"Yeah, I. I'm just… keep it up. You're doing great." Dak sounded like he was telling a 14-year-old he was proud that the kid learned to tie their shoelaces.
"Don't patronize me while I have a bomb attached to my butt!"
"My bad. Just… keep going. You're… we're almost to the beach."
Dak continued to backtrack down the slope, staying in front of his friend in case Will lost control and started to roll too fast. The paddle board hung under his right armpit while he kept his left hand extended to brace Will. The awkward maneuver made Dak's progress slow as well, but it was necessary to keep the delicate balance required to prevent an explosion.
The two men reached the bottom of the hill after what seemed like an hour of excruciatingly methodical progress. To the right, where the concrete met the sand, a cart with a yellow umbrella sat beside a palm tree. The vendor sold frozen treats to beachgoers, and a line of three children waited to get their desserts with a cluster of adults.
Dak briefly doubted his plan. The slightest mistake would now jeopardize more innocent lives. Thankfully, the beach wasn't crowded yet, but with every passing minute new visitors arrived.
Will rolled to a stop near to the sand and looked up at his friend. "Okay, we're here. Now what?"
Dak tilted to the side and glanced at the ticking clock under the chair. "Five minutes."
There was another problem, though, and he wasn't sure how to fix it. He cursed himself for not thinking of it before.
"What?" Will asked, sensing something amiss.
Dak ignored him, turning his head in every direction, scouring the area for a solution. He found it in one of the local power company's trucks sitting on the other side of the street.
Two workers were busily inspecting cables hanging from a telephone pole and had left a toolbox sitting on an open shelf on the driver's side.
"One second," Dak said.
He sprinted across the street and stopped next to the truck. The men were still busily talking on the passenger side, pointing up at the lines. They never saw the American reach into the toolbox and take out a roll of duct tape, then dart back across the street.
"More tape?" Will asked. "I hope you're not thinking about strapping me to this thing again."
"The thought crossed my mind," Dak said with a wink. "Hold on to the chair."
Will gripped the edges of the chair even tighter, fighting against the fatigue building in his tendons and ligaments from already holding on so firmly for the last several minutes.
Dak flipped over the paddle board and kicked off the fin attached to the bottom.
"Hey, man," Will whined. "I just bought that."
"You want me to save your board or you?"
Dak didn't wait for an answer, and none came. He flipped the board back over and shoved it onto the sand. Then he stepped behind the chair and eased Will forward, tilting the chair back slightly to ride the wheels up onto the paddle board's top surface. Once Will was in the center of the board, Dak set to work with the duct tape. He stripped off several pieces and wrapped them around the front wheels first, attaching them to the top of the board. Then he repeated the steps with the rear wheels.
"This should keep the chair from slipping off."
"Um, Dak? I'm not so—"
Dak didn't wait for him to finish. "Hold on," he cut in. He rushed back to the paddle board's nose, sand kicking up around him. He grabbed the cord attached to the board and started pulling.
"Try to keep your weight distribution even," Dak said. "And don't wiggle too much."
"Easy for you to say."
Dak pulled on the rope, his face flushing red almost instantly from the strain. He feared the cord would break under the burden, but as the paddle board began to inch forward, the taut line held true.
One step at a time, Dak burrowed his heels into the sand as he dragged his friend across the beach toward the sea. Waves rolled steadily into shore, churning white foam with every rhythmic crash.
On a good day, the waves at Nazare were some of the biggest in the world. It had become a surfer's paradise during peak times, but today, the cresting waters didn't rise more than ten feet off the surface.
The swells were still dangerously high for Dak's plan, but if he could get the chair deep enough between them, it could buy enough time to get Will clear.
Dak's forearms and thighs burned, and a quick over-the-shoulder glance told him he was only halfway to the water. He didn't need to look at his watch or check the display. That would waste precious seconds at this point, and every single tick of the clock counted.
He pulled harder, careful to keep his movements as smooth as possible. Jerk the rope too hard, and Will could tip backward. The duct tape keeping the wheels in place would only stabilize the chair. Too much force would rip the fragile bonds and send Will reeling.
A few of the beachgoers looked on at the bizarre sight. Will didn't pay attention to any of them. He kept his feet out to either side of the board and gripped the chair with every ounce of strength he could muster.
With every step, the sound of the waves hitting the shore grew louder in Dak's ears. He knew he was getting close. But would there be enough time?
The paddle board cut through the soft sand like a rusty blade, grinding against the gritty beach.
"Almost there, Dak," Will said in an attempt to encourage his fatigued sled dog.
Instead, the statement caused Dak to risk a glance back over his shoulder. When he did, his right heel slipped and skidded on the sand. He fell backward. With the sudden extra tug from his weight,
