There were several moments of silence, in which Mal pondered how the situation had gone. Finally, he took the risk of peeking around the corner of the shredded wooden counter. There were several bodies in his range of vision, and no movement that he could detect. Turning to look at Zoe, Mal saw her bring her head back from the other side of the counter and make eye contact.

“*Looks as if it’s over, Sir,*” she told him quietly.

Mal nodded, then called, “Jayne?” There was no response, and that was a point of much worry. “Jayne?” He repeated, more loudly this time. “Talk to me.”

Finally, he heard Jayne’s voice. “I’m here, Mal.” His tone was soft and sorrowful, which bothered Mal even more than the previous lack of response. Chancing a rise to his feet, Mal finally saw that all eight men lay dead in the street, some of them half-hidden by various cover. Zoe stood next to him, her gun scanning the scene of the carnage. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

Jayne was crouched near the edge of the machine shop over the body of Breana. She had been shot right through the chest. Mal’s heart sank. *Oh, no...*

Jayne glanced over his shoulder at Mal, and there was a hurt expression on his face. “Why’d she come out here, Mal?” he queried, his voice strained. “Why the gorram hell didn’t she stay inside?” Mal had no answer for him, and a moment later, the little girl crept from the door to her home and stood beside Jayne and her mother’s body.

“Is Mama okay?” she asked quietly, looking at Jayne with large, green eyes that matched her father’s. Jayne looked from Mal to the girl, obviously trying very hard to think of something to say. Finally, he just shook his head slowly.

“No, girl. She ain’t.” He stared at the ground, working his jaw and trying to explain. “She’s gone.”

Surprisingly, the girl neither cried, nor made any other sort of typical reaction. She simply asked, “Does that mean I’m goin’ with you, Papa?”

Mal holstered his pistol, as lost in the moment, if not as utterly confused, as Jayne ap