Storm Tide Read Free Page A

the boat lists too far. We almost go over. Quickly, I pull back.
    â€œYou’ll have to brace on the other side,” I yell at Ellen. She slides over so that all her weight is on the opposite side of the boat. She leans as far over the other side as she can while still holding on to both oars.
    I try again. This time I manage to get my arms under the man without tipping the boat, but he is heavy. I almost drop him. I try a third time, and slowly his head and then his shoulders slide out of the water. I can hold him above water, but I can’t pull him up any farther.
    â€œEllen, let the gunwale dip further,” I yell. She leans her weight back toward the center of the boat. With a huge groan and all the strength I can find, I pull. The boat lists dangerously, but I lift the man until I can pull his head and shoulders into the boat.
    â€œQuick,” yells Ellen, as the boat takes on water. Together we grab at the man’s coat and slide him on board. He takes up most of the bottom of the boat. Ellen turns his face out of the water so that he can breathe.
    â€œGet into the seat,” shouts Ellen. “Grab an oar.” She doesn’t have to say it twice. If we don’t get this boat under control, we’re all going over.
    We tense and pull, tense and pull, tense and pull. The boat bounces on the waves. We can’t gain control. “There’s too much water in here.”
    Ellen hands me her oar and fumbles for the scoop under the seat. She finds it and starts bailing water. There is a ton of water in the boat, but she gets most of it out. Now the boat is easier to control. When she returns to the seat, I let her take an oar.
    Tense and pull, tense and pull, tense and pull. These are my only thoughts, my only actions. I’m too tired to think about the man at the bottom of the boat.
    It feels like hours later when we finally reach the shelter of the land. The wind and waves drop away. I let go of my oar and fall forward. Every muscle in my body screams at me as I let the boat drift onto the shore. It crunches onto the rocky beach, and Ellen and I crawl out. With the man on the bottom, the boat is as heavy as a yacht, and Ellen and I struggle to pull it up so it won’t float away with the tide. Both of us collapse back onto the beach.
    The beach never felt so wonderful. Every rock reminds me I am safe. “Aghhh…” is the only thing I can say as I lie there breathing.
    Then Ellen says, “What’s that noise?”
    I sit up. “Noise?”
    â€œListen.”
    There are seagulls, as always, screeching overhead. The trees creak in the wind, and the sea scratches at the rocks on the beach as it surges. But these sounds are always here. Then I hear something else.
    â€œIt’s the man. He’s moaning.” Ellen and I are up and looking over the gunwale of the boat in a second. My heart pounds fast. The man hasn’t moved, but he is making noise.
    â€œHe’s alive!” says Ellen. We smile at each other in relief.
    We manage to pull the man out of the boat. He opens his eyes for a second and moans.
    â€œHey, are you okay?” I ask.
    He doesn’t answer. His body goes limp, and we have to put our arms around his waist and half carry, half drag him onto the trail. It’s too narrow for the three of us, so we walk sideways in single file with me in front, then the man, then Ellen. Normally it takes ten minutes to walk from the far side of the bay to the boat shed. Today it takes ages. Every few seconds we have to stop to rest. I am panting and soaked through with sweat. I’ve never felt so hungry in my life. All I want is to reach home and hand this man over to Mom and Dad. I don’t even have the energy to talk.
    When we emerge from the bush and see the boat shed ahead of us, I say, “Oh no!” Mom and Dad aren’t back. The shed is just as we left it. There’s no motorboat.
    â€œI thought they’d be back by