"I'm sorry, it was an accident."

Annie held up the broken frame, hoping Marilla wouldn't be too upset with her. Instead, the woman smiled.

"It's all right darling. Mistakes happen."

She walked over and snatched the two photos out of Annie's hands, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at the images with thoughtful eyes.

"Who … who is Timmy?" Annie asked quietly as she walked over and stood near the bed.

Marilla looked up at her, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"He is – was – our son."

"Oh." Annie's face fell into a somber look and she sat down next to Marilla.

"It would have been his birthday next month," she said. "I miss him terribly."

"If you don't mind me asking … what happened to him?"

"The Flare darling." Marilla wiped an errant tear off her cheek. "He was so young … there was nothing we could do to protect him."

"That's terrible … I'm so sorry."

"Oh no matter, it's not your fault." Marilla patted the back of her hand gently. "It just gets lonely on this boat, and I miss hearing his laugh. I'd do anything to have him back, but …"

She wiped another tear away and then suddenly stood up and held out her hand.

"Come darling. I think I need a drink, and I don't want to drink alone."

Annie looked at Marilla's outstretched hand and then around the room. She hadn't finished packing yet; Newt would be angry with her if she delayed them. But Marilla looked so melancholy, it was impossible to refuse her.

"All right."

She placed her hand in Marilla's, who squeezed her fingers tight and pulled her off the bed.

They went upstairs and across the deck, hand-in-hand, toward the lounge. Inside, Marilla picked up the bottle of her special mix off the bar cart. Annie's stomach turned as she thought about drinking more of that potent liquor, but she sat down and forced a smile as her host poured her a glass. Clark entered, keeping to the edges of the room with a curious look on his face.

"All right my pearl?"

"It will be." Marilla clinked her glass to Annie's, and smiled as she tilted it back and swallowed.

Annie took a sip and coughed. It was even stronger than she remembered, and she was going to refuse the rest when Marilla picked up the bottle again and topped her glass off.

"To Timmy," she said brightly.

"To Timmy," Annie repeated.

XXXXX

Newt dropped Luann and backed up against the wall.

"I never liked her," Marilla said. "And it wasn't just because she was still sleeping with my husband."

Newt raised his hands up, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

"Marilla … what the hell have you done."

"I did what I had to do." She ran the gun across her forehead, sweeping her loose hair back with its muzzle.

"Now," she said, "What to do with you."

"With me? What have I done? What is going on?"

"Oh darling, it has nothing to do with you. Not really, anyway. It's always been about the girl."

"The girl?" He scrunched his face up. "You mean Annie?"

Marilla laughed, but it was not a sound of mirth. "Did you really think we were so naive as to let two strangers onto our boat, in this climate? To feed you and serve you drinks and let you sleep in our beds, out of charity?"

She moved forward, and Newt steeled himself against the wall.

"Darling, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful actress. She had a doting director husband, and a gorgeous baby boy. One day, the flare hits. World is in disaster, chaos everywhere."

She continued to move closer. His eyes remained fixed on the gun in her steady hand, aimed at his chest.

"Now, who do you expect goes first in this new world of ours? The baby, of course. Infected by his mother, unaware that the food she provided at her own breast was really a poison to him."

Newt's eyes flicked to her face as a wave of fresh surprise ran through his body. The realization of who – of what - she really was.

"Now, every time she tries to have another baby, another son to fill the hole in her heart, her body rejects it. Knows she's diseased. That she's not fit to carry life into this new world. But she so desperately, desperately wants another child for the one she has lost – for herself, for her husband. She'd been driven absolutely mad with longing darling. But in this forsaken world, it's impossible."

"Unless," she said, stepping in front of Newt until the barrel of the gun was pointed firmly against him. "That person was immune."

Newt looked down at the gun, then back up at Marilla, his face unreadable.

"Annie."

She nodded as her eyes sparkled. "Now you're catching on."

"Luann … now she was our first choice," she continued. "Joke was on us though; turns out, being immune doesn't prevent you from being barren. Her womb was as empty as her head.

"But then, who shows up on our doorstep but a girl who says she's immune – young, beautiful, smart. Everything I could ever want my future child to inherit. Sure, I might not be able to see it grow into an adult, but that's just the hand I've been dealt. So I screwed my courage to the sticking place, as they say, and vowed to try again. You see, I'd give anything to my husband Newt. Anything. Even something that isn't mine to give."

He felt that he was going to be sick. He had no idea where Annie was, if she was even safe. He felt the cold end of the gun through his shirt, knew he could be minutes or only seconds away from death. But all he could think about was her.

"So where do I fit in your story then, if Annie's who you want?" He asked. "Are you just going to kill me?"

Her smile faltered as she looked at him, and for a moment she appeared almost sympathetic.

"Oh darling. I've seen the look on that face of yours every time I look in the mirror. You're infected. I can't kill what's already dead."

She wrapped her finger around the trigger at the same time Newt pushed out. He knocked her backward with his full force before dodging to the side. He landed on the waterbed, and buoyed up and down as the shot hit one of the round windows, shattering it.

He clambered off the bed and kept his head low as Marilla raised the gun again, taking another shot that tore a hole through his jacket and took a chunk out of the vanity.

He grabbed the vanity chair as he ran out of the room. He slammed the door behind him and wedged the chair under the handle. He took a step back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, and then jumped as the door shook.

Marilla stood on the other side, moaning and cursing at him as she tried to pull the door open.

The chair held.

His heart pounded in his ears as he ran up the stairs, unsure how much time he had bought himself. He could feel sweat trickling down his back under his jacket, mixing with the metallic scent of blood.

Above deck, he couldn't hear Marilla. He headed toward the Montgomery's room, heartsick over what he might find. That he might be too late. The solid wood door was ajar, and he pushed it open a few more inches. A light breeze came in through an open window, causing the sheer curtains to dance off the walls. The room was tidy as always. There was no sign anyone had been there at all.

"Where are you Williams?" He asked aloud.

Suddenly he cocked his head. Was that ...? Yes, it was music. He turned around and left the room, heading across the deck as fast as his legs could carry him. He skidded to a stop just outside the lounge. There was definitely music coming from inside; more of the big band sounds from the night before.

He looked through one of the round windows built into the door. The lounge looked empty, and he almost let out a groan when his eyes settled on something hunched over in one of the leather chairs.

He opened the door and walked tentatively across the carpeted room toward the chair. He went around it, and he felt his throat catch.

Annie sat slumped over, hair covering her face. There was a glass knocked over by her feet, its liquid poured out onto the carpet, soaking it with the smell of alcohol and vanilla.

"Bloody hell Annie, what have they done to you?"

He crouched down before her and reached out, putting his hands on her knees. She didn't move. With one trembling hand he pushed her hair back, then let it run softly down her shoulder.

"Hey," he said with a gentle urgency. "Williams."

Her eyes blinked open, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Newt?" She croaked.

"Yeah." He put his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. He tried to smile encouragingly.

"W-what ..." Her voice slurred, eyes unable to focus. "Newt?" She asked again.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay. I'm going to get you out of here love."

He stood up and grabbed one of her arms, wrapping it around his neck. He pulled, lifting her from the seat.

"Going somewhere?"

Newt's shoulders stiffened. He lowered Annie back down into the chair and then raised his head toward the voice.

Clark stood in the doorway, a drink in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other.

Newt stood up again, keeping one firm hand on Annie's shoulder as he pointed the other at Clark.

"Don't come any closer."

Clark rolled his eyes and entered the room, ignoring Newt's threats.

"It's my ship boy." He said. "I can do whatever I damn well please."

"What did you give her?" Newt asked, eyes narrowing as Clark walked across the room. The man didn't appear to be armed, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

"Oh, just some more of Marilla's Mix. Bourbon with a splash of Bliss."

"Bliss?" Newt echoed. Of course. He had always heard the rich liked to indulge in the drug for pleasure, but now that he knew Marilla's secret, it all made sense. He thought back to the night before, how Annie had become drunk so quickly. But she hadn't been drunk - she had been drugged.

"The world is ending my boy," Clark said as he stopped at the bar cart. "But that doesn't mean we can't go down in style."

He swirled his glass and nodded toward Annie.

"I'm sure you're wondering what is going to happen with your friend here."

"Your wife filled me in," Newt said tersely. He stared at Clark, eyes tight.

"I see." Clark raised the glass to his lips and chuckled. "And where is my Marilla now?"

"I locked her in a room below deck, after she tried to shoot me."

"Is that right?" Clark laughed again. "You know, I never figured you to be so handy Newt. I mean, look at you. You don't exactly inspire confidence on first glance. But when you finished the boat ahead of schedule, we had to adjust our plans accordingly."

Newt said nothing. He knew Clark needed no prodding to make a speech. And the more he let Clark stall by talking, the more time he had to figure a way out of this.

"I thought perhaps you'd be taken care of in town, but then you persuaded the girl to go with you. It was so hard watching her leave, knowing she might not make it back, but not being able to force her to stay. Marilla thought the dinner party would be a good idea, to keep you on a little longer. I mean, you made it clear how quickly you wanted to get away."

"Can you blame me?" Newt scoffed.

"No boy, I can't." His brows knitted together over his twinkling eyes. "You know, I liked you Newt. I really did. I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in all this."

"It doesn't have to end like this," Newt said. "You can let us go. Annie and I won't tell anyone, not even about Luann. You can get on with your life."

Clark smirked. "Luann? What about Luann?"

"That Marilla shot her not ten minutes ago."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Horseshit."

"I'm serious," he said. "Whose blood do you think this is?" He pulled his jacket back and pointed to his stomach.

Clark's eyes widened ever so slightly. His mouth parted and then closed again. He cleared his throat and leaned back on the bar cart.

"Yes, well, Marilla has grown quite desperate." His chin quivered as he glanced down at his drink, betraying his unaffected facade.

"The flare will do that to a person," Newt quipped.

"The what now?" Clark asked. He barked a laugh. "You're mistaken boy. My Marilla is immune, like me. Like all of us."

Newt looked up at Clark, and a sick thrill went through him as he realized he now had the upper hand. Clark had no idea about Marilla, about what she was hiding from him. He removed his hand from Annie's shoulder and started to slowly cross the room.

"Am I?" Newt asked. "Think about it. Why do you think she drinks Bliss, Clark?"

"Because we're rich, you dolt, what the hell else are we supposed to do to entertain ourselves?"

"And Timmy?" Newt asked, not waiting a beat. "How do you think he got infected?"

Clark twitched at the name of his son, but kept his eyes fixed on Newt.

"He was just a boy. A wee thing. The flare has no favorites."

"What about Marilla herself, then?" Newt asked. Something inside him had shifted; he now felt like a cat playing with a very foolish mouse. He enjoyed watching Clark's brain turn under the new information, trying to judge whether to take Newt's words seriously.

"What about her?"

"Why do you think she gets you all riled up, and then nothing?" He asked, echoing Clark's own words back at him. "It's because she's hiding what she really is Clark - the thing you brag about killing, the thing you called a 'disgusting creature'."

"You're wrong," he said, voice wavering.

"Why do you think Marilla needed someone other than herself to carry her baby?" Newt pressed.

"She's too old ..." Clark reasoned. "It's not ... it's not safe for her."

"No," Newt said, shaking his head. He knew he had him. And the sooner Clark realized he was telling the truth, the sooner this all would be over.

"It's because she - that disgusting creature - cannot bring life into this world. She needed someone immune, Clark. And she's not immune. She's a crank."

Clark's face reddened as his nostrils flared, taking in rapid, shallow breaths that punctuated the silence in the room. He threw his glass against the wall, shattering it, and Newt jumped.

"You shut your goddamn mouth boy."

He rushed at Newt and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, shoving him hard against the wall.

"You know it's true," Newt spat out. He raised his chin, looking down at Clark with a satisfied expression. "I can see it in your eyes."

The veins in Clark's forehead bulged as his eyes burned into Newt's. He hadn't wanted to hurt him, but now the boy would pay for his impetuosity.

"You know," Clark reasoned coolly, "It's a shame your story has to end here, like this. Knowing there's nothing you can do to save her. Your friends never knowing you were coming for them. What will uh ... oh what was his name ... Thomas? What will he do without you?"

At the name of his best friend, Newt's hands clenched at his sides. His skin tingled, and everything in the room shifted in his vision.

"I bet he's glad to be rid of you, pathetic as you are." Clark said. "And Annie - she won't miss you at all, once I'm through with her."

He winked and flashed Newt a lopsided grin.

A sickening crack sounded throughout the room, and seconds later Clark staggered back, staring at Newt in surprise as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

Newt stood, feet planted wide, rubbing one hand over his knuckles.

"Aha," Clark said as he spat on the ground. "So you have it in you after all boy ..."

He laughed and rounded on Newt. He raised a fist, about to strike, and then stopped. His eyes were locked wide, face ashen. His mouth hung open, but for the first time no words came out.

"I thought ..." He backed away.

Newt blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what had suddenly spooked Clark.

"Immune ..."

Newt looked down. The veins in his skin were turning from a healthy green to a darkening grey. He felt hot, too hot, and the muscles under his stitches ached. He had to fight the sudden urge to scratch them out, to dig into the wound. He suddenly wanted to hit Clark again, wanted to hurt him and stop him from ever hurting anyone else.

Clark had manipulated them. He had used Thomas' name as a weapon against him. He was planning to take Annie away from him, to hurt her.

Without another thought he let out a yell and charged.

He collided into Clark's stomach, knocking him to the ground. Clark scrambled, grasping onto the bar cart to pull himself up. It tipped over, sending bottles of liquor and glasses and metal tools everywhere.

Desperate to protect himself from the infected boy, Clark grabbed at the nearest object - a long bar knife - and got to his feet, swiping out at Newt as blood continued to drip from his split lip. Newt jumped out of the way, keeping a keen eye on Clark, moving backward until he felt his back press up against a wall.

Clark saw his chance and pounced at him, pinning Newt's body against the wall with his own weight as he pressed his forearm firmly against Newt's neck. He held the knife to his chest, felt the soft resistance of Newt's flesh against the sharp tip. He pressed in.

Newt tried to strike out at Clark, tried to kick up at him. He felt the knife, white hot, cutting through his stitches; could feel the warmth of his own blood seeping into his shirt, mixing with Luann's. He wanted to scream at the pain, but no sound could come out.

"You have to understand Newt," he said. "The world may have changed, but one thing hasn't. I always get what I want."

The room was fading. Newt felt his body twitch involuntarily, shutting down from the lack of oxygen.

This is it, he thought. This is how I die - again. Goodbye Tommy. Goodbye Annie. I'm sorry. I tried.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly, he heard a loud thwack and felt the weight of Clark fall into him, sending them both crashing to the ground. On the floor Newt grabbed at his own throat, gulping in air as the knife fell with a clatter nearby.

Newt opened his eyes to see Annie standing over Clark.

"Newt."

She smiled at him, and then her face went pale as she dropped an oar and collapsed to the ground.

"Annie!"

With a loud grunt Newt rolled Clark off of him and he crawled over to her unconscious body.

"Hey," he said, raising her head into his lap and slapping her cheek lightly. "Hey, wake up!"

She was unresponsive. He knew he had to get her off the boat, had to get them both to The Timmy Too. He scooped her lifeless form up into his arms and carried her out of the room, eyes darting around the expansive deck.

He moved as fast as he could down the ramp toward the trawler. He wasn't sure how long his lucidity would last; if the rage Clark had caused within him had subsided now that Clark was dealt with. He tossed Annie over the railing of the boat before hopping over himself.

"Come back darlings!"

Newt looked up. Marilla stood at the edge of her namesake ship. She gripped the railing, dress blowing in the wind. She still had Annie's gun, and she raised it with one shaking hand.

Newt ducked down, but the gun wasn't pointed at them.

Instead, Marilla raised it to her own head, and closed her eyes.

Newt looked away. But instead of a gunshot blast, he heard a strangled cry.

He looked up, and saw Clark with his arms wrapped around his wife. She crumpled to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

"No!" He heard her scream. "No!"

In that moment, he no longer felt anger. There was no room for anger in this world of theirs, not anymore. Only pity. Only mercy.

He stood up and went to the wheel, starting the engine and putting the boat into drive. He pulled away from the dock, refusing to turn around and have one final look at everything they were leaving behind. From now on, he would only look ahead.

Once they were a safe enough distance away, Newt slowed the boat and went over to check on Annie. He leaned down and covered her with his jacket, brushing a stray hair off her forehead and letting his fingertips rest for just a moment on her cool skin. He didn't want to think about how close they had been to losing everything, to losing each other.

He looked up at the sky toward the west. The sun was shining, heating the world around him. He hoped it would be smooth sailing the rest of the way.

Red sky at night ... his mind said, vaguely recalling some sort of rhyme. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the rest, but nothing came to him. No matter, maybe Tommy could tell him how it went.

Thomas. He grinned as he got up and went back to the wheel. He pushed the throttle forward, speeding up the boat. He glanced at the compass. Southwest. They were finally on their way; nothing was going to stop them this time.

He looked up at the sky once more, smiling at their good fortune, at the life he had ahead of him.

Except the sun was no longer shining.

His face fell as black dots filled his vision. His legs wobbled, and he tightened his grip on the wheel.

"What ..."

Without another word he fell to the ground, and all went dark.

Annie opened her eyes slowly, blinking in the darkness. Her head hurt, and her body felt like she had crashed into a tree - again. She pushed herself up, but her stomach churned, and she stumbled to the railing and retched over the side.

Slowly she raised her head and looked around. She was on The Timmy Too, floating in the middle of the ocean.

She turned around, wiping her mouth, and let out a choked cry.

"Newt!"

He was on the ground, next to the base of the wheel. She rushed over to him and crouched down, pushing him onto his back.

His skin was cold, and the dark veins that crept up his neck were accentuated against his pale skin in the moonlight. She pushed his hair out of his eyes, and grabbed his hand, eyes blurring as she looked down at him.

"Newt," she said, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. Come back," she pleaded.

She let her head fall into her hands as sobs racked her body. They were so close, but in the end she had let him down. He never should have trusted her. She had failed him.

Something weighted on her leg, and she looked down between her fingers to see Newt's hand reaching for her.

"Annie," he said hoarsely.

She hiccuped, and tucked her hair behind her ears, looking at him with glowing eyes.

"Newt! You're all right, I -,"

"You have to … map …"

"What?" She leaned forward, unsure what he was trying to say but desperate all the same to hear his voice.

"Map … Safe … Haven."

She looked around and saw a piece of paper fluttering on the ground near the railing. She got up and went over to it. It was a map, showing the island they were going to. She took it back over to Newt.

"Where are we?" She asked him as she sat back down.

"You …" His eyes fluttered.

"Newt?" Her voice was laced with alarm.

He cleared his throat, trying to sit up, but she put her hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.

"Don't," she said. "Stay still."

"You have to … get us there." He coughed.

"Me?" She asked.

He nodded and put his hand out again. "I trust you."

Fresh tears came to her eyes, and before she knew what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as she buried her face in his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "We should have stayed in the town, I should have listened to you, I'm sorry -,"

"Shh," he murmured against her hair. "Slim it Williams. This isn't your fault."

"Can I do anything for you?" She asked. "What do you need?"

"Just ... sit with me a minute longer?" He wrapped his arms tight around her as her tears soaked his blood-stained shirt.

His heart was beating steadily, but it was faint. She thought back to that first night when she had seen him lying on the ground. She had taken his pulse then to see if he was alive even though a small part of her had hoped he wasn't. Now she would do anything to keep him by her side. His breath slowed, and she looked up, realizing he had gone out of consciousness as his body went lax.

She gently pushed herself away and put his jacket back over him. She went to the wheel, and laid the map out, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Okay Annie," she told herself. "You can do this. Get the boat to the Safe Haven. Get him home."

She studied the map and looked up. By her novice calculations, they should be heading more south. She turned the wheel, and the boat jerked to the left.

She gave one last look at Newt before driving into the deep blue, praying for a miracle.