>>447715717>4, 8, 16, 23, 42
Only numbers. No return address. Every week, without fail. >He runs the numbers by fellow crewmen.
No significance. No luck. Oh well. Off to Australia then. He dozes off as the ship departs...>Dez wakes up in agony, ears ringing >he finds himself on riverbed just below a treeline >he’s yanked by his shoulder and handed a torch>he looks up
*Locke hands him a torch*>Locke: Hey, we need to keep moving if we want to get back in time. >Dez: We? Is this...>Locke: Desmond, no. this is not a dream. But I’m starting to think there’s more to that concussion of yours.