Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

from striking the hull. I panicked, flailing for a handhold. My body ached from the impact.

“Oh, God, no,” I screamed. “Help me. Brad, help me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My throat tightened, and I had trouble catching my breath. I started to hyperventilate.

I’ll die if I don’t pull myself together.

I opened my eyes. Swells rocked the boat, and I placed my open palms against the fiberglass to steady myself.

I looked at the edge of the gunwale above. I grabbed the tether with both hands, and the polyester strap dug into my skin as I rotated on the line. I climbed.

I reached for the gunwale, seven feet above the waterline, but it remained out of reach. My muscles fatigued, and I slipped back into the ocean.

If my tether snapped, I would be lost at sea. I would float for a day or two and drown. My worst nightmare. Then I remembered something more frightening.

The shark.

I pressed my body against the hull and watched the surface but saw nothing. I had viewed YouTube videos of great white shark attacks, their rows of razor-sharp teeth tearing into the flesh of sea lions. They attacked from below.

I stuck my face in the water with my eyes wide open, and the salt burned them. Sunlight streamed into the deep and disappeared into the blackness.

Get out of the water.

I faced the yacht, leaned back, and planted my bare feet against the hull. I pulled myself higher, hand over hand, stopped, and shuffled my feet under me. My breath came harder as I climbed again. The bow bobbed against the sea and my feet struggled to cling to the slippery hull. I splayed my toes wide. One misstep and I would fall.

Three feet to go.

I pulled again with my arms. My strength dissipated. I had nothing left.

When my head was parallel with the deck, I slid my foot higher, pushed off, and lunged for the deck with both hands. My arm slipped between the lifelines and I hooked the lower line with my elbow. I grabbed the gunwale with my other hand and pulled myself up. I lifted my knee onto the deck and hugged the lifelines.

I stood on shaky legs, my entire body quivering. I held on with both hands as I stepped over the lines and onto the deck. I fell to my knees and rolled onto my back.

Safe.

I held my face in my hands and cried.

When my breathing returned to normal, I made my way to the cockpit, using my lifeline, despite the calm sea.

I took the helm. The control panel was black, destroyed by the lightning. The Maldives lay due west, which meant I could follow the sun and worry about more precise navigation later. I would hit land eventually. I needed to get us moving. I gripped the ignition key and turned it.

The engine did not start.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The storm disappeared as rapidly as it had come, and it took the wind with it. I raised the sails, but they hung from the rigging like old bath towels. The doldrums persisted. The ocean seemed indifferent, infinite.

I had let the engine rest overnight, which exhausted my knowledge of engine mechanics. I tried the ignition key again and a clicking sound emanated from the compartment below deck. The engine coughed once, twice, then rumbled to life.

I exhaled and smiled.

I pushed the throttle forward and motored west. Without wind, the ocean had flattened, and the bow pushed through long shallow swells. I had lost the autopilot when lightning destroyed the electronics, and I had to tie a line to each side of the wheel to maintain our course. Not a perfect solution, but forward motion, any movement, exhilarated me. We may not be on the right course, but at least we were no longer adrift.

Eric’s medical opinion had been hard to hear, but I trusted it. I trusted him. He reaffirmed my suspicion of rabies and my decision to head to the closest port to admit Brad into a hospital.

The bite wound lay near Brad’s brain, so if the bat had transmitted the rabies virus to him, his neurological degeneration would be accelerated. It had been three days since his acute symptoms began, which meant I would learn his fate soon. What would happen if he died and left me alone on this boat? Too many things could go wrong—too many ways to die.

One crisis at a time. 

I went below, tiptoed across the deck, and opened the stateroom door. I peeked around the corner. The bed was empty. I stepped into the room. I knocked on the head door.

“Brad, are you in there?”

No answer.

“Honey?”

Nothing. I tried the handle, and it turned. I cracked the door open and leaned in. Empty. A chill tickled my spine, and my heart raced. I ran into the salon.

Nothing.

“Brad?” I yelled, panic rising in my throat.

I hurried aft and opened the door to the starboard berth.

Vacant.

Had he fallen overboard in his delirium? I sprinted to the port berth, my heart pounding in my ears. I flung open the door and screamed.

Brad stood there staring at me.

“My God, Brad. You scared me. What are you doing out of bed? Why didn’t you answer me?”

“Grrrp, aaah,” he mumbled, drool spilling over his lip.

“Jesus, Honey. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“Head hurts,” he said, squeezing his forehead with both hands.

“Of course, it does. Let’s get you to bed,” I said, and took his arm.

Drool dripped off his chin, and I remembered what Eric had said about rabies being transmitted through saliva. I stepped to the side and guided him into the stateroom. I helped him into bed, dug three Tylenol out of the bag, and handed them to him. I had to avoid touching his mouth.

“Here, Brad. These will help with the pain and keep your fever low. Swallow them, and I’ll get you some something to drink.”

I went to the galley and returned with a glass of Evian. Brad held the Tylenol in his open