Rush by Jonathan Friesen Page A

catcalls and whistles, struts slowly up to the front of the gym. He turns, lifts up his T-shirt, and flexes his biceps.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œKing, 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.
    â€œSheesh. 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.
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œA few push-ups—”
    â€œForty-one in a minute. One-armed?” Fatty chimes in.
    â€œAnd rabbits can run—”
    â€œThat was a base record.” Fez nods in my direction.
    â€œDoesn’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.
    Â 
    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