Rush

by Jonathan Friesen

  Kyle Ramirez. Andrew Lee.

  An awkward wooden hand on top completes the deal and bounces independent of the wheel itself.

  I take a picture with my mind, one I can give to Salome. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  From the left, a chant begins. “Spin, spin—”

  I reach down and spin. The night quiets. The men quiet. The wheel wobbles to a stop. “Waterfall dive. Nighttime.” I say. “Which waterfall, Mox?”

  “Chisel Falls,” he announces.

  “Okay. So, tonight? Tomorrow? I’d just as soon be in the spin as brief a time as possible, ’cause I got something I need to do.”

  Mox tongues the inside of his cheek and leans toward me. His breath heats up my ear. “Nobody mocks me.”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a compass. The men murmur, all except for Troy. He squints at the tiny object in Mox’s hand. Troy has rotten vision. It’s amazing he even saw my flashlight beam.

  “What is that?” Troy blurts.

  Mox shoves him away and approaches me.

  “Spin again, Jake.”

  I squint at the dial. “What’s on this one?”

  “You stole Koss from me. It’s time you understand how it feels to watch someone you care for risk everything for nothing.” He holds out the spinner. “Spin.”

  I reach up and flick the plastic spinner, hear it whiz and come to an abrupt halt. Fez digs out a flashlight, lights up Mox’s hand. The tiny metal spinner is divided into only two sections, each marked by one word. One name, Scottie. The other, Salome.

  My arrow points at Salome.

  “If you want to be a member of the Rush Club, she has to make the jump with you.”

  My heart pounds. Knees weaken, and I step back, bump into a body, and stagger back farther.

  “What is this? She can’t do that.”

  “Whoa now—” Fatty looks at me, drops his gaze, and waggles his head.

  “I’ve seen his file,” Mox says. “There’s nothing on this wheel that’s new to him. The intensity must be equal for us all.”

  I glance around. Faces vanish into the night. Only Mox remains. I plop down.

  “You rookie thief,” Mox says. “Did you think I’d forget my years with Koss? And what do you care about Salome? Doesn’t she belong to your brother?” His rasp sounds faint, but his outline fronts me.

  You’re sick.

  I bend over, bury my head in my hands before looking up. “You care about the people you rescue. Why don’t you care about the men who fight fire beside you? Take Troy, he’s a rookie who’d do anything for you.”

  “The men I fight with are all that matters in this world.” Mox stares off. “I’m doing the feds a favor. If they won’t weed out the weak ones at the start, I will.” He stares at me, eyes sad. “Before good men die.”

  I frown. “Did a good man die?”

  “Die? No.” Mox straightens. “He’s immortal.”

  CHAPTER 30

  MID-CAL STATE WAKES UP lazily on Saturday morning. Carefree kids with carefree faces whip Frisbees across the lawn. I could have been one of them. They have no problems, no real ones.

  I pull up to Salome’s castle.

  The miles from Brockton to the university have sucked the courage out of me. Words I’ve practiced now jumble in a suddenly cloudy mind. I’d rather jump into a blaze than walk up to the steps.

  I have no plan. I know of no way to convince Salome to join me on this stunt. I know only that, if I can, I’ll protect her. I also know she won’t jump. I won’t let her. She’ll come. That’s all. With that big old camera. Because if she doesn’t, it’s my word against Mox’s, and Brockton already has its opinions.

  I reach for my cell. She doesn’t answer hers. I reach down, grab a pebble, and whip it toward the turret. Wind steals my throw, and I grab a bigger stone, hurl it harder. Too hard. High above, a shattering.

  Shoulders droop, and I stare at the sidewalk. I wait for Scottie’s act-responsible speech, his grow-up speech. I’d rather be showered with glass than his words.

  The front door creaks, and I close my eyes and brace. Arms wrap me, gentle arms squeeze a smile out of me. A smile so big and loopy I feel it.

  “Where’d my brother slink off to?” I peel Salome away.

  “I’m not sure.” Salome smiles. I frown.

  She hugs me again. “I’m not sure I care.”

  Peel number two. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  She smacks my shoulder. “If you push me away one more time—”

  “Fine!”

  We hug angry, and it feels right. Salome steps back and points up. “You broke my window.”

  “Yes, yes, I did.”

  “But you also came back to me.”

  She grabs my hand, and we walk across the street and onto the grassy expanse. “So this is the tough college life.” I gesture around the campus.

  Salome squeezes my hands and turns me in a slow circle. “It’s a brutal existence. And how’s Mox? How was the spin? I should get my notebook. I’m ready for the facts.”

  I don’t speak.

  “You’re a tough interview today. I’ll start.” She squeezes harder. “Are you finished? Is the club finished? If you want me to write this up, I’ll need more than a handshake.”

  “Not quite.”

  She shakes her head. “Scottie called to warn me. I’m supposed to stay away from you.” A lazy smile spreads across her face. “Your brother’s a smart guy. I love his sensible brain.”

  I stop. “So why are you here with me?”

  She turns me and takes my other hand. “I love your sensitive heart.”

  “Oh, boy.” I squint. “I might need a little more help from you than I thought. Here’s the deal. Mox asked me to join the Rush Club and—”

  “The Rush Club. Such a catchy headline. You said yes, go on.”

  “I said yes. Everyone has to do some crazy initiation stunt. I saw it. The wheel. The words.” I point to my head. “All captured in my cloudy brain. There’s a spin. There’s a task. There’s Mox.” I swallow. She’s never stared at me so intently. “I spun, and if I want in, there’s a nighttime jump off Chisel Falls.”

  Salome’s face is blank, then she breaks into a long exhale. “At least it landed on lunacy you’ve already done.”

  “Not with you, I haven’t.”

  Salome straightens and squirms. “What do I have to do with—”

  “I’ve done everything on that wheel. He said he needed to up the intensity. Your coming with would sure do that.”

  She frowns. She knows I’m holding back.

  I puff out air. “He’s got it in for me. He hates Dad and Scottie. He blames me for Koss. That’s a lot of hate.”

  I pull her toward a bench, sit her down, and kneel in front.

  Her tanned face whitens. “This is crazy. No. Forget it.” Her brows furrow, and her voice softens. “You don’t want me to do this.”

  “Nope. I don’t. Just write this up like we planned, only I need you to come and bring the camera. This club has survived countless investigations. As I spun, it hit me that I need art to seal the deal. I searched for that wheel when Mox left after my spin. Something that big you’d think I could find it, but it’s nowhere.”

  It’s quiet a long time.

  “So you came back to ask me to jump off of a hundred-foot cliff.”

  I squint. “No. It’ll look like it, but no. I just need you to drive with me to the jump.” I lift my hands, palms up. “It’s all I can think of. Then it’s over.”

  “Mox has this much contempt for you?” She stands and runs one hand through her hair, paces back and forth.

  “You won’t even be near the top of the falls. You just take pictures and write about it afterward. Then we’re done.”

  “We?”

  I nod. “We.”

  “What have you stumbled across? It’s a nightmare. He’s a freakish nightmare.”

  “Do you trust me?” I ask.

  S
he stares at me a long time. “With my life.”

  CHAPTER 31

  THREE DAYS LATER, I DRIVE to Mid Cal at midnight, my ears hyperaware. Of the rhythmic clunk of road joints and of heavy breathing. Fez and Fatty ride in the back—spotters, I’m told.

  “Say, Fez, tell me something.” I turn, and the car swerves around the mountain pass. His face goes pale. “What’s up with you and Mox? When he’s around, you guys are mute.”

  “Watch it!” He lurches forward, grabs the wheel, and twists right. I squeeze his wrist until he releases.

  “If you don’t want to come, fine,” I say. “But keep the hand off the wheel.”

  Fatty chortles, and Fez drops back in his seat. “Pull over at Hanburg’s. I need a drink.”

  I ease into the liquor store parking lot, and Fez hops out.

  It’s cold tonight. Midday heat has given way to a chill I haven’t felt all summer. I shiver inside, and turn our plans over in my mind looking for cracks.

  Fatty sits quietly in the back.

  “Don’t judge Moxie too soon,” Fatty says. “All you see in him is this monster, this crazy. In your place, I don’t blame you. But you don’t see the man who saved us more times than we can count.”

  I turn and face him square. “So why this?”

  He peeks up and glances at the liquor store.

  “About twenty years ago, three best friends joined an elite smoke-jumping crew in Oregon. No zip lines, just a leap into a blaze’s waiting arms. But they were crazy. Immortal, they thought.” Fatty breathes deep and smiles. It’s a gentle smile—one that doesn’t fit his face. “A fire went worst-case scenario. Four men jumped. Mox and Koss were paired. Kip, the third, drew a rookie who was on his first live jump. They fell beneath the smoke canopy. Mox has never told me what happened next.” Fatty’s eyes sharpen, and his shoulders droop. “Kip’s partner, that rookie, well, even with all that training, his body gave out. He couldn’t keep up with Kip, and Kip perished. Mox’s other half died, and Mox never recovered. He and Koss left the smokers, wandered around, and five years later ended up joining the feds here in California.”

  Fatty stares into the liquor store. I peek, too. Fez walks toward the register.

  “Finish it,” I whisper.

  “The Forest Circus takes almost anybody. Oh, they post stringent physical recs, but the truth is, you can fail the tests and still they’ll take you. It happens all the time.” He pauses. “Look at me.

  “But Mox and Koss decided if the feds weren’t going to enforce recs, they’d find a way to weed out weak minds and bodies before they got to the line and got another Kip killed.”

  I exhale slow. “The Rush Club.”

  Fatty tightens his lips. “If you live through it, you can live through anything, and like Kip’s memory—”

  “You’re immortal.”

  He nods, looks off. “Let’s hope Salome is.” His breath gets heavier. “It seems cruel, but he’s just doing what the feds won’t. Can you see that?”

  Fez hops back in, still muttering.

  Fatty’s right about one thing: I don’t know Mox at all. We drive to Salome’s in silence. I ease off the road and honk three times. Salome pushes into the night and strolls toward the Jeep. She glances toward the back, and her gait slows to a shuffle.

  I push her door open. She keeps her gaze fixed on me. “No Beetle? I guess it would have been tight for the henchmen.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  We drive into the mountains toward Chisel’s Peak. I reach my hand toward Salome, and she takes it, cradles it in her lap. We’re one jump from freedom, and I stroke her hand with mine.

  The sound of water deep and strong, like a distant thunder, grows louder with each wind of the road. My mind is so clear, so focused. The dead feeling I’ve lived with forever is so far from me that I smile. I peek at Salome. She bites her lip and prays.

  The Jeep rounds a bend, and I pull into a scenic turnoff. Beneath a half-moon, the hundred-foot waterfall crashes foam into the pool below. I know Chisel, know just how to jump it.

  “You’ll watch from here?” I turn and ask.

  Fez nods. “Good luck.”

  Fatty gets out, opens the door for Salome. I peek over and watch him scuff the ground. “This ain’t right,” he says. “This goes too far. Bringing you in is wrong—”

  “Fatty!” Fez hops out, rounds the Jeep.

  “You want to tell me what she’s got to do with the club? With Kip? With quality control? This ain’t on my hands.” Fatty looks at me, back to Salome. “I’ll say you both did it. You don’t need to do this, Salome.”

  Fez grabs his buddy and shakes. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Will you two look over here?” I grab Salome’s camera from the seat and flash the night.

  “What’s that for?” Fez blinks.

  “I want to remember the event. Salome?”

  She gives Fatty a hug. The big fella stares at his hands like he’s never had one before. He finally hugs her back.

  Salome releases, smiles, and walks over to Fez. The slimeball stretches out his arms, and she kicks him in the kneecap. He starts a wild hop.

  “Get in the Jeep, Fatty!” Fez winces and curses, and the big guy obeys. Fez hands us each a flashlight and massages his leg. “So both of you flash us at the same time. Be sure you’re a distance apart, then we’ll know you’re both up there. After the dive, we’ll pick you up at the bottom.”

  Together, Salome and I set off into the night.

  We snake the footpath, the wild crash of water strengthening with each step. I take her hand. “We’ve done a lot of crazy things together.”

  “You’ve done a lot of crazy things.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  I stop.

  “But let’s get this story on the fire chief’s desk and then in The Mid-Cal Reporter, page one.” She pulls me along.

  The path cuts the pine forest, and we descend slowly to the river that falls off the edge of the world. Chisel Falls.

  Ripples on the Chisel River glint and dance. They bubble into waves, then tiny breakers, golden in the moonlight. Then they disappear. It’s where I’ll disappear.

  “I can’t get much closer to the edge.” Salome stares at the drop a hundred feet from where we stand.

  “You don’t need to. Stay here. I’ll head to the edge. Watch for my signal.” I gaze back toward the observation area. “From their angle, it will look like you’re right up close.”

  I run along the bank, stand on my launching rock, and spin. I raise my hand, Salome does, too, and we flash our lights. I race back. “Now we need to move fast. The path I showed you yesterday? Take it down to the sitting rock behind the falls. Take pictures all the way. Here”—I take off my jacket—“get a good shot of this, of me now.

  “It’s so loud,” I continue, I don’t think you’ll hear me hit water. But I’ll flash you once with the light right before I dive. It’s a tough swim beneath, so don’t worry. It’ll be a minute until I surface.”

  Salome presses against me. “I don’t know if I should be proud of you, or hate you or . . .”

  “Or?”

  Salome kisses my cheek. “For luck.”

  I tingle and stroke her head. “You don’t believe in luck.”

  “You’re right.” She kisses the other cheek. “For me.”

  “We need to get you down there before they get there. Stick to the trail. Go.”

  Salome vanishes. If she captures it all on film, the world will be right. Everyone will believe Scottie. No more kids will die trying to join the Rush Club. Then I’ll finally tell Salome what I know—she’s all the rush I need.

  I scamper to my rock, strip to my trunks, and shiver. Spray coats the slippery rock. Now my job. It’s not so tough, really—spring hard and I’ll clear the falls. It’s my takeoff angle. If I mess that up, I miss the pool below.

  I swam it again yesterday to be sure. The deep pool holds plenty of rocks on the near sid
e. As long as my feet don’t slip when I jump, it’s a piece of cake.

  She should be there. I grab my light, shield the beam, and flash it once. Jump, splash, surface, then grab her and pull her in. We’ll swim around the falls, get the camera, and leave. Mox’s game will be over.

  I stand, breathe deep, and jump.

  It isn’t real, not at first. Deep inside the mind, I expect to be caught, snatched back, like at an amusement park. But ten feet down the rush overpowers, and I wonder if this is what death feels like. A terrifying nothing. Not for just an instant, but long enough to be a new condition. It’s a lifetime of acceleration and freedom and cold. I’m cold. Every part of me. Even my eyelids are cold—stuck open, seeing nothing. I glance down. More nothing. I’ve lost count. My entry count. There’s no way to gauge it. I double over into pike position, lock frozen fingers together, and pinch my feet.

  And open up too soon. I’m in position too soon, and I lose vertical. I brace. I need the water now. I need to hit now, or I’ll land on my back and—

  Smack! My shoulders and upper back strike water, and I plunge deep. I bring half a breath with me. It’s enough. My hands skim the river’s pebbly bottom, and I place my feet, power toward air and life and Salome. And propel backward. Undertow surges against my chest. It steals oxygen and upward motion and pins me against rock. Weighty water crashes down, twists, and holds me tight. Air is gone, and I go limp, gulp water.

  I’ll die.

  Salome’s still waiting.

  I bend into the flow, and the undertow squirts me away from the rock wall. I kick up, I think, and pop out fifty strokes from the falls. Sputtering and coughing, I reach for the shore and haul up. It’s been seconds, or minutes.

  Salome!

  I stumble, vomit, and stumble on toward the falls, toward the ledge.

  I see her, standing and shouting into the water.

  “Jake! Can you hear me? Jake!”

  “I’m—okay, I’m—” I cough, but the falls’ crash devours my sputter.