The rain grew fiercer all morning. Ana Gathreaux stayed inside her cottage. She knew how migrating birds were forced down for days during a storm like this, how they burned up vital body fats they’d stored for their journey—they had only three days’ worth to go on—and how they’d need to find food before continuing south. The first-year fledges, who’d never migrated before, often made mistakes in weather such as this, miscalculated landmarks, headed out to sea in front of the storm. Those already migrating over water tried to find shelter wherever they could, on tankers or cargo ships or oil platforms. Thousands crowded on rails or decks, exhausted, panting (and sometimes crews simply swept them into the water). Most birds, however, had to keep flying.

At ten, the minibus failed to arrive at the inn. The ferries had been canceled. There’d be no trip to the naval yard that day. In the main house, Kevin pulled on rubber boots, his Australian riding coat. He’d volunteered to tell the guests in the cottages what to do if the power failed; Mrs. McIntyre would take the rooms in the main house.

Outside, the wind howled. Trees plunged. He could barely keep himself upright against the gale. He fought his way to the Whelk Cottage and banged on the door. There was no answer, but the lights shone inside. He knocked again. Rain sluiced down the oilcloth hood and into his face. Finally, the Bulgarian cracked open the door. He wore a white T-shirt and maroon sweatpants, and it looked as if he’d been sleeping. He left the door open and lumbered back into the room. Kevin stepped inside and shut the door behind. All the lights were burning, and the room smelled powerfully of unwashed clothes.

He began to explain to the Bulgarian that the trip to the naval yard was canceled and they might lose power. The man stood in the center of the room and appeared only partly aware of Kevin’s presence. Kevin wasn’t even sure he understood English; he hadn’t said a word yet since arriving at the inn. Perhaps he spoke only Bulgarian or Russian or whatever it was he spoke; who knew? If the power goes out, Kevin went on, he should come to the main house. The plumbing won’t work here. No electricity, no flushing toilets, no drinking water. But at the house—Kevin pointed—there’s a generator, and it will be warm. Everyone else will be there. Okay?

Kevin waited for a response. The Bulgarian simply gazed out the side window. The silence unnerved him, and there was something slightly menacing about the Bulgarian’s hulking figure, as if any moment he might smash something—including himself.

Do you understand? Kevin enunciated each vowel.

The Bulgarian lifted his eyes and gave Kevin a barely perceptible, heavy-lidded nod.