Ruby Anderson

Glenn glances to his right.

There is only one option.

He and Ruby are going to have to swim across the reef and into the bay, where the current will be less strong.

From there, they'll have to swim directly for the mainland.

Grimacing, Glenn turns his body and, with one arm tight around Ruby's chest, begins swimming towards the reef.

The sea here is even rougher, as the waves break against the shallow rock, churning the water into a deadly whirlpool.

Eventually Glenn and Ruby make it across the reef and into the slightly calmer waters of the bay.

They're through the most dangerous stretch, but getting past the reef was a sprint.

Now they have a marathon ahead of them, a long, arduous swim to shore.

Plus, crossing the reef has sealed their separation from the others.

And more importantly, from the EPIRB.

Without the satellite beacon, the father and daughter are truly on their own.

It's about an hour later.

Glenn's muscles burn as he toes his daughter's weakened body through the waves, kicking his legs with as much power as he can muster.

Ruby shivers violently in his arms, her teeth chattering.

Glenn is a strong swimmer, but this awkward way of moving through the water with one arm around Ruby's chest is testing his abilities.

No sooner has he found a rhythm than the acid build-up becomes too painful and he has to readjust grip.

Every feeble kick, every limp, laboured stroke, they gain a modicum of distance.

An inch here, an inch there, closing the gap to the shore one minuscule increment at a time.

But as time ebbs away, so too does Glen's energy.