Ruby Anderson

As Glenn turns the wheel, the yacht is swept up like a scrap of flotsam, lifted and tossed sideways as it's broadsided by the behemoth.

In the cockpit, the wave hits with the impact of a detonating bomb.

Glenn and Ruby are engulfed by the blast.

For a moment, Glenn is helpless.

Like a ragdoll, the force of the water pulls his limbs in different directions, tumbling him in the agitated surf.

Water thunders in his ears as his mouth and nose fill with brine.

A second later, the chaos of the initial impact subsides enough for him to push his head above the surface, gasping and spluttering.

Looking around for Ruby, he spots the flash of a red life jacket and then his daughter's face, her eyes wide with terror.

Glenn grabs her and pulls her into him.

Then he turns his head in the direction of the boat.

It's already some distance away, toppled on its side, rising and falling with a swell.

Glenn grits his teeth and starts to kick.

It's about midday on Sunday, May the 30th, 2021.

In the Indian Ocean, off the west coast of Australia, Glenn Anderson and his 11-year-old daughter Ruby are two tiny heads bobbing in the granite gray swell.

With frantic, labored strokes, father and daughter pull themselves through the water, back in the direction of their boat.

But the distance between them and the vessel is getting wider every second.

Glenn lifts his head above the churning surf.

Through the spray, he can just make out the shapes of the other three on board, all of whom were below deck when the wave hit.

The yacht must have righted itself after the knockdown, and surely the crew must have realized by now that Glenn and Ruby are in the water.

They'll soon come back for them.