Winter days carried on across the region, but we had no snow. January 10th proved every bit as cold as every other day, but the frost didn’t stop me from surveying the borders of the village, just as it didn’t stop the dozens of locals working away, digging the trench a good ten, twenty yards from the proposed perimeter wall.

Kestrel’s sons found success sourcing gravel between our village limits, and across the countryside east of us toward an area called Dal County. I wasn’t sure if Kestrel would be able to engineer concrete just from my provided list of ingredients alone, without a ‘recipe’ proper, but all I could do was have faith in his skills as an experienced builder. You never know what people are capable of until you give them a chance.

Proctor was steadily working away at the committee level with Moonlight’s newest group of would be politicians. There was something about bureaucracy these people loved, or perhaps it was just human nature to embrace organization. Regardless, we both agreed someone would need to keep up good relations with other village decision makers for the good of the baseball franchise. Proctor was spending a lot of his time sitting in on meetings held in dingy huts about the village rebuild, and of course how us newcomers were going to effect their lives.

My survey of the perimeter trench, the thing that would become the moat was eye opening. I met Gak, and a gang of muscled men along the eastern border line, surprised at how slow going it’d been.

“Tough ground she is,” Gak said.

Made sense when you thought about how cold the weather had been since I’d arrived. I wasn’t sure if it counted as permafrost, but I had noticed clay beneath our feet plenty which spoke to the hardness of the terrain.

Gak and his men had scarcely made a couple of plots large enough to bury someone, let alone mark the start of an entire moat around a village. I’d pictured something in my mind resembling a river ringing a town. It’d have to be miles in circumference. Even with all the bodies present, breathing clouds into the air, heaving, chunking away dirt and rock, it was a painfully slow process.

My heart sank a little upon my visit to the dig site. I couldn’t see how a trench in front of the security wall was even remotely possible before baseball season began in April. No way, no how.

I didn’t say any of this to the workers, however. They wouldn’t want to hear that from me. My only hope is they wouldn’t work themselves to the bone for days and weeks only to see they weren’t really getting anywhere, at least not soon, and then would wind up demoralized and eager to quit of their own accord.

It’s where I saw the whole thing going, but maybe that was just the pessimist in me doing its thing. My moods were swinging faster with each passing day. Okay, maybe that’s just my negative perception talking. The giant house centipede attack crushed me, but I’d shoved it hard into another part of my consciousness. Living in denial, which I recognize in hindsight is what I was doing, had knock on effects. And, yeah, being in charge can be stressful. Perhaps mood swings came with the territory.

You might be screaming at me, ‘help out, pick up a shovel or a pick axe!’. Looking back, I suppose I could’ve helped more in a physical capacity, but in fairness I had a lot of other things to set my mind to, and areas where I needed to devote my time. Does that sound like excuses? Probably. What can you do? One thing I had going for me (which I didn’t know at the time) was something was coming down the pike which would see me become the ultimate ‘physical’ laborer where the village and the team were concerned. We’ll get there.

In the meantime, while I left the teams of trench diggers to their work, I’d sent Trevor and Dillard to the north end forest where we’d first met Gak so they could fell some trees, and create both weapons, and tools we’d need in plentiful supply. While they worked on that project, I took it upon myself to survey random Moonlighters on all things village related. I felt like this would lead me to a team name.

“We’re the smallest village in the land,” said an elderly man I’d met stoking a fire outside his ruined hut. His young daughters worked away rebuilding their home. He was eager to talk, and it proved a welcome respite.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you think of Moonlight?” I asked him.

He was never quick with his answers. He seemed to take every question as a thick morsel of meat, something to savor and consider before responding. All the while, he kept his eyes on the small orange flame before us.

“Strength,” the old man replied. “We’re a strong folk. Not easily bent. Look at us.” He waved an arm backward toward where his daughters labored with stones and mud. “Evil strikes us down,” he said. “But, we always get up, don’t we?”

He was made of stronger stuff than me. Then I wondered if he could hear my thoughts.

“You’re a Moonlighter too,” the man said. “You ain’t been around long. But, you’re here. You’ve survived. Already you’re making things better, ain’t ya?”

Easy to see why I liked the man, and I did my best to avoid thinking I was being selfish for feeling that way.

I did my best to explain to the man, the idea of a baseball team. I wanted him to understand what was going to happen, and how it would change things for the village. Not sure, if he truly grasped it, but I was curious what he’d call such a thing.

“I have to name the team,” I said. “It’s of vital importance. I want to choose a name that represents the people of Moonlight.”

“Mm, yes,” he said. But, then he retreated within for more than a minute.

All I could do was sit and wait.

“You won’t get one over us,” the old man eventually said, and he was speaking to anyone or anything opposed to Moonlight. “No matter what you do, we’ll come back. We’re never down. Not truly. You may hit us, and hard, with every thing you have… but, we will not break. No matter what you do… the people here? We survive.”

The gravity in his tone as he squeezed his brittle hands together near the open flame, his words caught me, struck me deep. I felt a tear form in my eye as he spoke.

We shared a root based drink, and I took my leave. Conversation with the man showed me, the team name couldn’t be chosen with flippancy. Nothing silly, no gimmicks.

“How about them birds?” Asked a toothless woman I’d encountered in the village’s west end. She pointed at a flock of gray… pigeons? That’s what they looked like to me. Similar size to pigeons, and quite dull in appearance.

“Those birds there?” I said.

“Yeah, them,” she said, and she smiled all gums. “Always around them are. You shoo ‘em, and they just come back more. Moonlight’s more theirs than ours, ain’t it?”

I shrugged in response. I hadn’t exactly noticed those birds in particular since I’d been in Moonlight. Maybe I hadn’t truly been paying attention.

“What do you call those birds?” I said.

“Well they birds them, ain’t they?”

“Right,” I said. “But, what kind of birds.”

She laughed at me like I’d asked her the dumbest question imaginable. Then she walked away without answering.

The Moonlight Birds? This was her suggestion, presumably?

I caught up with Trevor, and Dillard later, and I shared the conversations I’d had with them. Dillard, knowing everything, as he’d have you believe, was quick to answer my bird question.

“Those are pesters,” he said.

“Pesters?”

“Yep. Can’t be rid of ‘em,” Dillard said. “Don’t matter what ya do. They taste dreadful.”

“That’s true,” agreed the giant, Trevor. “Awful, greasy bird.”

“Well, we’re not calling the team the Pesters,” I said.

“Ya wouldn’t, no,” Dillard said. “Foul creatures.”

“Fowl,” I said, with a bit of a chuckle. The other two men looked at me with confusion.

Proctor would’ve gotten it.

Speaking of, the man himself returned from his time spent with various village committees.

“We’re going to have issues,” Proctor said. “Not now, mind you. But, the way they’re setting themselves to frameworks, creating new regulations. We’re going to butt heads eventually.”

“Great,” I said.

“Worry about it when we get there,” was Proctor’s advice. “Where are we on the business name?”

“Not pesters,” Dillard said.

Proctor frowned.

“It’s a bird,” I said. “Lives around here. Gray, pigeon looking things.”

We were standing near a line of ruined huts on the village’s west end. I searched the fields to our west, out toward where the soda vending machine stood in the far distance to see if I could glance these birds, and point them out, but funnily enough there were none around.

“I think I’ve seen them,” Proctor said. “I wouldn’t suggest something so dull.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking along those lines for the name.”

West of us where the open fields lay, it was where I wanted to put the ball park, and it made perfect sense. We had all this open land west of where any structures stood. And it was all within village limits. Between us, and where we’d marked out the western border line for the security wall were hundreds of yards of land I could best describe as a Scottish moor.

I led the group on a bit of a stroll out to the fields, farther from the village. I’d had it in my head we could finally mark out the exact location of the park. There wasn’t any time to waste.

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“We’ll have to level this ground,” I said. “The lumpiness of this mud and grass isn’t acceptable for baseball. Not without inviting injuries anyway.”

“Agreed,” Proctor said.

“I’m not sure how we’ll do it,” I said. “Big, flat boulders or something. Trevor, you’d be a big help with that.”

He seemed buoyed by the promise of making himself useful to the cause, and yet here he’d already proven himself endlessly useful already. He was quick to lose confidence in himself. For such a formidable, powerful, and yet friendly presence it was hard to fathom. But, it just goes to show, you never know what people are going through even when… from the outside looking in… they’d seemed to have so much going for them.

“Have you given thought to grass seed?” Proctor said. “We’re looking at stripping this land.”

“Stripping it?” I said.

“Bringing it down,” Proctor said. “Scraping a layer off. A few inches, I assume. The replanting new grass. You can’t play ball on this fescue.”

“Do they even have grass seed here?” I said. “It’s not like lawns were a thing in medieval times, right?”

We may as well have been speaking in an alien tongue where Trevor and Dillard were concerned. They didn’t have input on grass growth.

“Hawks,” Dillard said. “Beautiful birds.”

Clearly, he’d been in on his own private conversation.

“Hawks?” I said. “Those are big around here?”

“‘Tis a large bird, ain’t it?” Dillard said. “You’d do worse than call your team after them.”

“The Moonlight Hawks,” I said. “I don’t know.”

Truth was, I did know, I just didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. I still wanted his input, but no, I didn’t want to call my franchise the Hawks. Nothing against hawks, I agreed with Dillard, they’re beautiful birds. But, I didn’t like the idea of using them as the nickname.

“My vote is no,” Trevor said. “I was bitten by a hawk once.”

“Because you’re living in their realm, ain’t ya?” Dillard said.

“Don’t make fun of his height, please,” I said. I was becoming protective of the giant. It’d become instinctual.

“Make fun?”

“Insult,” I said. “Trevor’s self conscious about his size. Am I right, Trevor?”

“Do you mean, I don’t wish to be a giant?” Trevor said.

“Right.”

“It’s true,” Trevor said, and he hung his head. “I would give anything to be like you.”

Immediately, I could see Dillard’s eyes cast down toward the mud. He felt bad about possibly wounding his new friend.

“Ay,” Dillard said, and he approached the enormous man. “I ain’t mean nothing by it. I should like to soar with ‘em hawks, yeah? You’re a gift, sir.”

He and Trevor shared a warm look, and the ember of goodwill caught alight inside me too.

But, back to the matter at hand.

“I was thinking alliteration,” I said.

“For the team name?” Proctor said. Then he turned his attention to the open moor around us.

He ran his arm up and down in a swinging motion.

“This is our line,” Proctor said. “We start the park here, I’m thinking. What do you propose?”

The man could work on two things at once, bless him. That wasn’t me.

“Yeah great,” I said, admittedly brushing him off regarding the location of the ball park in that moment. “But, yeah, the name should likely be an ‘M’ word.”

“Oh, so it sounds the same,” Trevor said. “The Moonlight… and you follow it with a term akin to Moonlight?”

“The ‘M’ letter?” Dillard said. “Morons. There’s an ‘M’ letter.”

He caused the rest of us to laugh.

“I don’t think Moonlight Morons is going to work,” I said, giggling. “No, seriously though. I like the idea of an em word there because it kind of rolls off the tongue.”

“What’s it got to be then?” Dillard said. “What’s this ‘M’ word got to be?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” I said. “There’s no strict requirement. Just something great enough to represent everyone here. Something that isn’t frivolous.”

“You and your fancy words, I tell ya,” Dillard said.

“Remember the old man I told you about,” I said. “He spoke about the people of this village. Your resiliency.”

“Funny,” Proctor said. “I was thinking something along those lines.”

“Well, it could be a name that talks about the toughness of the people here,” I said. “Their rough and ready nature. Marauders?”

You should’ve seen the distaste on Proctor’s face. “Marauders?” He said. “Dear me.”

Immediately, I’d felt I’d stepped in it.

“What’s a marauder?” Dillard said.

“A pirate,” Proctor said.

“A pirate? You mean a freebooter?” Dillard said.

“Exactly like that, I’m afraid,” Proctor said.

“Are you mad?” Dillard said, glaring at me. “You want to call the lot of us freebooters of mother’s currency?”

“I don’t like robbers,” Trevor said.

“Whoa,” I said. “Sorry. It was just a word that popped into my head. I don’t know why, starts with em, I guess.”

“It flows as a name, I’ll grant you that,” Proctor said. “But, I think we should avoid something so inflammatory.”

Then he swung his arm up and down again.

“Here for the edge of the park’s east side, do you agree?” Proctor said.

I was embarrassed, but I didn’t allow the moment overtake me to the point I couldn’t focus on the field before us, and the proposed site of the park.

“Good, yes,” I said. “This will work.”

“I ain’t stolen nothing, ever,” Dillard said. “Maybe me mum’s bit of stew… once. ‘Twas a cold day that day. Would never do it again, I tell ya true. I ain’t no freebooter.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “Just spit balling.”

“What about meadows?” Trevor said. “I like meadows.”

“The Moonlight Meadows,” I said. “It’s a bit genteel for a sports team, I think. Not that I don’t appreciate the suggestion. I’m more interested in something stronger. Stronger imagery. A name projecting strength, is what I’m trying to say.”

We walked several yards from the line Proctor had suggested as the park’s eastern edge. I took deliberate paces, about ten of them, planting my feet, satisfied but what I’d visualized.

“This is the foul territory, along the right side,” I said to Proctor. “Here to here.” I indicated by pointing. I pictured the white chalk line of the ball field, and then the wall where the bleachers would be, and all the green grass between.

“Agreed,” Proctor said.

But even in the middle of dealing with such practical matters, emotion caught me.

“I don’t miss her enough, do I?” I said.

I almost gave Proctor whiplash with the comment. True to his nature, he caught on quick.

“Aubrey,” he said, solemnly.

A tear swelled under my right eye. “She’s dead,” I said. “She died. Not even a week ago.”

Immediately, Trevor and Dillard closed in. It seemed a supportive gesture.

I think I’d pushed the emotions of what had happened away, and perhaps doing so was unhealthy.

“You knew her well?” Proctor said.

“Years ago,” I said. “We even dated. Not for very long. And, we were kids. I hadn’t seen her in… well… decades, until we got here. It’s just such a shock, you know?”

“Indeed,” Proctor said.

“Many in Moonlight lost lots,” Dillard said. “Loads actually. You lost too.”

“I’m not sure I’m mourning it properly,” I said. “The loss. Everyone’s loss. And, I’m not missing Aubrey enough. I’m not sad enough about it. I mean, look at us, we’re out here breathing the clean air to mark out the site of a ball park for crying out loud. She’s gone. She’s never coming back.”

“I don’t think grief works in this way,” Proctor said. “There is no correct form of missing someone. Or, in feeling sad about what’s gone on. You aren’t wrong for how you’ve chosen to cope with it. Wouldn’t matter how you’ve coped. There’s no manual for such a thing. Everyone’s going to deal with such awful events in ways unique to them. You might seek to be kinder to yourself.”

“I feel guilty to laugh,” I said. “It’s like, ‘how dare you laugh?’, ‘how dare you enjoy anything?’. You know?”

“I understand,” Proctor said. “Sounds like a natural part of the grieving process. You’re alive. For those who are not, you might be feeling a sense of guilt.”

“Big time,” I said. “Massive guilt. Why did I live through that? She didn’t. Zane didn’t. Hundreds of people here. Gone. What about the System? What about the billions? Millions? What about that?”

“You’re not wrong to question it,” Proctor said.

Shockingly, Trevor’s massive hands clasped me, but in quite a gentle manner. It was his idea of a hug. He didn’t want to impose himself upon me with his enormity, and I could tell. He made me feel tiny by comparison, but I welcomed the genuine warmth also radiating from him.

“We lose those we love,” Trevor said. “It’s happened to me. But, we gain too. You are my friend, and I am glad you’re here.”

His words caused me to cry. It embarrassed me to shed tears here in the middle of this moor, but it was involuntary.

“You’ve made me glad as well,” Dillard said. And he grasped my forearm for a shake. “I ain’t been as filled with purpose ‘til I met yous. You may be foolish, but who cannot love a foolish heart?”

“You’re never going to forget her,” Proctor said. “And, you don’t have to. I understand your guilt about what happened, but you’re here. And, without knowing Aubrey, I can only imagine she would want you to continue on in life, and to thrive to the greatest extent possible.”

“Didn’t you lose people in the apocalypse?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Not really,” Proctor said. “Presumably neither did you.”

How could he know that? But, he wasn’t wrong.

“It’s true,” I said. “When the ‘End’ came, I was just me. My parents were already long gone. I had no one in my life. Look up the word ‘loner’ in the dictionary, and there was my picture.”

“I’ve probably already told you this, but it’s why you were chosen by the System,” Proctor said. “It wasn’t happenstance. They chose you because you had no one to mourn.”

I exhaled loudly at the assertion. Not because it was wrong, but because, yeah, it made me feel guilty. Entirely selfish.

“I mourn her,” I said. “Maybe I didn’t know her long enough, or well enough. I don’t know. But, I’m sad she’s gone. Even though I worry I’m not sad enough.”

“You can never be sad enough,” Trevor said. “When someone dies they fall into the water. And, when you miss them you fall in there with them, and that’s proper. But, you can only swim with them for so long before you must climb out. If you don’t, you stay too long, and you’ll find yourself trapped and you drown with them.”

The giant had a way of putting things in perspective.

“I’ll pull you up on shore,” Trevor said. He smiled, and it was infectious.

Wiping a tear away, I recognized we’d gone far afield from the tasks at hand.

“This got way heavier than I’d intended,” I said. “Just something that’d been on my mind. Right. Can we get back to marking out the ball field?”

“Long as you promise not to call your bloody team after no bloody freebooters,” Dillard said.

“Agreed,” I said, with a bit of laugh.

We could see Kestrel, and his son Denton marching toward us from the east side of Moonlight. By this time we’d spanned the field over near the western perimeter line where the west side of the ball park would be, and we were tantalizingly close to the Boop Soda machine.

“It’s good to see you,” I said to Kestrel. “You look like you have some news.”

The stout man’s cheeks were rosier than usual. He appeared upset. Denton wasn’t happy either.

“This new substance you want us to use in the building of the wall,” Kestrel said.

“Yes,” I said, “what about it?”

“I can make it,” Kestrel said. “Simple as sunlight.”

“This is great news,” I said. “So, why do you look like it’s not great news?”

“‘Tis the amount,” Denton said. “You seek to build miles of wall? High wall? With that material? Would require vast and vast resources of stone and boiling water. More than we could ever harvest in years.”

In my ignorance I hadn’t given much thought to how much concrete would be required for the perimeter fence, but I saw how right they were as soon as they’d said it. How could I have been so stupid?

But, you can call it divine intervention if you want, but a moment struck me as soon as these men reality checked me.

I took a coin off Proctor, and immediately consulted the Boop Soda machine, and let me tell you… the can that fell this time - with its requisite godawful corresponding flavor - was going to conjure a magic, working through me, that had the power to change everything.