“Get forward, Li,” Biff shouted. “Let the anchor go!”
The sound of the pounding surf came nearer. Biff prayed that the anchor would grab and hold. He fought the tiller, trying to keep the yawl from being swept ashore broadside. Then, suddenly, the yawl was lifted high on the crest of a roller, as if handled by a giant. When it crashed down into a churning trough of water, Biff’s grasp on the tiller was torn loose. He felt himself being hurled through the air. Then he struck the water with a thud, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Biff felt himself go under. Then he was lifted by another roller. Surfacing, he gasped for air. His arms flailed the water. The waves tossed him about, carrying him nearer and nearer the shore. Biff struggled to ride the waves, to keep control of his body so that he might avoid being dashed on the shore. He was hoping against hope that this would be a sand, not coral beach.
After a seemingly endless struggle, Biff, kicking out, felt his feet touch bottom. Nothing had ever felt so good before. His feet were touching a powdery sand, now roiled up, but at least, it wasn’t a coral bottom.
Biff found himself in waist-deep water. The shoreline was only a few feet in front of him. He staggered through the surf, reached the black sand beach, and threw himself face down on the sand. Every muscle in his body felt as if it had been pounded, pummeled, pulled, and strained.
Then he thought of Li. He turned over and rose to his knees. He saw the Easy Action. Her anchor had caught and held. She was pounding up and down on the rough waters, but Biff could see that she was holding.
But where was Li?
Biff stood up. He went to the water’s edge. He walked out until the water raced around his knees. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted:
“Li! Li!”
There was no answer.