After an endless series of heaves and lurches and lunges, the cow had managed to help slide him across her threshold into light and warmth. At least he assumed it was warm. He'd lost all feeling.

"Lord, you're all but frozen. I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to cut you out of those wet clothes. There's not much left to them anyway. Mostly charred rags."

During the next few minutes he felt himself rolled left and right as he assumed his tattered clothing was being ripped or cut away.

"Don't you worry about me staring at your bum or your privates. I got what they call wet AMD - macular degeneration. You're mostly a blur to me."

He wasn't worried about that. Survival was his concern.

She left him, then returned. He felt a blanket fall over him.

"You're gonna have to stay there on the rug for now, I'm afraid. No way we're gonna get you up on the couch. But this here's an electric blanket. It'll warm up shortly and start raising your temperature."

Good. Warmth. He'd thought he'd never be warm again.

"What happened to you? I heard an explosion and saw something light up out on the water. That you? Your boat blow up?"

Exactly what had happened, but he could not imagine how. He'd been free. The burning house had been a glow fading in his wake when something shot out of the darkness and struck the rear of the boat, hurling him through the air and into the water. He remembered nothing until he washed up on this shore.

"Well, whatever happened, you need a doctor and a hospital, especially for that hand. From what I can see it's all charred, and I guess that's good because it's not bleeding, but that stump's gonna need specialist care."

No! He was too weak. He'd be vulnerable in a hospital. Defenseless.

"But no way you're gonna get to one tonight. The phone's not working worth a damn, and even if it was, I don't see anyone coming out in this storm. So we're gonna have to ride it out together tonight and see what the morning brings. I'll get the boat out here as soon as it can make the trip."

He could not allow her to call for help, but how could he stop her? He fought to stay conscious, but it slipped away ...

... until he felt himself rolled onto his side.

"Here," she was saying.

His head was propped on pillows or cushions. He knew only that they were soft. He felt a straw pressed between his swollen lips.

"Drink some of that."

He drew on the straw. Hot salty liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed and greedily sucked more.

"I heated you up a can of chicken broth. Drink as much as you can. With the electric blanket cooking you on the outside and this working from the inside, we'll have you warmed up yet."

This cow ... if he survived this, she would be rewarded.

He swallowed more and took a breath. He tried his voice. He had to know.

"Where...?" was all he could manage. His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. He must have inhaled smoke, perhaps even a little flame.

"Oh, so you can speak. Well, your voice don't sound too good. Maybe you better save it. As for where you are - little place called Sadie's Island, in the middle of Gardiner's Bay. And me? I'm Sadie. Sadie Swick. I own this little hunk of rock and I'm its sole resident. And how about you? What are you called?"

What name to use? He'd had so many of them. He chose an old one at random.

"Roma," he croaked.

"Like the quarterback? Any relation?"

So many people had asked him those questions when he'd started using the name. He had no idea what they were talking about at first, but he'd soon learned.

"Rome-AH," he said.

"Like the city then. Got a first name?"

"Sal."

"A real Italian, ay? You don't look Italian, but then I've known a bunch of Italians who don't. Welcome to Sadie's Island, Sal. Wish it could have been under better circumstances but..."

She talked on but her voice faded with his consciousness.