"They're getting closer each time, Abby," Nat said reflectively. "Next time they probably will get us."
"But we're still together," Abby said fiercely. "And, if we're careful, they may never find us again."
Years passed. Nat and Abby's youthful happiness flowered into the contentment of those who have lived their allotted years in wisdom. Nat had retired many years before, and he and Abby were content with simple pleasures.
Evenings they sat together on the porch of their Florida cottage, enjoying the ocean breeze and each other's presence.
It was on such an evening that their world came to an end.
While they sat as usual, reminiscing, Nat wondered aloud if Anton Bor still lived. He scarcely had uttered the question before the grass on the lawn seemed to shimmer slightly, and a time machine materialized before their startled eyes. Its door burst open and three men sprang out with weapons ready.
After them came the halting, decrepit figure of an ancient Anton Bor, a paralysis gun wavering unsteadily in his shriveled hands.