Rush by Jonathan Friesen

compliment.
    I rise and walk down to the fence. “I meant that you look great.” Her face hasn’t twitched. “You know, compared to all of them.” I point.
    â€œI need to go.” Salome backs away. “I really need to go right now.”
    â€œCome over later,” I call after her. “When you disappear on me for a weekend, it gets tough.”
    I stand at the fence and watch. Kelli and Haley make it around the track and slow when they reach her. Salome doesn’t look at them. Soon Kelli throws an arm around Salome and stares at me. Dagger stares. You-better-be-gone-by-the-time-we-get-around-this-track stares.
    I stand and leave. I feel better, but I know something got worse.

CHAPTER 8
    AT HANKING’S, MONDAY IS discard day—when odd-shaped wood hunks pile up behind the mill—so I scoot home by way of Dad’s empire. I scrounge through pallets and twisted boards. Dad’s castoffs.
    I find twenty planks, busted and worn. Perfect for extending my landing ramp. I load them into a Hanking’s truck and drive over to the irregular lumber pile. I feel my eyes light. It’s a gold mine.
    I pitch planks and timbers onto the truck bed.
    Something’s not right. These pieces are too good. They pulverize and pulpify this stuff.
    My gut flutters. Something happened to Dad. He wouldn’t let this get by.
    I finish loading and climb the back stairway that leads to his office. Inside, muffled voices. Dad’s letting someone have it. I scrape sawdust from the window with the heel of my hand and see the victim the same moment he sees me. Scottie.
    My brother races toward the door, throws it open, and yanks me inside.
    â€œHe’s got nothing to do with this.” Dad stares at me like I want to be here, as if I’ve been standing outside with a number.
    â€œIt’s all of us, Dad.” He’s got me by the shoulders, a human shield that he pushes at Dad on every emphasized word. “Every firefighter in Brockton. This is about all of us.”
    â€œYour brother isn’t one of us.” Dad says quietly.
    His words pierce deep, and I feel weak, breathless.
    â€œBut someday he might be, and Kyle said that Mox—”
    â€œMoxie Stone is the bravest man I’ve ever met. I knew him when he was first picked up. I fought beside him when you were three, and he wasn’t more than a rookie. He saved me countless times, when I was younger and stupider and thought life was a game like—” Dad glances at me, and his voice calms. “What have you got against him? And what does he have to do with Kyle? Mox is in Montana, Scottie!”
    â€œI know, Dad. And I don’t understand it all. I’m on the hand crew, Kyle’s on Mox’s rappel crew, so I don’t know it all. But a friend warned me about that jacket, and I didn’t take it. Then Mox’s crew offered it to Kyle, and he did. He barely recovered from the accident, and now he’s terrified and keeps saying he’s going to die.” Scottie curses. “My best friend won’t tell me what is going on. That’s not right. Something’s not right. And you know how many good young firefighters we’ve lost.”
    Dad is silent. He folds his arms, big and meaty.
    â€œFor once, just once, don’t make me earn this,” Scottie says. “Just believe me that, beneath all the good we do, there’s something real evil, and Kyle’s messed up in it. He called it the club and said it involves the Immortals from all different crews and Mox runs this thing.” He squeezes my arms hard. “Don’t you ever wonder why Immortals stick around all year? Why they never leave Brockton?”
    â€œDedication.”
    â€œInitiation.” Scottie’s voice quavers. “Year-round initiations.”
    â€œYou’re asking me to choose between your half information and my own gut.” Dad nods and stares out the window.