Chapter 9

Shepherd Derrial Book pulled the Dragonfly to a full stop just before they reached the crossroads. Raising his hand to block out the early morning sun, he looked first to his right and then to his left, up and down the worn dirt road, but there was no one to be seen.

"They're not here," Simon still found it necessary to tell him, from his place in the passenger's seat.

"No."

Book put the gears in reverse and backed up a little, then turned left and took the vehicle off the road and in between the trees.

"Best we stay out of sight," he said as he parked it.

"They should have been here before us," Simon mused. "You think they ran into trouble?"

"Maybe. But their vehicle is slower than ours. Might be nothing. We'll wait."

Simon didn't look convinced. But then again, as Book had come to know, being in a state of worry and/or tension seemed to be the young man's default setting.

"Regretting you came along?" he asked him.

"Not at all," the doctor replied, and the voice did sound convincing. "That medicine will make life better for a lot of people. I'd rather not see it end up in the hands of criminals. I mean, other criminals."

"Yes, I keep forgetting, moving drugs across borders is certainly becoming your area of expertise."

"Ha ha. What about you, Shepherd? You usually don't partake in Mal's… jobs."

"I don't," Book nodded. "But like you said, this is one of the worthier causes, so I am making an exception."

Simon leaned forward in an effort to see more of the road. "I just wish they'd be here. The sooner we get off this moon, the better. I don't like the idea of Serenity being parked so close to a Fed station."

"I'm sure they're fine," Book said. "That Wash is no fool, and not as lost as he might appear. And neither, my friend, is your sister. Ah, here they are."

The unmistakable sound of an engine was coming from the east, and Book leaned a little to the side to get a better view. The quad bike came over the crest of a small hill, at full speed, spraying dirt all over as it tore down the road towards them. Zoë was at the helm, and she spun it sideways, screeching to a full stop right at the intersection, nearly throwing Mal off the trailer in the process.

Simon was about to leap from his seat, but Book shot out an arm and stopped him. Zoë and Mal both jumped off the bike and scurried into the woods on the other side of the road, where they dove in behind a fallen tree trunk and out of sight. Not a second too soon, it turned out, as two other quad bikes came over the hill in wild pursuit.

Book sighed. "I'd hoped to avoid bloodshed."

There were two men on each bike, and they came to a halt next to the abandoned one. One of the drivers, a man of about fifty, with close-cropped graying hair, jumped off and approached the crate left on the vehicle, wary, but still a little too eager.

"They gave up?" one of the others asked, bewildered.

The older man lifted the lid, and his face contorted into an angry sneer. "It's empty," he hissed, then pushed it furiously from the trailer. It hit the ground with a hollow thump.

And that was when the bloodshed started.

Two of the guys were taken out immediately; the bewildered one who'd asked the question and the second driver, both by a precise bullet to the head. The other two scrambled down behind the bikes for cover, and pulled their own guns to return the fire.

Next to Book, Simon hunkered down in his seat, even though he was safely out of harm's way. "Won't this draw the Feds here?" he panted.

"One obstacle at a time, son," the Shepherd replied. "And this won't take long."

He was right about that. A moment later one of the remaining men slumped to the ground, with blood sprouting from his neck, and not long after that, the last man standing – the older man – ran out of ammunition.

"Drop it!" Mal stepped out onto the road, closely followed, and covered, by Zoë. They both had their guns trained on their last opponent as he somewhat reluctantly threw away his weapon, raised his arms, and slowly stood.

Book shook his head, then turned the ignition and drove the Dragonfly out into the open. Mal flashed him a smile as they approached and came to a standstill. "Gentlemen!"

Book glanced down at the three dead men, and then shot him a reproachful look.

"Hey, they started it!" the captain exclaimed, then backtracked. "Well, no, but they shouldn't have followed us. Kinda forced my hand."

"Thought that was the whole plan," Book said. "For them to follow you."

"Yes, but not to catch up with us. I had hoped to shake 'em." He gave a slight wave with the gun as his prisoner started to lower his hands. "Huh-uh! Tie him up, Zo'."

"You stole an empty crate?" the man hissed as Zoë duct taped his hands together.

"I did," Mal grinned. "One of my better plans, if I might say so myself. I call it Red Goose. You know, red herring... wild goose chase... get it?"

The man only glared at him.

"It's hard to impress people these days," the captain lamented. "I take it you have it, gentlemen?"

"We do," Book nodded, and Simon held up one of the backpacks for them to see. "Turns out it's quite easy to infiltrate a camp full of bandits when there's a full-blown panic going on."

The man narrowed his eyes. "You took the crate, but left the meds?"

"Oh, he's getting it now," Mal grinned. "That's right. We put the meds in the backpacks, and as I and my wonderful first mate here lured you away, the rest of my guys just walked right in and picked 'em up."

"It wasn't that easy," Simon muttered.

The prisoner kept glowering at Mal. "Svetlana will tear you apart," he promised.

"Oh, she'd want to," Mal agreed. "But I don't think she'll touch me. I got leverage, you see. You."

The man snorted.

Mal just smiled. "I watched your camp long enough to see that she cares about you. You weren't exactly being discreet about it, mister… What's your name?"

"Moab," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "Moab Cohen."

"And you're her what? Boyfriend? No, wait, I'm thinkin'… husband." He looked at Zoë. "I told you shipboard romances complicate things."

"That you did, sir."

"Well," Moab spat. "You're not the only one with leverage, are you? She's got one of yours, remember?"

Mal's smile dropped. "You better not be talkin' 'bout Jayne Cobb. 'Cause that'll get you nowhere."

"Oh, I am. You really think I wouldn't get that he's still loyal to you?"

Book saw the confusion that swept across the captain's face. Zoë's too. If only for a moment. He wasn't so surprised himself, though. On the contrary, things were starting to fall into place.

"Jayne wasn't the one who told you about this cargo, was he?" he asked.

"The hell no," Moab sneered. "He just stumbled upon us as we were leaving. Seemed too much of a coincidence to me."

Mal cocked his gun. "Then who told you, then?"

Moab shrugged. "Some smart-ass kid in a suit, back on Persephone."

"Arrow," Zoë concluded.

"I never trusted your man," Moab continued. "Not one bit. Was the others thought he'd be useful. He's quite… pestering."

"That he is," Mal mumbled.

"Even had Svetlana goin' there for a while. But he kinda gave himself away when he fired that missile at your ship."

"Jayne did that?" Simon asked.

"Yeah. And I've seen the man shoot. If he wanted to hit you, he would've."

Mal and Zoë exchanged looks. Book could see how things clicked into place in their minds as well.

Moab picked up on it too. "Wait, what? You didn't know? Gorramnit! You really thought he'd sold you out?" He rolled his eyes. "Sucks to be him."

"Is he alive?"

Mal's voice was cold as ice. Even Book, who was usually not afraid of him, felt a healthy amount of fear at that point.

Moab shrugged again. "Was when I last saw 'im. But beaten to a pulp, so... who knows?"

"Zoë, how many rounds you got left?"

"Enough, sir."

"Alright, then." Mal waved his gun, motioning for Moab to move. "Get on the truck!"

"Are we going back to the ship?" Simon asked as he scooted over to give room for everyone. He didn't sound particularly hopeful.

"We're going back for Jayne first," Mal confirmed as he pushed Moab onto the back of the Dragonfly, where Zoë would keep a gun and a watchful eye on him. "See if Svetlana loves this man as much as…" He stopped himself.

"As you love Jayne?" Book finished for him as he offered up the driver's seat.

"Shut up," Mal said and turned the ignition, and Book left it at that.

After all, he did agree with him for once.

Meanwhile...

Jayne didn't know where he was going. As per usual, he'd set off without a real plan. Often that worked for him. He was good at thinking on his feet. But he didn't have much experience in running away. Not like this – nearly blind, injured, and without the protection of a gun. Jayne used guns so much that they felt like a part of him. Without them, he felt naked and lost.

He'd been on the move for most of the night, as fast as his injuries would let him. Which wasn't fast at all. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. He'd thrown up a lot too. There'd been blood in it, which couldn't be a good sign. And he kept tripping on roots and rocks, and running into branches, and every fall, every jolt, sent a fresh wave of pain through his body.

Still, he kept going. One foot in front of the other. Where... he had no idea.

In hindsight, it was clear that a plan would have helped. A plan might have stopped him from running up into the hills. A plan might have given him direction, in more ways than one.

But his focus had been solely on putting as much distance as possible between himself and his captors, not on where he was going. And that was why he had ended up here, at the crest of a hill, at the edge of a cliff.

At the end of the line.

Just as well. He was too tired to go on.

He carefully stepped closer to the edge and peered down.

"Do it," somebody said. "Jump."

He was too tired, too mad, too everything to feel surprised. He felt some regret, though. He should have killed that liú kǒu shuǐ de biǎo zi hé hóu zi de bèn ér zi when he'd had the chance.

He turned around. Rufus was about ten yards away from him, straddled across a sleek little hover bike. He was sporting another fresh bruise on his neck. The smile, however, was finally gone.

"Jump," he urged him again. "How high is it, you reckon? Twenty feet? That's not too bad. You might make it."

"How...?" Despite himself, Jayne just had to ask.

"How'd I find you?" Rufus said. "Thought you were the gorramn expert on trackers, Jayne Cobb. I put one in your boot."

Good thing he was too exhausted, too sick, to feel humiliated.

"So, yeah," Rufus sneered, "I've been following you all night. Just wanted to see how far you'd make it. I'm quite impressed, I have to say." He stepped off the bike and pulled his - well, Jayne's - gun. "You know, I'm gettin' pretty tired of you punchin' me, Jayne."

"Can't help it," Jayne slurred. "You got one of those faces."

"Still the smart-ass, huh?" Rufus aimed the gun at him. "But look who's comin' out on top. It ain't you."

"You're still just someone else's bitch, Rufus."

"Nah, that's where you're wrong, you see. I don' work for Svetlana. She thinks I am. They all do. But I'm like you, Jayne. The only one I'm loyal to… is me. Tradin' in secrets only works if you play all sides, but only sell to the highest bidder."

"Secrets?" Jayne snorted. "You know nothin'."

"I know everything!" Rufus shouted. "I know Adelai Niska's lookin' for that captain of yours. So's some Atherton Wing on Persephone. Both rich as shit. Which one d'you think pay better? And that doctor on your ship. Simon Tam. Yeah, I know 'bout him too. Don't think the reward money's peaked yet, though, do you? Just bidin' my time."

Jayne blinked. It was getting hard to keep his one good eye open. "You gonna shoot me, or what?"

"I will," Rufus promised. "Svetlana would want you alive. But like I said, I don't work for her." He cocked the gun.

Jayne had always known his life would end like this. He accepted it. The only thing that bothered him was that he'd be shot to death by an idiot like Rufus Miller, and with his own gun, to top that off.

He closed his eyes. The shot rang out.

As the pain exploded in his side, Jayne actually felt a snort of laughter forming in the back of his throat. Rufus's aim hadn't improved.

But something had kept that rutting, good-for-nothin' loser alive for this long, and as Jayne took a step back to get his bearings, a little step too far, and felt the ground shift beneath his feet, he remembered what.

It was luck. The man was just gorramn lucky.

He remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach as he fell, and the impact as it knocked the air out of him, the dirt on his face, and the excruciating pain.

He didn't remember much after that.