Rush (12 page)

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN,
Jake?” Mox demands when I get home.

I step into our apartment, where Fez, Fatty, and Mox are working out, and gently lay Salome's jacket on the table. “I needed to get away.”

Mox hops off the stationary bike, stares at the jacket. “I bet.” He smirks. “Salome took you looking like that?”

“Shut up. She's none of your business.”

Fatty drops from the pull-up bar, and Fez pauses mid-push-up.

“Watch your words, Jake. You may be a freakish physical specimen, but you're still a kid who Moxie's been more than generous with.” Fez slams out ten more and stands. “Mox is your lead. Even here.” He and Mox shoot glances at each other.

Mox licks his lips, breaks into a smile, and the room relaxes. “I know, kid. You and Salome are best friends.” He walks nearer. “Richardson called. We're off the rotation. Seems somebody is still talking about Kyle's death. Seems my name keeps coming up, and I'm in for more questions. Been talking to anyone lately, Jake?”

“Off the rotation? No drops?” I curse, knowing how much I needed that rush. “No, I haven't talked to anyone.” I flop onto the couch, darkness filling my mind, and let my head swivel toward Mox. “I don't know anything about it. You haven't told me about any of the guys that died. So, Mox, how often is this going to happen?”

That same tense feeling grips the room. It's always like that. Only Koss can question Mox, or the team freaks.

Mox climbs back onto the bicycle. I watch his hands—his tell. He's crap at poker because he can't control them. Knuckles whiten on the handlebars, but the words are silk. “We'll have to find diversions to keep us sharp. Tomorrow night we should—”

“Got plans,” I say. “I won't be joining you guys.”

“Were you invited?” Mox asks.

“No. I wasn't. Isn't that right, Fatty?”

He peeks at Mox and hangs silent from the bar.

“While we're on the subject, why isn't Koss invited on your rampages? I don't imagine
his
dad got him on your crew.” I rise, step up to the cycle, and stare at Mox. He stares back.

Silence.

“Is everybody here mute?”

I've never seen these guys flustered, but here they are red-cheeked. Mox crosses his arms. “You done, Jake?”

“I've got so many questions.” I turn from him and see Fez and Fatty sneaking toward the back room. “Where are you two going?” They slowly turn. “Don't have the right words? Mox, tell them what to say. Then they can join the conversation.”

“
You done
, Jake?”

Seeing Salome has opened a floodgate that I don't know how to close, and I push on. “Why doesn't Koss wear a jacket? And why haven't you given me one? There must be a closet filled with them around here somewhere. But my biggest question: What happened to Kyle . . . and to Drew?”

Mox flies off the bike and grabs me by my coat. He rears back, and I brace.

“I'm only asking questions. This is my crew—we've been fighting fire together for more than a month. Don't I have a right to know anything?” I look at him, try to copy the cool look Salome gives, and shake my head.

He shoves me back and turns away from me.

Emotions I can't figure out surge through me. “Like it or not, I'm here. And I'm staying.”

My gaze sharpens, scans. In the corner, cans of spray paint lie in a heap.

“And another question, while I have your attention.” I walk over, grab one, shake hard, and spray. Round and round, I darken a huge red circle on the wall. One quick stroke for the arrow finishes it off. “What is this thing?”

Frozen. Three strong firefighters turn white and stare at the clocklike thing, at bloodred paint that drips toward the carpet.

“Where'd he see it?” Fatty whispers.

“Koss.” Fez folds his arms. “I told you, Mox. It was bound to happen.”

“Don't be a fool. Koss didn't say anything. Only one possibility.” Mox walks up to the wall, runs his finger through the red paint. “What do you know about this?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I know nothing about any of you.”

A cloud passes in front of the sun, and the room darkens. We stare at each other in the shadow.

Mox looks over his shoulder. “Get out of here, Jake. Pack your things and get out.”

I run my hand through my hair. “What do you mean? Can you do that?”

“I can do anything I want. Now go!”

“Doesn't Richardson, um . . .” I peek at Fatty. He looks as confused as I am.

“Okay,” I say, “I'm a—I'm getting my things.” I split Fez and Fatty, enter my bedroom, and jam all I own into my backpack. Without Koss here, I don't know what's real and what's not. I do know that in the main room, voices rise.

“But even you can't dump a crewmate. It doesn't matter—”

Crash
. Glass shatters on the other side of the wall.

I swallow hard and hurry out to the table for Salome's jacket. It's gone. Another rests in its place. My jacket. Jake, with an
I
emblazoned on the back.

My fingers reach out to stroke it. The hum of the lights, the buzz from the old refrigerator, the fly buzzing around my head—each noise strengthens. My jacket. My chance. My hand clenches around the sleeve.

“Stay,” Mox says. “You just earned that.”

I release it and turn to face them.

“You told me to leave.”

Mox clenches his jaw and glances at Fez, who gives an exaggerated nod.

When Mox looks back to me, he stares at my shoes. “I can't fire anybody. I found that out early on. Call that a test. Being an Immortal takes loyalty, obedience, and strength. I'm not used to being handled like that, kid. You belong. You're one of us.”

“I've never seen anyone do that to Mox. Have you, Fats?” Fez exhales hard.

“Nope. Not and live to tell about it.” He winks and turns to me. “Join us.”

“I thought I already had.” Behind me, my fingers keep walking over the jacket. It feels really good.

“Yes and no.” Mox exhales hard and throws his arm around my neck. “We want you to be a part of more than the crew. We've got something to show you this week.” I see Salome's jacket in Mox's hands. He fiddles, strokes. It's not right.

“Give me her jacket.”

“That's the thing. You can't wear both.” He looks toward the ceiling.

The cloud descends on my head again.

A dark streak flashes across Mox's face and vanishes. “She'll understand. She always understands, doesn't she?”

I nod and stare at my jacket, at my name on it. I've never been part of anything.

Salome and me, we're different now. Maybe more, maybe less. For sure different. I don't know what she'll understand.

I look at the wall I just painted.

I know they're playing me, sucking me in. I can feel it.

“What is that round clock thing? Will you at least tell me that?”

Mox joins me. “I'll do better than that, kid. Join the Immortals, and when the time is right, I'll show you.”

The Immortals fit. I can't deny it. I pick up the jacket and slide it on.

Mox nods and smiles. “Good. We're heading to the caves tomorrow. You in?”

I look at Fatty. He smiles and nods back.

“You're inviting me? Yeah. I'm in.”

Mox turns toward his room. “I feel bad about this jacket. I'll wash it for her.” He presses it against his face, like a dog getting a scent. “Pretty girl.”

I SPEND THE NEXT MORNING
pacing my room, fog filling my mind. Thought of the jacket always whooshed the mind clear, but now, wearing my own, nothing makes sense. The thought of the caves is a drug, an upper that promises to clear my head, but Salome's a drug, too. A tranquilizer with an exciting kick.

I step into the afternoon. Koss alone sits in the room. He stares at the jacket I wear, at the wall I painted.

“Did you tell them where you saw that?”

“No.”

“And then, let me guess, Mox blew.”

“Sort of.”

Koss walks toward me, stares down at me. “Suddenly, Mox is a different man. Was I right? He invited you to join the Immortals and offered you this spiffy jacket ...” He backhands my chest. “... and all is wonderful.”

I frown and nod.

“Well, well. One smart King and one dumb one.” He turns to leave.

“Koss. Please.” I swallow hard. “Ever since I was little, I've seen these.” I rub my sleeves. “And ever since I was little, it's been black up here.” I point at my head. “And one makes the other clear.”

“Are you clear now?”

“No.”

“You got what you wanted and found it wasn't what you needed, and you're blowing it with the only one who can save you.”

He stops but does not turn. His head droops. “I don't know how to watch over you, kid. Not when you don't listen. There's more at work here than you know.” He spins and stares. “Give it back. Today. Give it back.”

Koss storms out.

I rub hands through my hair, collapse into the recliner, and whisper, “You don't know what it's like in here.”

THE CUCKOO CLOCK IN
the apartment clucks three times. Mox throws open his door. “Time to go, gentlemen. I have another meeting with Richardson at six thirty.”

I nod. We'll be back in time for my talk with Salome. We reach for our jackets. I feel the weight of leather on my shoulders and stretch out my arms. It fits perfectly.

Mox smirks. “Ever cave-dived, Jake?”

“No.”

“Claustrophobic?”

“No.”

“Onward.”

We pile into Mox's jeep. I sit in back behind the bar. It feels right . . . for two minutes. We drive for an hour. I think of Salome the whole time. I see her face and hear her words and feel like an asshole. If I don't make it back in time . . . How often have I let her down? I slump and fold my arms. I've no idea where we are.

We squeal to a stop, and everyone moves at double time. I crawl out and stretch.

“Let's do the Pinch.” Fez hops out.

Mox rubs his stubble and squints. “It's Jake's first time.”

“He's up to it.” Fez looks at me as if it was a question.

The guys unload gear—miner's helmets glowing with carbide flames, one tank of oxygen, and flippers. They laugh and strip to T-shirts and shorts.

“When do I get to know what we're doing?” I ask.

“Just a stroll through a cave,” Mox says, and tosses me his jacket. “New guy carries the tank.”

I lay his coat in the Jeep. “Why do we need a tank on a stroll?”

Nobody answers, and I strip quick and fall in line behind the other three. We set off down a brush-covered hill dotted with giant rock formations. They speed to a trot, and I let them go, lean against a vertical rock face.

Late. I'm going to be way late. Sorry, Salome.
I set down the oxygen and the miner's helmet.

From ahead, Mox hollers, “Where's the air?” His outline appears, stiff and angry. He marches toward me, reaches down for the tank, turns, and disappears.

I shuffle after him. I'll see Salome tonight and patch it all up. Late is better than not at all.

Ahead, Mox fills the afternoon with curses.

Fatty calls, “We're here.”

THE OPENING TO THE CAVE
resembles a mouth with two teeth jagging up from the earth. The guys throw on their gear, squeeze into helmets. Three blue lights turn to me, and I squint, shielding my eyes with my arm.

“Aren't you coming?” The light with Fez's voice steps nearer.

I pause. “Show me how to light up the carbide.”

“No, kid,” Mox says. “Everyone's on his own. Grab the tank, Fatty.”

They turn and walk toward the opening. Five feet around, the crack in a boulder mound leads straight into the side of a hill. I listen to their footsteps. That mouth swallows all sound.

I cup my hands and call, “What do you want me to do?”

“Don't care,” Mox says. “Go whine in the Jeep. No use standing there.”

They disappear. His voice is already faint. “We won't be coming out on this side.”

I stare at the hole. It stares back at me. They found Kyle floating in a cave nearby. I wonder where. I wonder if here. My heartbeat flutters.