River stood still, gazing at the still form on the ground. Now she said, “Why doesn’t she get up?”

Simon glanced sharply at her. “River,” he said quickly, appalled at her insensitivity.

“She should get up. Come home.”

“River …” Inara’s voice broke.

“Get her out of here,” Mal said, dark, violent.

Simon turned to his sister, putting his hands on her shoulders. “River, go back. You can’t do anything. Freya’s … Freya’s dead.”

“No she isn’t.”

Mal’s head snapped up. “Get her –”

“She’s breathing.”

Simon stared at her, the intensity of belief in her young face, then looked back at Freya. He moved forward, almost not of his own volition, and slowly went down onto his knees, reaching out to touch Freya’s neck. Mal’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist.

“Leave her alone.”

“Mal. Let me check.” He looked into the dead blue eyes glaring at him. “Let me.”

Slowly the grip on his wrist lessened until Mal let go, sitting back and looking down into his wife’s face.

Simon put his finger to her neck, pressing into the swollen flesh, feeling the silver pendant sunk deep, trying to reach an artery. He held his breath, waiting, waiting. Finally he breathed out, starting to turn, to look at his sister. Then … “My God.” He was so shocked he couldn’t move, his fingers still over the faint beat.

“Simon?” Zoe said, taking a single step forward.

“River’s right.” His words were almost inaudible.

“What?”

“I think she’s alive.” His professionalism, almost a separate entity to Simon the man, took over. He began to check other vitals, lifting her eyelids, seeing a slight reaction in her pupils. A hand on her chest, only light because of the probability of internal injuries, felt the slightest of movements. “I need that stretcher. Now!” he ordered.

Mal lifted his head, looked at him in uncertainty. “Simon …”

“She’s alive, Mal. I don’t know how, but she is. I’ve got to get her back to the infirmary as soon as possible.”

Mal stared as the young doctor began assess