As the dawn rises around them, standing on the top deck of the burning and sinking Galene, Illyria is furious at Angel‘s insinuations. “Would it have suited you better had I allowed my host to become a vampire?“

Angel shakes his head. He’s angrier than he’d like. “I wouldn’t have let that happen!”

“What makes you so certain you could stop it? You were not fighting some suburban-bred undead schoolboy. You were fighting your equal… Literally.“

Angel says that he has more experience than his past self, but the Old One is not so easily appeased. “Perhaps. But did you really want to risk that it could be me who ends up without a soul?“

Angel ponders her words. “You without… Would that even be possible? You couldn’t—” He turns to inquire why she would say such a thing, but comes face to face with Fred.

He groans in frustration. “Would you please stop doing that so suddenly?”

“It’s not like I can help it. Not usually, anyways.” Fred says, looking slightly bewildered. She sees the look of worry on her friend’s face. “But let’s not argue, okay? The actual problem is that the sun will be up soon and your past self is out there about to get flash-fried in an open boat. You and Illyria can discuss personal responsibility in disaster scenarios and all that good stuff after we rescue you.”

“That is a problem,” he tells her, but then turns in a flash, catching a flying beetle in his hand and squishing it. They both turn back to the flames. “But this is a worse one.”

The pirates are still fighting the crew, but the deckhand’s beetle has multiplied exponentially and now the crew are undead, walking, reproducing beetles from their foreheads as they lumber about. The pirates are easily holding back zombies, but the beetles are out of control.

Before Fred and Angel can move, a pile of crates bursts into flame beside them and he grabs her to safety. He sniffs the air.

“Smell that?”

Fred sniffs the air, but shrugs. “Burning tea leaves? You’d think they’d smell good, but I guess that’s too optimistic. Or do you mean the burning zombie flesh? Because that’s not very nice either.”

“No. Not that,” he says, and then, without explaining, runs towards where he knows the steerage wheel is. “We’ve got to turn this thing around!”

He yells back at Fred, his voice more concerned now than ever. “We’re heading back toward land! If we reach a harbour these bugs could infect a whole city!”

Fred rushes after him and gets slightly out of breath doing so. “What about Angelus? You know, your past self? The one who will be destroyed soon, if we don’t help him, thereby making you cease to exist?”

Angel knows. “But we can’t unleash something this horrible on the world either. Last time, I lived and the one bug went to the bottom before it could infect much of anyone. We’ve got to make sure this ship doesn’t reach shore. After seeing my former self in action, I don’t think this will be the end of him… Me. Don’t worry. Angelus is a determined survivor. He’ll find a way out of this on his own.”

He’s interrupted by the captain, still alive and holding his bloody cutlass. He looks up through squinted, smoke-filled eyes to look at Angel, calling him Angelus. He asks if he’s good in a fight. Angel says he would like to think so.

“Come on. You’ve been conscripted. We’ve got a Hell of a battle on our hands if we want to save the Galene.” He then leers at Fred. He’s not very friendly. He tells Angel that he would rather have the woman off the ship — he thinks they’re bad luck.

He directs Angel towards the wheel. The deckhand, the very first one who had the box, is at the wheel, still talking to himself, jabbering away almost incoherently.

“Our time has come. When we reach our new home, we will swarm beyond counting. You think you can stop destiny?”

Angel grabs the deckhand from behind, placing the man in a chokehold. “It’s worth a shot.” The captain grabs the wheel.

Angel notices a beetle going past him, but can’t move in time. Fred shouts a warning to the captain, who doesn’t see the bug or hear Fred’s warning to cover his face. The beetle lands, does what it needs to with that now-sickening popping noise — so inconsequential before — and flies off.

Angel has his hands full now. He’s let go of the deckhand and two more dead, zombified crewmen surround him. “Fred! You’ve got to take the wheel!” When she looks at him with fear on her face, he looks back at her through punches. “Don’t think about it, just do it!”

She grabs the wheel and spins it instinctively. When something moves in front of her, she barely notices — until she hears the popping sound again.

A beetle emerges from his forehead, and it’s not long before the captain is raised to his feet, mindless, slowly dragging his feet as he moves the few steps towards Fred.

It lunges for her and Fred screams.

Hearing his friend, Angel knocks two more crewmen away and grabs a barrel. He hits it across the captain’s head and the man falls to the deck, but he’s still conscious. He gets up again and Angel turns, kicking him, avoiding a punch. The zombified captain is now aflame, his hands full of fire, threatening Angel with immolation with every blow. As Angel bends to duck out of the way, he hears wood creak and break — the sail. He looks up, sees the damage caused by the fire, and knows the ship is doomed.

“Well… that’s not good.” The falling debris from the sail and beam lands near enough to the captain to knock him off his feet. Angel turns and looks for Fred, but can’t see her.

He calls her name a second time, getting more anxious. The fire has taken hold completely now, and he finds it hard to see. By the time he calls her name a third time, the zombified crew are rising again.

He leaps to avoid them, once again calling for Fred.

Then the ship lurches hard to one side, the deck rocking and throwing the crew and its intruders off the ship, crashing into the ocean below. Angel hangs on by a piece of rope, one that is deathly close to flame. He looks up into the sky, which is getting brighter every second.

As the rope above him snaps, he prepares himself to fall, but is surprised when a hand grabs his wrist and pulls him back up to the safety of the deck. Angel smiles when he gets there.

“Hello, Illyria. I take it this is your doing?” He looks around at what’s left of the boat.

“Someone needed to do something.“

Angel figures out her intentions. “So, you sank the ship and restored this timeline to what I remember. Only this time it will be us escaping on the pirate ship instead of my younger self and Darla? That makes a kind of poetic sense.”

Illyria shakes her head with no concern. “I sank the other ship too. Two enormous matching holes below the water line. They will be on the bottom shortly.“

Angel looks frightened now. “What? With the sun rising? I appreciate drowning the bugs, but I would have liked to live to tell the tale!”

The Old One turns towards him, unimpressed. “You credit Angelus with the wits to survive this, but not yourself? That hardly seems fair. Are you not the same person in many ways? Soul or no soul, you are a survivor. Only your reasons for wanting to live have changed. Besides, I have got a plan.“

As she says it, the boat finally gives way beneath them, the deck splitting, sending everything to the bottom of the sea. Angel grabs the lid of a barrel and holds it close. Then he and Illyria leap from the boat and plunge into the depths below.

They make for a lifeboat, abandoned and floating safely in the water a few yards away. Angel gets to it, using the barrel to shield his face from the sun.

“Illyria? Are you here? For that matter, are you still you?”

There’s no response and the boat is empty. He shouts louder, adding that he does not want to have to get back into the water after her.

A voice from behind him gets his attention. This time, an annoyed Fred crawls up the side of the life raft.

“Don’t bother. I’m right here. Could use a little help getting in though.”

She thanks Angel as he helps her, still shielding. She sighs. “I wish Illyria would leave me in more convenient places.”

They sit back to back, with Fred’s head holding the barrel lid between them. She asks Angel about Angelus and Darla. Will they be okay?

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but… what if you miss your appointment with your soul because you’re all water-logged or in the belly of a shark or something?”

Angel shakes his head. That’s not what’s happened to Angelus. Fred asks if his memories have changed again. He nods.

“Yeah. It feels odd, but I keep getting flashes as it happens to him. To me. Like, right now, they’ve flipped the boat and they’re under it.”

Fred turns slightly, so Angel can hear her clearly. “Angel, you being this close to your past self can’t be healthy. I mean forget stepping on a butterfly. We’re changing the past in huge ways. You’ve got to get Illyria’s perspective next time you see her.”

Angel agrees. “If she gives me a chance. Not big on talking, Illyria. Usually more intent on doing.”

Fred’s voice is frustrated. “Well, maybe if she did talk more we’d be able to understand what’s going on with this time skipping. Because there’s more to this than meets the eye. If I could just find a pencil maybe I could work it out…”

She starts to look around the boat, searching the floor, and then begins to empty the pockets of the clothes she appropriated. A handkerchief and a small penknife. She swears in annoyance.

“Not even a compass! What kind of sailor leaves port without one?”

Angel’s tone suggests humour, an attempt to keep their morale up. There’s nothing around them but ocean as far as the eye can see, the Galene now at the bottom of the sea. The sun is now high in the midday sky. “I wish you had found an umbrella though. A great big black one that casts a lot of shade.”

A splash of water hits him in the face. Angel reacts in surprise, sputtering and asking Fred why she did that.

“I didn’t splash you! It’s getting choppier. The wind’s picking up. Good thing you can survive underwater. I don’t know how this thing will hold up in a storm.”

As the boat starts to rock even more, the waters become more and more violent beneath them. Angel ponders the situation, but can’t look properly due to his shield and the sun. “I’ve spent enough time at sea to know there isn’t a storm coming any time soon. Which is good, since you might have a hard time holding your breath as long as me.”

Fred swears again as the boat rocks.

“Maybe we can call the Aunts!” she yells, thinking aloud. “With a rough idea of where we are, they could pinpoint our location and I could figure out which way we should go…” She trails off when she realises that her solution wouldn’t help. “…which would still leave us in the middle of nowhere, stuck in the past.”

“We’d be better off than we are now. Here, you’d better—” Angel’s words are cut off by another violent rocking.

The scrying bowl falls from the inside of his coat and rolls down the boat towards Fred. He looks up at her expectantly, but is surprised to see Fred isn’t looking at him. She’s looking into the water.

“Angel… We’ve got company!”

He looks around in horror. The crew of the Galene are still zombified and are in the water, clawing at the boat.