Mal stood there as Simon pulled the sheet over Wallace Upton’s body.

Two days.

Two days since the diagnosis, the plucky little livery owner, a boy that had survived losing his legs in the war, had died because his lungs had drowned in fluid. He died because of the fact they still couldn’t get medication, because all Simon had in his dwindling medical supply just took the edge off the pain.

Wallace was also the seventh person to die that day.

The weaker ones were going fast. Elderly, newborns, sickly; and Wallace had been one of those weaker ones as Simon broke to the poor livery owner’s wife the news. Mrs. Upton was ill too, lying on the couch of their loft above their horse stables as her shoulders heaved and her breath choked with tears. Her six month old daughter had been wrapped that morning, so she was beyond consolation with the loss of both child and husband.

Mal swallowed a heavy lump that had settled on his voice box. Clearing his throat, he walked down the stairs and into the musty barn that smelt like hay and ponies. Scratching the corner of his eye, it was how he dealt with grief as his face, ashen from the cold of the day, turned to see the pine boxes in town square. Seven people dead in two days, and half of the town infected as the number grew. He was still waiting, Inara was trying to get in contact with whatever past client could help as well as trying a thousand different avenues for rumors of black market meds were all over the coretex. Meds if you had enough money, since Inara couldn’t get a hold of her friend yet, that was the current plan. The town, as their loved ones faded away, were raising money for a black market exchange.

Mal was getting impatient though. A hiest was beginning to set in his marrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inara had dressed herself well for the wave.

Finally, after two days of not getting a response and chasing various black market offers, she had gotten a short video telling her a wave meeting was in order that day. Kaylee ha