Jack and I managed to bandage the wound on Libby's stomach. Eko put Ana Lucia's body in the armory, then went out into the jungle with Locke to find Henry's trail, which is what the rest of us are discussing in the living room right now.

"Where the hell are they?" Jack asks.

"Just calm down," Kate tells him. "Finding his trail in the dark is not going to be easy. They'll be back."

"She say anything?" Michael asks. "Libby?"

"She finally went unconscious," I say. "But the bleeding stopped."

"That's good, right?" Kate asks.

"No, it's not good," answers Jack, shaking his head.

Michael starts "And there's nothing you can—,"

"I can make her comfortable," Jack says, turning to Sawyer. "But I don't have what I need."

"Why are you looking at me? I gave you all the damn meds two days ago—,"

"The heroin, Sawyer."

Sawyer lets out a deep breath. "Give me twenty minutes."

"Kate's going to go with you," Jack demands.

"It doesn't take two people to—,"

"Kate is going with you," he repeats.

"What are you talking about?" Kate asks. "Why would he need me to go with him?"

"Jacko here knows his heroin's in my stash with the guns," Sawyer explains. "So, I can either show you where it's at, or let poor Libby suffer. That pretty much it, Doc?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Let's go, Freckles."

They return soon, Hurley with them. The look on his face as he enters breaks my heart. It's awful. Did I look like that after Boone died? No wonder everyone wanted to tell me they were sorry. It's the only thing I can think to say to Hurley right now.

I grab Jack a syringe from the medical supplies and he fills one with heroin and inserts it into Libby's arm. Jack leaves and I sit with her as the heroin works through her system, trying to mask the pain.

"Can, can I talk to her?" I turn around and Hurley is standing there, nervously.

"Sure," I say, standing up and exchanging places with him. I know I shouldn't watch them, but I can't help it.

Hurley begins talking and tries to form the words through his shaking voice. "Hey, it's Hurley. Hugo. I'm sorry I forgot the blankets. I'm sorry I forgot the blankets." At that moment Libby's eyes open. This is it, her final struggle for life. "Libby?" Hurley asks, as her eyes bug and she gasps for breath.

I run over and drop down beside her and Hurley. "Michael?" she asks, her eyes wide.

"Michael. He's okay. He made it, Libby. He's okay. He's alright." I tell her.

Her eyes start to lose focus as her breathing becomes even more panicked. Then, like the flick of a light switch, the breathing stops and her body lies still. I reach up and close her eyes, my hand on Hurley's shoulder, trying to comfort him as he cries, his head in his arms, still holding Libby's hand.

I can't help it. The tears flow from my eyes with him, and I sit beside him, letting them fall.

After everyone recovers from our losses, we gather in the living room to make a plan. Locke and Eko still aren't back yet.

Jack retrieves Michael, who went outside to get some air. He and Sawyer have made stretchers out of thick branches and bed sheets. I'm just finishing covering Ana Lucia's body when Jack and Michael return.

"How many?" Jack asks Sawyer.

"Rifles and pistols? Eleven total."

"That's it?"

"That's it. In case you forgot, they took five of 'em right off us."

"Henry took Ana's, but I still have mine," I say, pulling it from my back pocket.

"And you still don't want to go?" Jack asks me.

I shake my head. "I should probably stay here."

Jack turns to Michael. "How long would it take us to get to their camp?"

"We leave now, move fast? Middle of the night tomorrow. Look, they have no idea I know where they are. They won't be expecting us. So we get the guns and we go. Right now. Just the five of us, with Tia staying behind. That works."

"No, no, five is not enough," Jack protests. "You said there's at least twenty of them. They've got our guns and we're not even sure if what you saw was—,"

"Hey, I know I saw! We take too many people, they'll hear us coming. I'm not taking a damn army across the Island, Jack."

"Michael, you sure you're in the best place to be making decisions for all of us right now?"

"You got a son, Jack?"

"They're dead!" Hurley shouts, a distance from our circle. "Ana Lucia and Libby are dead. I mean, we haven't even buried them yet."

Jack walks over to Hurley and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Me and you will take Libby, okay?" He turns to Kate and I. "Can you?"

"Yeah, of course," Kate says and I nod. Her eyes are swollen and mine probably look the same.

"You should stay here," Jack says to Michael. "We'll bury them tonight, then we'll figure out what's next."

Kate and I carry Ana's body in front of Hurley and Jack, who carry Libby, all the way to the beach. About halfway there, Jack says he forgot something and turns back, Sawyer talking his place.

We make it to the graveyard, and I try my best to ignore Boone and Shannon's graves as I grab one of our makeshift shovels and start digging Ana's grave with Kate.

I hear other survivors mumble about who could be covered under the blankets, but I ignore them and sink into my own little world, my arms digging like a machine.

Libby is dead. Murdered by a man who I knew in my heart was dangerous and, yet I made no strict effort to get rid of him. I think about Ana, murdered the same way. Two people I was starting to get close to. I really liked Libby and considered her a friend. Ana, less so, but we shared that common thing between solders and cops. I had forgiven her for Shannon's death.

Shannon. Another person I considered my closest friend. My sister, even. Gone from me much too soon.

And Boone…

Was this my fate on the Island? Whenever I got close to someone, they would die?

I decide to take a break, and walk over to the tree line, grabbing a drink of water, then pouring the rest down my back.

I almost don't notice when Hurley sits down beside me. "Hey," he says, his voice shaking slightly.

I want to say I'm sorry for Libby, but I can't bring myself to do that. Not after the resentment I felt towards people who said that after Boone died. "Hey yourself," I say instead.

"Thanks," he says. "Thanks for being a good friend to Libby. I know you two were close and…and she liked you a lot."

I reach over and grab his hand. "I really cared about Libby," I say, struggling to find words other than "I'm sorry".

"This is my fault," he says, his voice cracking.

I turn my head, facing him. "What are you talking about, Hurley?"

"I'm cursed," he says, staring at the sand. "Bad things happen to everyone around me."

"Hurley, I don't—,"

"I was in a psyche ward, in Los Angeles. And there was this guy, Lenny. The whole time I knew him, all he said were these numbers. 'Four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, forty-two."

"Hurley, those are the numbers for the hatch button."

"I know, let me finish. When I got out of the psyche ward, I played those numbers for the lottery, and I won. A hundred and fourteen million dollars. And after I won, bad things happened. I was bad luck. My grandpa died. My house caught on fire. I was even mistakenly arrested for dealing drugs. This is my fault. Everything bad that's happened, happened because I was on that plane."

I think about this, hard. "Hurley, I don't think it's you. What if it's me? First Boone, then Shannon, now Libby and Ana. I was very close, or getting very close with all of them and now they're all dead. When I was in the army, I met a guy, and we got close. The first day he kissed me, he was shot right before my eyes. What does that say about me?"

Hurley looks up from the ground for the first time. "Dude, I don't think—,"

"No, it makes sense. And so does your theory. But what if it's all just in our heads? What if it was just in Lenny's too? We can't all be cursed this way. So, logically, none of us are cursed."

"I was starting to think it was all fake. That my bad luck had stopped. Then this happened."

I take a deep breath. "I don't think there's anything I can say to convince you that you're not cursed. You're one of the best people I've ever met, Hurley. And if being your friend, means that I'm cursed along with you, then I don't care." I stand up, and grab my shovel. "Now, let's get back to work."

It doesn't take long to finish and soon, I'm back ant my tent, changing into clothes better suited for a funeral. When I come back out, Sayid it there, waiting on me.

"What happened?" he demands.

"Henry escaped. Killed Libby and Ana Lucia. Shot Michael in the arm."

"And what are we going to do about that?"

"We are not going to do anything. Michael, Jack, Kate, Sawyer, and Hurley are going after Walt first thing tomorrow."

"Why them?"

"That's the way Michael wants it to be."

Sayid turns around. "Come with me," he demands.

Normally I would object to being ordered about, but after watching Libby die, I feel too numb inside to protest. He leads me to Jack and Sawyer, the latter carrying a large pack.

"Is it true?" Sayid asks them. "Henry's gone?"

"Yeah," Jack answers.

"Who's going after him?

"Locke and Eko went out in the middle of the night, but…"

"But we haven't seen either of them since," Sawyer says.

Sayid points to the bag in Sawyer's hand. "Those are the guns, aren't they? What are you doing with them?"

"What do you think we're doing?" Sawyer says. "It's time to finish this."

"When do we leave?"

"In the morning."

"You're not coming, Sayid," Jack says to him.

"Excuse me?"

"Michael wants to keep it small. Me, Kate, Hurley, and him." Jack points to Sawyer.

"Yeah, well," Sawyer starts. "Him says even though Pippy Longstocking and the damn Grape Ape are ideal candidates for the Dirty Dozen, I'm just going to say we might just want to bring the Red Beret and G.I. Jane."

"It's Michael's call. He knows where we're going."

"It is not his call, Jack. It's ours," Sayid argues.

Sawyer reaches into his bag and grabs a pistol. "Welcome aboard," he says, handing it to Sayid, who puts it in the butt of his pants. "You still got yours, Brown Eyes?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going," I say.

"Why not?" Sayid asks me.

"Because, I don't want to. It's as simple as that." Jack and Sawyer exchange a look and I wink at Sayid, letting him know I have more to say. After talking to Jack just now, I think I've figured something out.

"Why did you wink at me?"

"When Libby died, she asked about Michael and this look of terror went over her face. I thought it was because she was dying, but then I realized; why would Henry kill two women, but just shoot Michael in the arm?"

"Are you suggesting Michael killed Libby and Ana Lucia?"

I think about my father, who locked Donny up in a mental hospital instead of getting him real help or just cutting him off completely. He still cared, but couldn't bring himself to give Donny everything he needed.

"A father would do anything for his son."

"So what are we going to do about this?"

"You talk to Michael," I instruct. "Make sure I'm right. Then, if you think the same, we'll talk to Jack and make a new plan."

Sayid nods and heads over to Michael, who's sitting with Vincent at his old tent.

An hour later, the sun is starting to set and it's time for the funeral. I see Sayid walking with Jack towards the graveyard and I jog over to meet them.

"When the plane crashed I was on my way to Los Angeles to bury my dad," Jack says, noticing me approach.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sayid says.

"Yeah. It seems like such a long time ago now. I was going to go right from the airport to the cemetery but I had no idea what I was going to say. Here we are again."

"If you want me to talk instead, I will. I know what I want to say," I offer.

Jack nods. "Thanks."

"We think Michael has been compromised," Sayid says. Jack stops but Sayid and I continue walking. "Keep walking, Jack," Sayid instructs.

"What do you mean 'compromised'?"

"His actions are not those of a man who is telling the truth," Sayid says. "Tia first spotted this, then I confirmed her theory."

"Why would he lie to us?"

"Because I believe a father would do anything for his son. Because I believe Michael may have freed Henry. And because I believe he is leading you into a trap."

"You believe a lot, Sayid."

"I also believe that Henry was one of them."

"Alright, let's go talk to him," Jack says.

"No, he must continue to believe he's in control. "

"Why the hell would we want to do that?"

"So we can create an advantage."

"How?"

"I don't know yet."

"But, lucky for us, we have one more night to figure that out," I say.

By now we've reached the graves. Hurley and Kate have placed Ana and Libby inside. As the last of the camp makes their way to the site, I step forward.

"Ana Lucia Cortez was a police officer before we crashed. A lot of us did not trust her when we first met her, because of her actions." I pause and glance at Shannon's grave, right beside her's before continuing. "But she was a good person. She was loyal to her people. She put her own safety above others to protect them instead. I once heard her say that people didn't like her. And that she spent most of her life trying to get them to. But I liked her. And I never held her mistakes against her. Rest in peace, Ana," I finish. Jack looks at me and nods his head in thanks.

Hurley begins to talk. "Libby was…she was…Libby was a psychologist, or psychiatrist. One of those. Either way, she probably helped a lot of people. She helped me. She was my friend. It's not fair that this happened to her. It's not." Hurley turns to Michael. "I'm going with you," he says, before turning back to his friend's grave. "Goodbye, Libby."

There is a moment of silence for our fallen comrades. A tear trickles down my face and I feel Sayid grab my hand and squeeze it. I squeeze back in thanks for his comfort.

The silence doesn't last long when Sun breaks it. "Boat," she says. My head shoots up, facing her. She's looking out into the ocean and I follow her gaze. "Boat!" she cries.

Out in the ocean, a large sailboat skims the surface of the water, the name Elizabeth etched across the bottom.

I run to the shoreline, following Jack, Sawyer, and Sayid. Jack starts removing his shoes and socks, and Sawyer and Sayid follow his example. I feel the cold metal of my glock in the butt of my jeans and decide, since I'm packing, to follow them. I strip off my shoes and Jack looks at me. "You gonna tell me to stay behind?" I ask.

He starts securing his gun in the butt of his jeans. "I've learned that doesn't do me much good," he says, making for the water.

Sayid, Sawyer and I follow diving in. The swim out to the boat is a long one. But we reach it soon enough and the men enter first, Sawyer helping me up last. I pull my gun out of my pants, cocking a round into the chamber. I can hear opera music below my feet. Jack makes for the hull door that leads below deck but we hear gun shots from below, bullets flying out from the wood.

"Dammit," a voice says from inside. It's vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. Jack kicks the door open with his bare foot pointing his gun inside. Sawyer, Sayid, and I follow, pointing our guns. Inside is a face I did not expect to see.

Desmond, the man from the hatch is sitting inside, a rifle in his lap and a bottle of tequila in his hand. Jack and I lower our guns, but Sawyer and Sayid keep theirs drawn and I remember that they have never met Desmond.

"You," Desmond says, looking at Jack.

By nightfall we managed to get Desmond back to shore on a dingy boat from the sailboat. Desmond is completely wasted from the tequila, but apparently not enough, as he grabs a bottle of whiskey from his bag and sits beside a fire, taking sips of it throughout the night.

I make him a plate of food, deciding that he should eat something and stop drinking. I bring it over to him squatting down, but he waves me off, taking another drink of his whiskey. I set it down beside him. "Why didn't you mention you had a sailboat?" I ask. He ignores me. "Yeah, I guess I know the answer to that one. But how about this? Why did you some back? Feeling guilty?"

He chuckles. "Do you think I did it on purpose? I was sailing for two and half weeks, bearing due West and making nine knots. I should have been in Fiji in less than a week. But the first piece of land I saw wasn't Fiji, was it? No. No, it was here—this, this island. And you know why? Because this is it. This is all there is left. This ocean and this place here. We are stuck in a bloody snow globe! There's no outside world! There's no escape! So, just go away, huh. Let me drink."

I eye him for a few more seconds and Sayid and Jack stand off to the side, Sayid holding a torch, waiting on me. I get up and approach them, but Desmond has one more thing to say.

"You still pushing it?"

I sigh. "Yeah, we're still pushing it."

As I approach Sayid and Jack Sayid turns to the latter. "On the way to the funeral I told you that Michael had been compromised by the Others, and then you asked me how we might take advantage of that. I believe fate has given us our answer—the boat."

"The boat?" Jack asks, confused.

"This camp Michael is leading you to across the Island—that is where they will set their trap. While Michael leads you by land, Tia and I can approach far more quickly by sea. And we can go ashore undetected."

"Go ashore and do what?"

"Scout them—their numbers and positions, their weapons. Then I'll go to the nearest beach and start a signal fire with these." Sayid holds up some dark brown leaves. "They burn with a dark, black smoke. You and your team will come to meet me at the signal and we will go in together."

"We're not even sure if Michael's been turned by them," Jack says, nervously.

"He has been turned," Sayid insists.

"I'll have to tell Kate, and Hurley and Sawyer what we're doing."

"No. Michael cannot sense we know he is lying. All we have is the element of surprise, Jack. Right now it's only your responsibility to keep it secret."

Jack looks at the leaves in Sayid's hand. "Black smoke, huh?"

Sayid grins. "This time they will know that we are coming."

Jack agrees and leaves us. I turn to Sayid. "I told you that I didn't want to come."

Sayid looks confused. "I don't understand. I thought that was because you believed Michael was not telling the truth."

"No, it's because I'm trying to distance myself," I say, deciding to confide in him. If I can't trust Sayid, who can I trust? "Boone, Shannon, Libby…They're all dead. What if that's because of me?"

Sayid's confused look doesn't leave. "Why would you think this?"

"My past, things that have happened to me." I tell him about Rory Gibbs and my mother. How distancing myself from Donny and Gil was better for them than staying close. How the people I've hated have always come out on top, like my father. Sayid doesn't look convinced.

"You cannot distance yourself from the world to keep people safe. All it does is make you an outcast."

I smile bitterly. "We're all outcasts here, Sayid."

He grabs my hand. "You are not an outcast to me. You have never been. All I have ever seen you as is my friend. You are the one person on this Island I trust completely." He squeezes my hand. "If you do not wish to go, that is fine, but—,"

I throw my arms around his shoulders. This is all I wanted to hear. That there was someone in my life that I cared about that wanted me there. Sayid's body is stiff with surprise for a moment, but then he relaxes and holds me. "I'll go with you," I say. "But I hope you know how to sail, because I have no clue."

He smiles. "We'll figure that out in the morning. We should get some sleep tonight while we can."

"Did you know today is Thanksgiving?" I ask.

"What is Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, right, you're form Iraq. It's an American holiday. Basically we cook a bunch of food and celebrate what we're thankful for in life."

"And what are you thankful for, Tia?"

"Right now, the same as you. That I have someone to trust," I answer, squeezing my friend's hand.