The opening of 'Last Stand of the Grand Strand'...waiting in line to be published...

The closest house was at least a quarter mile north of where the three young surfers enjoyed the seclusion. While the three to four feet waves offered no great challenges, beggars couldn’t be choosey along this stretch of Grand Strand beach. The pack made up of Cody, Tanner and Newt, sixteen year old best buds, were content to riding the bumps, pumped just to be on the ocean. Tanner had just pulled off a duck dive as he approached the other two straddling their boards.

“These are lame bumps today,” commented Newt.

“It’s tough to do much carving today, for sure,” added Tanner,

“Where’s your dream waves,” asked Newt, paddling up beside the pack.

Tanner bobbed his head up and down. “Got to be the Trestles in Orange County, Cal. It’ supposed to have easy paddle-outs and high-quality breakers.”

“No man. Numero uno has to be the Pipeline in Oahu. Threading the nettle, how cool would that be. Hell, just bobbing the perfect crest would be awesome.” Cody gave the hang ten sign.

“I’d do the box,” said Newt. “It has late takeoffs and right hand barrels.”

“Yeah, right, sharky place to surf, dude,” scoffed Tanner.

“I would. Sure, it’s sharky as hell but it would be worth it. Anywhere in Australia is going to have those great whites. Double daring makes it cool. Same goes for the Supertubes of Jeffrey’s Bay in South Africa. Surfing Magazine said that’s where the best right-handed rides in the world are.”

With that, Newt broke off and got one but misjudged his dismount, hamming his left wrist against the sandy bottom. He held his left arm trying to shake off the stinging pain. One thing for sure, he wasn’t going to let on to the others. He bellied down on the board and paddle back out. Once there, he flipped over on his back and decided to take a break. He rode the bumps, facing towards the ocean while Cody and Tanner searched for the next dune, wishing they actually existed along the Atlantic Grand Strand.

“Look,” called out Tanner, pointing to an enormous swell, “Got to be a rogue.”

The ocean piled up, a small concentrated mountain forming and heading directly towards them. Newt, fifteen yards away, still lying flat, the splashing water to the side of his ears had obstructed him from hearing Cody and Tanner’s excitement. They had already turned, belly down, paddling towards shore, timing to catch the once in a life time big one, clearly now stacking upwards of fifteen feet. It was upon them quicker than they had anticipated. Tanner managed to make it just ahead of the potential crest, while Cody was still paddling like hell.

White water broke like no other they had ever experienced. A gaping hole opened in the wave, a dark cavity lined with rows of gigantic razor sharp teeth. Cody, surf board and all was sucked into the hole in the wave, swirling as if caught in a giant flushing toilet. Tanner was up, balancing on his board, but something wasn’t the norm. He glanced over his shoulder to see why. Caught off guard by something entirely un-wave like, he fell off his board just as his board disappeared inside the nightmare. Still attached at the ankle, he was towed along for the ride. A Tsunami crashed on shore washing away their street clothes and cooler resting on the beach, any signs of them ever being there.

Newt, now aware of the pattern change in the water, up righted himself, straddled the board and then padded to face the shore. A huge bump was now moving ocean bound. He had never witnessed a wave this large, one moving away from the shore. It was maybe twenty yards wide and heading in his direction. Screams made him shift his stare. Thrashing about just behind the crest of the wave was Tanner being dragged helplessly behind it? Newt was spellbound. It was unclear what he should do about the approaching bass-ackwards wave and his friend in distress. The wave crashed inward and Newt watched helplessly, too late to avoid the evitable.

Seconds later the Atlantic Ocean was as if nothing had ever happened. The pack, boards and all, were gone. Three young surfers with aspirations of the hanging perfect ten would never be found. Only their beat up Ford parked on an old beach access dirt road would mark the last place they had visited. A search would turn up nothing, surf boards reduced to tiny pieces that would wash ashore eventually but would never be recognized for what they once were.