The world is dark and cold, and salty. The man wonders how long its been since he heard last heard the voices of the others - he guesses a couple hours. He passes out of consciousness, waiting for the nightmare to end.
Somewhere in the distance, a duck quacks. Or something that sounds like a duck. The taste of salt remains and the man pictures beverages - clear water, and ale - that would wash the taste and sand out of his mouth. Whackapple feels something crawling across his face and brushes it off. He blinks his eyes open and finds himself staring at a spider inches from his face - delightful.
It takes some time and stumbling about but Whackapple soon has some grit cleaned off and looks to exploring his surroundings. The seas have cleared but the storm left its mark - wet driftwood is scattered along the beach. He sees some shapes washed up in the distance and goes to investigate. There might be some materials he can salvage, and others may have survived the storm. Or washed ashore as corpses - also worth exploring. Whackapple spits and starts walking.