smells it more. His hands slowly open, close. He gently rocks, trying to feel, starting to feel. Moxie’s eyes gleam.