The Book of Joby

by Ferrari, Mark J.

  “You’re just a fallible, good-hearted, deserving human being, Hawk, like all the rest of us,” Joby said, crying too now, “with as much right to grieve, and be understood and cared for, and healed, as me or anybody down at that memorial service.”

  As they clung to each other, weeping, Joby realized that for all the pain and anger they’d been dragged into so suddenly, all he felt now was hope, and love, and most of all, gratitude, that whatever he had suffered in his life might somehow have equipped him for this moment.

  “I still wish you’d been my father,” Hawk half-whispered.

  “Will stepfather do?” Joby replied as quietly.

  Hawk leaned back to stare at him. “Have you asked her?” he said, hopeful.

  “Not yet,” said Joby. “Not in the middle of all this, but I’m going to, as soon as we all get a little breather. We both know what she’ll say, I think.”

  For the first time that week, Hawk began to smile, then pulled suddenly away, looking toward his bedroom door. Joby turned to find Laura there, wiping tears from her eyes too. Unsure how long she’d been there, Joby smiled reassuringly and waved her in.

  “There’s someone here to see you, Hawk,” she said quietly, stepping back into the hallway instead.

  From out of sight beside her, Nacho and Tholomey shuffled through the door looking timidly at Hawk, who wiped his eyes and stared back at them like a man resigned to execution, maybe even longing for it.

  “Hawk,” said Nacho, clearly struggling with emotions of his own, “we’ve come to say—me and Tholomey—we all decided that day in the cave. It wasn’t just your fault.”

  “It was a good service,” Tholomey murmured. “You were missed though.”

  Losing his brief composure, Hawk sat on his bed and began to cry again. The two boys came to sit beside him, one on either side, each with an arm across his shoulders as he wept. When Rose peered around the doorjamb and came in to join them, Hawk cried even harder, while Joby went to Laura, who clearly needed holding too.

  On the first clear afternoon they’d seen in weeks, quite a parliament of skaters had convened outside the community high school, laughing, jeering, or, when one of them pulled off some particularly impressive maneuver, tapping the tails of their boards on the pavement in approval. The school grounds’ wide cement walkways and paved courtyard, low concrete walls, ledges, stairs, and metal handrails provided the kind of terrain skaters loved, and Bridget never chased them off the way so many of the ognibs back in town did these days. Sometimes she even came outside to sit with them and watch as they perfected their ollies, nose-grinds, tail-slides, or, if they were veterans like Nacho, more advanced “flippity tricks.”

  Having warmed up with a quick series of back-truck tricks, Nacho finished his ride with a seemingly effortless front-side flip, then comboed a radial 360 with a 180 end-over between his legs, while spinning his body 180 degrees to land back on the board in reversed stance before it touched the ground.

  The trick won a loud round of catcalls and board banging as Nacho slid gracefully to a halt. He turned to take a little bow, but instead stopped to stare at a boy watching them from underneath the trees that edged their impromptu arena. He seemed seventeen at most, wearing baggy denim pants, ratty tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved, black cotton shirt. He had startling blue eyes and shoulder-length sandy blond hair streaked with gold around the bangs and sideburns. His chiseled features were all that saved him from looking pretty as a girl, Nacho thought.

  The boy, leaning on a skateboard of his own and returning Nacho’s scrutiny, was no one Nacho had ever seen, though that meant very little these days, when more than half the people in town on any given day were no one Nacho had ever seen either. Still, given Taubolt’s state of occupation, it never hurt to be suspicious.

  “That was tight,” the strange boy said quietly. “Can I skate with you guys?”

  “It’s a free country.” Nacho shrugged.

  By now, a number of the others had noticed the newcomer, and watched as he lifted his board and started forward with shy determination.

  “What’s your name?” Nacho asked as he approached.

  “GB,” the boy muttered self-consciously

  “GB?” said one of the younger boys, smirking. “That like the heebee geebees?”

  Seeing how this embarrassed the new boy, Nacho frowned at the brat who’d teased him and growled, “Give it a rest,” before asking GB, “Where you from?”

  “Seattle,” GB answered, still clearly unsure of his standing here.

  “That’s a ways,” Nacho replied. “Your family here on vacation or something?”

  GB looked away uncomfortably. “Wouldn’t know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked a kid named Barnard. His family was of the blood, but they’d been drawn to Taubolt only weeks before the Cup had vanished, and he was always trying to show he belonged by being suspicious of other newcomers.

  “I’m on my own,” GB said, still looking no one in the eye. “Just me.”

  Nacho took a second look, noting that his unkempt condition seemed a tad more authentic than current fashion dictated. “You run away?” he asked.

  “No,” GB said. “I’m just on my own.” He looked Nacho in the eye at last, and said, “I’m lookin’ for a job, and a cheap place to rent, if you know one. Just a room.”

  He was a runaway, all right, but Nacho figured that was no one’s business but his own, so he stuck his hand out and said, “I’ll keep an ear out. Welcome to Taubolt.”

  GB responded with an expertly hip handshake, knocking his fist against Nacho’s as they disengaged. Then he threw his board down and jumped on to ride fakie down the cement walk into a half-cab flip before popping his board up and carrying it to one of the benches without so much as glancing toward the others for reaction.

  “Not bad,” said Nacho, jumping onto his own board to follow GB’s route into a clean 360 shove-it with a 180 foot rotation.

  “Sweet,” said GB appreciatively.

  “HORSE!” said the kid who’d made fun of GB’s name.

  “Yeah,” said another neophyte named Jessie. “You and him, Nacho!”

  “He just got here,” Nacho objected. “Give ’im a break, you guys.”

  “It’s okay,” GB said behind him, then added hesitantly. “If you want to.”

  “You played horse?” Nacho asked.

  GB nodded modestly. “I mean, you’ll win, but it’d be fun.”

  “Nacho’s gonna grind him flat,” someone whispered theatrically.

  It was a tough call. If Nacho refused, it would be like snubbing the guy, but if he said yes, and beat him, these bloodthirsty little board babies might laugh the boy back into the trees. Before Nacho had decided what to do, GB jumped on his board, got some speed up on the walkway, and ollied off the stairs into the courtyard, executing a flawless 360 flip, his feet grabbing the board again before landing, as if they were welded to it.

  That resolved the issue. This guy was good enough to look out for himself. In fact, Nacho wondered if he was being sharked by Mr. Modest, here. If so, Mr. Modest was in for a surprise. Grinning, he stepped on his board and matched GB’s jump without much effort. Then, coming back up the stairs, Nacho kicked out into the street and ollied up into a long crooked grind along the curb, came off fakie, then popped into a half-cab flip. Boards banged on the pavement behind him, but GB duplicated the trick with apparent ease. GB’s next gambit was a front-side half-cab heel flip. There were grunts of surprise and admiration from the others. No doubt about it, Nacho thought, he’d been sharked. This guy was way too good. Nacho got up some speed, and headed into the trick, but as his body came around, the board brushed his foot before completing its rotation, and he barely made the landing. In the courtyard behind them, there was a sudden quiet. This wasn’t funny anymore. Third turn, and neither of them even had an “H” yet. Nacho decided it was time to cut things short.

  “You’re damn good,” Nacho said to GB, “so l
et’s ditch the kiddie stuff.”

  He started kicking fast back down the walkway toward the stairs, did a quick front-side flip, then ollied up huge into a backside grind down the handrail to the courtyard, but his weight was too far back. As he began to fall, the other skills that were his birthright leapt up instinctively, stalling his board just enough to make the landing possible. He hadn’t meant to cheat. His use of power had been a reflex. But half the kids here were of the blood, and their silence made it clear that they all knew what he had done. Flushed with embarrassment, he turned to GB, searching for some excuse to save his honor with the others by conceding the game without exposing his real reasons to GB and all the other ognib townies here.

  Still struggling after some solution, Nacho saw GB looking at him strangely, half a smile playing on his lips before he pushed off down the walk, did the front-side flip, and ollied up onto the railing, just as Nacho had. But at the end of GB’s grind, he popped into a truly impossible kick flip and nailed the landing in the courtyard below.

  The silence now was absolute. Every boy there was astonished, but Nacho knew that any who were of the blood had sensed GB’s use of power. GB picked up his board, turned to face Nacho with a look of tense defiance. “Fair is fair,” he said quietly.

  Nacho’s mouth dropped open, a flood of questions scrambling up his throat, none of which could be asked until he got this kid into some less public setting.

  Before he could think how, Barnard hissed, “Hey, watch it! Donaldson!”

  Everyone turned to see the town’s new scourge of skaters park his patrol car across the street, climb out, and swagger toward them.

  “It’s getting pretty close to dinnertime,” the young officer said. “Shouldn’t you boys be headed home?”

  Everyone looked sullenly away or at the ground.

  “Bridget says that we can skate here,” Nacho answered levelly.

  “If you mean, Mrs. O’Reilly,” Donaldson countered, “she may be head teacher here, but this is not her property, so her permission’s kind of beside the point.”

  “Who called you then?” asked Barnard, who’d already been ticketed in town for being a “public nuisance,” which is what they called skating these days.

  “That’s none of your concern.” Donaldson frowned. “You’re disturbing lots of neighbors in the area, and they’re worried that one of you is going to break a leg here any moment. The school board’s not too eager to get sued. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

  “Where are we supposed to skate then?” Nacho asked, uncowed.

  “Your name Nacho?” Donaldson asked with obvious irritation.

  Nacho fell silent, alarmed that Donaldson knew his name. He’d been careful to keep a low profile since the officer’s arrival.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Donaldson said. “Karl Foster told me all about you.”

  “Foster doesn’t know all about me,” Nacho replied.

  “There’s people here in town who are mighty curious about his mysterious departure a couple weeks ago,” Donaldson said menacingly. “You know anything about why he might have left?”

  “Got no idea,” Nacho said. “Just glad he’s gone.”

  “Well, I know you’ve been out of school for several years now, boy,” said Donaldson, “and according to the law, no one’s got a right to be on school grounds who isn’t faculty or student body.” He surveyed the group. “Looks like that may apply to several of you. Now, I’m not here to debate with you boys. You can all leave right now, or I’ll start writing tickets for the usual violations. It’s your call.”

  Beyond a tatter of grumbling, all resistance vanished. Everyone began to leave, but as Nacho turned to go, Donaldson said, “Not you. I’ll have that board, please.”

  Nacho turned back to gape at him. “Why? I’m leavin’!”

  “Not fast enough,” Donaldson replied, holding out his hand. “Maybe you’ll think twice before you question my authority again.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nacho protested, “I—”

  “Boy, you can hand me that board, or I can arrest you right now, and show you the real meaning of trouble,” Donaldson growled. “What’s it gonna be?”

  It was Nacho’s best board. He’d made it all by hand, every inch with loving care. No way he was going to hand it over to this latest tool of Hamilton’s. He turned and bolted toward the headlands beyond the school, tossing back a little flow of air, just enough to wrap Donaldson’s feet and make him trip. Hearing the man scuff the ground and cuss behind him, Nacho smiled, and poured on a bit more speed than was strictly natural. As he reached the fields, he realized that GB was running right beside him.

  “You’re of the blood?” Nacho panted warily as they ran. Strangers were not to be trusted these days; strangers with power least of all.

  “I heard there were others,” GB replied, his voice unsteady with something more than just exertion. “Somewhere down here.” Nacho glanced over at him, realizing with a jolt that the boy was trying not to cry. “I’ve been lookin’ for a long, long time,” GB said.

  “How’d you know what you were lookin’ for?” Nacho asked, far from reassured.

  “My parents told me,” GB answered. “Just before the demons killed them.”

  “What?” Nacho exclaimed, breaking stride to stare at GB.

  “He’s coming!” GB said, looking back at Donaldson, who was gaining ground behind them. “Come on,” he said desperately, urging Nacho to follow as he picked up speed again. “I can’t get arrested. They’ll throw me out of town, and I’ve worked too hard to find you guys! Where we gonna hide out here?”

  “Can you blink out?” Nacho asked as they sprinted toward the Sacred Circle downhill from the burned-out chapel.

  “You mean disappear?” GB said. “He’ll see us! Don’t you care about that here?”

  “Course we do,” said Nacho. “Do it when we reach those trees. He’s far enough behind. When he gets in there he’ll just think we took off out the other side.”

  As they ran inside the ring of cypress trees, they did as Nacho had suggested, remaining still and silent as Donaldson barged in himself a moment later, stopping to glance first one direction, then the other before walking to the circle’s center, where he stood breathing hard and looking cross, turning a full 360 degrees in clear confusion.

  To Nacho’s surprise, he didn’t even check if they’d run out the other side, only shook his head and left to trot back across the field toward his patrol car by the school.

  “Okay, so tell me that again about your parents?” Nacho said, turning toward GB as they both reappeared.

  “They’re dead.” GB shrugged sadly. “There was a couple of us living up there in Seattle. Not just my family.” He shrugged again. “One of us got careless, I guess. I still don’t know which one. But the demons found us all.” He fell silent, his eyes gone empty with some dreadful memory he clearly wasn’t going to describe. “One night,” he said bleakly. “That’s all it took.”

  Nacho nodded grimly, thinking of Jupiter and Sky, and of Alfred and Crombie on the night all their lives had changed.

  “My father woke me up and said we had to run. Practically threw me out the window. Find the others. That was all he said.” GB’s eyes began to redden as Nacho watched him try to jam his feelings back. “I thought he meant the other families in our group. When he shoved me out the back, I thought he and my mom would be coming right behind me. But I went to all the other houses, and the demons had already been there. One was burning. The other one was full of . . .” He fell silent again. “I hung around for weeks. Went to all the places I could think of where my parents might have tried to meet me, but they never came. No one did.”

  He looked up at Nacho, his expression haunted. “I hooked up with other kids livin’ on the streets up there then. My gifts made it easy for me to steal things, and deal with people, so I was popular. I was careful no one ever figured out how I was doing things, but one day someone started to suspect, so I left
before they started talkin’ and the demons found me too. I just wandered south for months. Then I started hearin’ rumors about some town in California. I heard some guy sayin’ in a bus station how he’d been vacationing there when they’d had a bunch of fires, and he’d seen naked people falling from the air. Everybody laughed at him, but I remembered what my father said the night he made me leave. Find the others.” GB’s satisfaction seemed almost fierce as he stared at Nacho. “How many of us are there here?”

  “Lots,” said Nacho, amazed at GB’s courage. “But I’ve got some bad news for you too. You’ve kind of jumped out of the frying pan into the fire here. Taubolt’s new name is Demons ’R’ Us. They invaded just about a month ago. We’ve got a couple ancients here who are strong enough to force the fucks to incarnate here in town, but you’ve picked a bad time to visit, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s an ancient?” GB asked, seeming only excited.

  Nacho shook his head, supposing that next to hiding all alone out in the world, eating out of garbage cans, Taubolt must still look like paradise to him. “There’s a lot you prob’ly oughtta know,” he said. “And if you check out with certain people, I’ll be glad to fill you in. No offense, but we gotta be careful now. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Sure,” said GB. “No one gets that better than me.”

  “Where’re you headed now?” Nacho asked.

  “Nowhere,” GB said.

  Knowing this was probably the literal truth, Nacho felt another stab of sympathy, and said, “Let’s go get your grillin’ taken care of then. After that I’m goin’ home to fix some dinner. You can come over if you want.”

  “You sure?” GB asked, but the look of gratitude on his face spoke volumes.

  “Come on,” Nacho said, managing a grin. “It’ll be a lot more fun to bitch about that asshole Donaldson with company. Guess we better blink again, though.” Donning robes of twisted air, they started out to cross the fields, seeming nothing more to anyone who might be watching than a slow breeze through the long grass.

  “So,” Nacho asked, “what does ‘GB’ stand for anyway?”