March Home

/2/

Jo walked into the HSV-11 station covered in blood-spatter.

"It's not mine," she said in response to the glances her mother and sister exchanged. "How is she?" Jo wiped her face with her sleeve and took the empty seat across from Meg.

There were more chairs than visitors in Beth's wing. The Marches were the only regulars. They feared a great many things, but Beth, if she was closely monitored, wasn't one of them. Someone was with her at all times.

"Same." Marmee squeezed Beth's hand.

Beth did not react. At least she looked peaceful. Things could have been worse...

"It seems like you had all the excitement," Meg said, looking Jo over. Meg was very pregnant—eight and a half months. No one let her go anywhere alone. Not even the latrine these days.

Meg stroked a hand over her stomach. She had her priorities straight. She was just bored and restless. And the baby was, indeed, moving with her. Meg was so thin. If the baby even wiggled its nose, Jo could usually see it from across the room.

"It was nothing, really," Jo said, transfixed. She'd be an aunt any day now.

As the words were said, Major John Brooke, Meg's husband, barged in to add his two cents. What was that worth to Jo? She was grateful and all, but it was about as valuable to her as the grime beneath her fingernails.

"Can you believe it? She ignored stay home orders, again..."

Jo mimicked "yapping" with her hand so that only Meg could see. She urged Jo to stop with a bulging glare. When she shifted toward her husband, though, she covered a smirk with her hand.

"And was crossing the courtyard in broad daylight," her brother-in-law went on.

"It was the quickest route." Jo dug through her knapsack. When Sergeant Laurence popped in beside John, she tossed him the can of pea soup she stole from Warlord territory. It was his favorite.

"Is daylight ever 'broad' in Sector-1?" He caught the can with ease and gave Jo a wink. He went by "Laurie" to distinguish himself from General Laurence, his grandfather. Not that he needed it—they were nothing alike.

Major Brooke didn't acknowledge Laurie's mockery or Jo's eyeroll. "She was only feet away from being struck with a grenade. It sent her flying. How did she walk away from that? This is the best part! She was snagged from the air by the biggest Warlord I have ever seen!"

"Are you done yet?" Jo gave the tomato soup to her mother and set a can of chicken noodle on the table beside Meg. Her eyes lit up. If John did a better job feeding her, Jo wouldn't have to.

Last and certainly least, she tossed John the cream of mushroom, gagging at the thought of eating that crap, famine or no. She aimed high on purpose. Perhaps, if it got close enough to his head, he'd remember why Jo was out there in the first place. The Coalition was busy defending its borders and trying to maintain order within. If the scavengers didn't pitch in, they'd all starve.    

"It all worked out. I actually hit the bastard on the first shot!" Laurie was leaning on his rifle like it was a walking cane in an old movie.

"We're all very proud of you," Jo teased, although it was true.

Laurie was not only a soldier now but a decent one, who actually hit things, and avoided being hit himself. There was no one more surprised than her...

Jo knew Laurie before. They went to high school together. She had the grades to get into Harvard. He had the funds and connections. She was a bit resentful they picked him, but that was never voiced, and they went their separate ways on friendly terms. She never expected to see him again, though.

When the Tau-Cetians arrived, Laurie was napping through an economics class. John Brooke was his professor. The class stayed together for a while. Some came, some went, and many died. Laurie and John were no soldiers or survivalists at the time, but they fared better than average because of their familiarity with Massachusetts towns and roadways, and the harshness of its winter. There was no good news in Arlington, where John was from, so they moved toward Concord and met up with Laurie's grandfather, a retired captain in the U.S. Marine Corp.

The Marches were all in town for Marmee's birthday the day of. Laurie's grandfather, a concerned neighbor, checked in on them. As the alien raid spread from cities to towns, the locals united or reunited in the basement of an old church with all the food and weapons they could carry. They survived the literal end of the world and four post-apocalyptic years because of General Laurence's leadership and his community support.

"Do I hear laughter? Frivolity?" General Laurence stepped into the room as well, and everyone got a little stiffer, quieter, and calmer. "Have we forgotten this is a hospital, and the patients here are very ill?" He wasn't angry, but he wasn't exactly joking either.

Laurie said, "Sorry, sir," and stepped into the hall.

John gave Meg a quick embrace. She clung to his hand for an added moment and then he walked out as well.

"I like to think Beth can hear us," Jo said while smoothing Beth's hair behind her ear. "She'd be laughing on the inside, and less afraid that way."

The general nodded, but her words didn't seem to sink in. "Jo, can I have a word?"

Jo was usually dense as heck, but Marmee never missed a social cue. She helped Meg to her feet and picked up Meg's can of soup for her. "Let's find a place to warm these up."

Meg glanced back at Jo, curious and concerned, but she didn't resist, and they stepped out too.

"Anything for you," Jo said to the general. She smiled at him when he took Meg's chair. He'd typically smile back, because they both knew she didn't mean that. Things like stay home didn't apply to her.

Jo and General Laurence had come to an understanding. She would speak her mind, do what needed doing, and he trusted her judgement, and would look the other way when necessary and not tell her mother. Jo wasn't afraid of him, and he was uncharacteristically lenient and forgiving toward her. Jo had Beth to thank. She was General Laurence's favorite. They had that in common. With just her voice and her dented guitar, Beth could bring a grown man—or strong woman—to tears. It helped them all through some very dark times.

Jo was an adequate musician and would occasionally sing harmonies beside her. Beth was so much better off without her, but she never made Jo feel that way, and always seemed to prefer the company, even if Jo was only a fraction as talented.

Jo wiped a tear away.

The general observed the motion but didn't comment. It was part of their mutual understanding. She wasn't embarrassed. He didn't see tears as a show of weakness. Pain was everywhere and they all dealt with it in their own way. If they were alive and functioning, they were doing something right. How people coped was not something he tampered with, and she had a great respect for that. In that regard, they were philosophically aligned.

"The Tau-Cetians intercepted your message," he said.

"Of course they did! Did it at least go through?"

"Yes, and they want to help."

Jo snickered. She would have laughed outright at the absurdity if it hadn't been so unfunny otherwise. "I'll believe that when I see it."