The Hobie skips waves and shreds seaweed, racing ahead of the storm. Dede, flattened on the mesh trampoline, grips its laces. If she lets go now, rolls off the side and into the crazed sea, could she make it to shore? She swam 400 meters at the Freeport Y once—but this? When she dares to lift her head and angle her eyes left, the island—a charcoal smudge above the wild green water—melts into a darkening sky. Too far, too rough to try.