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Dave hears the breakers from about two hundred yards away.

He can't see them in the dark, but the sound is unmistakable.

Rhythmic, steady.

Real bombs.

“Esteban!” he yells. “Tell these kids to hold on!”

What was it Boone always said, Dave thinks, that I could surf these waters blindfolded? Well, I hope he was right. You feel surfing more than you see it, but that's on a board, not a glorified rubber raft overloaded with helpless kids.

Doesn't matter, he tells himself.

That's what you have to do.

Surf this boat in.

He guns the engine to get as much speed as he can and prays that it's going to be enough. The last thing he wants to do is get into one of the mackers late, because he'd go over the top for sure and flip the boat. And he has to keep the boat straight, its bow perpendicular to the wave, because if he gets it even a little sideways, it will roll.

So he has to get into the wave right, angle the boat into the left break, and keep it moving when it crashes on the bottom or it will get swamped in the white water.

He feels the wave swelling under the boat, picking it up, and pushing it forward.

It's just another fucking wave, he tells himself. Nothing to it.

“Esteban!”

“Yes?”

“Who's that fucking saint you pray to?”

“San Andrйs!”

“Well, hook us up!”

The wave lifts and takes them over the top.

The kids scream.

He's in time. Now he tilts the rudder to break left and move diagonally down the face of the wave. He can feel the water rising behind him, then curling over him, and then they're out of the tube and the boat crashes heavily into the white water.

It bounces hard, and for a second he's afraid he's going to lose it, let it slip out from under him and turn sideways and get rolled, but he manages to keep it straight and it settles into the wash and glides into the mouth of the lagoon.

Dave says a quick prayer of thanks.

To San George Freeth.

“Esteban, take the rudder,” Dave says. When the kid, visibly shaken but grinning like a fool, takes over, Dave digs in his pocket for his cell phone.

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