When he opened his eyes again he was aware of the surrounding stillness and his solitude in the diffused light that was late afternoon. He moved his tongue to wet his mouth and lips. His hand was still strapped to the tiller and his arm felt shrunken and hard. At least it feels like something he thought. He slid his hand off the tiller and a groan escaped from deep in his chest.

Andy stepped from the cabin shadows with a book in his hand and leaned over the ladder top. "You were really out of it. Are you okay?"

Filled with a strange peacefulness Mitchell eased his head forward to nod and almost smiled at the irony. "A little tired."

Andy reached back into the galley. "The stove’s crapped out. I’ve got some pasta soaking." He stepped onto the ladder and leaned out through the companionway to set a bowl of vegetable salad on Mitchell’s leg. "That’s the end of the fresh stuff," he said.