“You’ll tell Pedoochie goodbye for us?” Cory asked.
“Of course. When will you be back?” Jeff inquired.
Cory tilted his head and winked at Christine. “You going to tell them?”
“Tell us what?” Brandi blurted out.
Christine blushed and rubbed her belly. “We’re pregnant. Godfrey thinks I’m just over two months along.”
“No way!” Jeff said, excitedly. “Godfrey…Whitcomb, where are you?” Jeff scanned the crowd and motioned for the Brit to join them. “It works?”
“It would appear so, at least in Christine’s case,” he answered, beaming.
“We owe you big time, Godfrey. Thank you,” Cory said, taking Whitcomb in a meaningful embrace.
“I say…you Yanks are all about hugging…but thank you. I hope we’ll see more…many more.”
Suddenly a baby’s cry hushed the crowd, as Dude and Holly approached, carrying their newborn daughter. She had been born the day before and this was her first community outing. The women swooned around them, asking more questions than Holly could handle.
“Give them some room,” Jeff shouted, motioning for the happy parents to join them at the truck.
“Looks like you’re doing well,” Christine said, moving to stand with Holly. “May I?” Gently taking the newborn, Christine lovingly cradled the baby against her breast. The child’s red hair swirled into a single curl atop her head, giving way to dainty features and a pursed little mouth. She puckered and smacked her lips, cooing softly in Christine’s arms.
“She’s hungry,” Holly said.
“Yeah, she’s got an appetite…that’s for sure.” Dude said, glancing at his daughter.
“Have you named her?” Cory asked, reaching to let the baby take his finger in her grip.
“Well, we think we have. We started with Danielle but settled on Danielle Eve. It just seemed fitting…kind of like starting over again,” Holly responded, taking the child back into her arms.
“It’s beautiful and she is lovely,” Christine said, kissing the baby’s forehead. “We will miss her, at least for a time.”
Jeff pressed Cory again for a timeline, “So, when can we expect to see you again?”
“Let’s say three months, but definitely well before this baby is due. We’ll need Godfrey’s help and your babysitting service.”
“Anytime, my friend…anytime.”
Making the rounds, Cory and Christine kissed and hugged them all. The couple felt somehow compelled to embark on this grand adventure and there was no holding them back. They were led by something Bishop Freeman had instilled in them both – follow your heart and your dreams.
Lastly, Cory stood before Jeff and pulled his forehead to his. “You take care of The Ward.”
“I’ll do what I can – I’ve learned from the best,” Jeff replied.
“You’ve got good people to rely on, Jeff – use them. You were born for this. You’re ready. I’ve seen it in your eyes – you’ll make them proud.”
“I can’t ask for more than that,” Jeff replied, buoyed by Cory’s kind words.
A round of heartfelt cheers and sad goodbye’s saw the two on their way. “Keep them safe,” Dude whispered to himself, brushing a tear from his cheek.
As they drove from sight, Jeff kissed Brandi’s cheek and turned to walk away. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I’ve got a promise to keep.”
Walking past a row of family headstones, Jeff kissed his fingers and touched the last. He had done the same every day since it was put in place – he remembered and always would.
A short time later, the rumble of a small lawnmower finally chugged to a stop and Boob climbed off. He jogged to the pitcher’s mound and looked around. The field was green and lush, the product of hours of grooming and tender care provided by Cory, and now it was his. For the time being it would be his baby…his connection to the past and his hope for the future.
One day his children would run barefoot through the grass, but until that day he would be vigilant and stand as a sentinel, true to them all; Farrell, Elva, Rod, and Allison. They lived on in his heart and his deeds, and The Ward flourished because of their goodness.
Stepping from the mound, Jeff walked to the batter’s box and picked up a Louisville Slugger and a tightly wound, leather baseball. He hefted its weight, tossing it a few times into his left hand before he pointed to the home-run fence 400 feet away. The mock sounds of people cheering made him smile. Placing the bat atop his shoulder, he lofted the ball five feet into the air. He watched it tumble, mesmerized by the slowly rotating seams and red stitching. Gripping the bat with both hands, he timed the baseball’s rise and fall, knowing gravity would soon suck it into his strike zone. At precisely the right moment, he shifted his weight and swung with all his might. The clean ‘crack’ off the bat sent the ball deep…deep…deep into center field, clearing the fence with yards to spare.
“Home run!” he shouted gleefully, before he sprinted around the bases and slid into home plate.
The days of the apocalypse had come; opening a dispensation of shattered lives and a desperate, living hunger. Yet, scores survived; some embracing evil while others were hungry for a lasting peace. Mankind changed but heroism lived on. Men and women of character cherished their child within, learning and growing, but never forgetting. Jeff matured from boy to man, following a legacy of strong wills and tender hearts. His destiny, though difficult, was chartered and he faced it with the eagerness of a child swinging for the fences.
The End
Acknowledgements
The Living Hunger and The Lasting Hunger have been a labor of love, from their inception, to this final expression of thanks. Two great men stand behind the main characters, Farrell and Jeff, and I pray I have done their memories justice. Many of their personal characteristics, traits, and experiences have been worked into a fictional setting, even though they are real. I learned from them, laughed with them, and cry for them…they are missed beyond words.
To my wife, Holly, I owe another debt of gratitude, which can never be repaid. She has encouraged and supported me, at times directed the story, and edited the final product with a keen eye and caring heart. Other family and friends have assisted along the way, letting me fictionally use them to tell a story. Thank you, Rod and Janet, for your unwavering example to our family – you are an anchor in a sea of unsettled times.
Thanks again to Sean Strong, who is perhaps the most gifted graphic designer I have ever known. His cover designs have captured the apocalypse from my imagination exactly as I had envisioned it.
Lastly, thank you for reading this novel. It was a long time in the making, but I hope it stirred your mind, made you feel, and stretched your imagination. Please, if you have enjoyed the experience, take a moment to post a review or seek out my other books.
The Lasting Hunger Page 39
