BAY ST. LOUIS, Miss. Robert Elkins got word from a friend.

It was more of a rumor, really.

There was a tiny patch of cell phone reception on the edge of a washed-out bridge on the outskirts of town.

Authorities started to call it "the road to nowhere, with a connection to everywhere."

Nobody was sure why people could call from the tennis-court-size piece of land, but the important thing was that they could.

Gas, running water and electricity are like tiny miracles after a hurricane. Cell phone reception makes survivors feel human again, their lone tether to the outside world.

"It's great," said Elkins, a 26-year-old truck driver who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina's storm surge. "It's magic."

Elkins arrived at the bridge the first time last week and found perhaps a dozen storm-battered residents calling loved ones and insurance companies.

Word spread quickly.

Within days, as many as 30 people were there at any one time, holding their phones to the sky, walking around until they found the best reception. National Guard members and law enforcement officers came at night after civilian curfew to call family and loved ones.

"The best part of my day is coming here to make these calls," Elkins said Monday.

Addie Young, Elkins' grandmother, endured Katrina while caring for her husband, who recently had a stroke.

Every day, she looks forward to calling family and friends, to let them know they survived and to make plans.

"When you can't communicate, it's like you aren't human," she said.

The tiny cellular outpost fills with "I'm OKs," and "We lost everything," and "How is everybody?"

It's almost impossible to be there 10 minutes without someone breaking down in tears.

"It's our only contact with the outside world," said Tiffany Maddox, 30, whose home was damaged.

Maddox and her husband, Jimmy, bring their children to the cellular outpost as their only family outing for the day.

"We call everyone we can until the battery goes dead," she said. "It's how we get all our news."

Katrina destroyed Laurie and Troy Saucier's home, forcing them to live in a friend's house that is seriously damaged but still better than a shelter. The Sauciers used the island of cell phone reception to find safe places for their three children to stay, each in separate homes.

Now they walk over every morning to find reception to call their children and tell them they are loved, and not to worry, everything will be OK.

The cell phone "is the only thing we've got left," Troy Saucier said. "Without that, we'd have no way for anybody to reach us. We'd be abandoned."