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

Brad grunted, and the mattress squeaked.

I stared across the salon at the stern berths.

Brad’s feet thudded onto the deck.

I sprinted aft for the starboard berth, as the latch on the stateroom door clicked open behind me. I slipped into the cabin and looked back across the salon.

My bloody footprints stained the deck and led right to me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

I perched on the edge of the bed with my eyes fixed on the inside of the door and listened to Brad stagger around the salon. He grunted like an ape as he opened and shut cabinets. What the hell was he doing? An image of him bursting through the door ran through my mind on a continual loop. My breath came faster.

The rabies virus had incubated in two days, and the acute phase had started after only one week of the flu-like symptoms. I had never seen a case of furious rabies and its terrifying neurological symptoms. The virus attacked the nervous system and manifested in unique ways as it destroyed people’s brains. For thousands of years people had conflated rabies with myths about people metamorphosed into vampires, zombies, and animals. Monsters may not exist, but furious rabies transformed people into savage beasts.

Brad had punched his ex-wife and been physical with me, but he had not attacked me. Not yet. When he tried to force himself into the shower, he had seemed more horny and confused than angry. I tried to calm down. He had not attempted to hurt me. He would never do that.

I’m lying.

Brad had anger issues, and now that the virus had ravaged his mind, he could not moderate his behavior.

He will hurt me.

Brad’s footfalls grew louder as he approached my berth. The sounds stopped close to my door. His labored breath came in thick, raspy grunts. Had he seen my bloody footprints? What was he doing?

The door handle jiggled.

“Dagny?” His voice sounded strange, unnatural. Alien.

The fine hair on my neck tickled, and I hugged myself. I said nothing. I had locked the door, but it would not be difficult for him to break it down. I examined the portholes along the wall. They allowed light and air inside but were too small for me to climb through.

What was I thinking? Brad was my husband. My sick husband. He was in pain and I was a doctor. He needed me. I could not let my fear prevent me from helping him. He was dying, but I could ease his suffering. I stood and reached for the door. I wrapped my fingers around the lock but did not open it.

I listened. Brad’s throaty breathing sounded like an animal. A sick animal. People should avoid rabid animals, right? Still, I had vowed to love him in sickness and in health. I had also sworn an oath to help patients in need. I had to overcome my fear and act like a doctor.

I turned the silver knob on the lock halfway—hesitant, unsure.

Am I making a mistake?

Brad slammed against the door with a bang, and I jumped. It sounded like he had slapped the door with his palms. He pounded again. The door shook, and the knob jiggled, slipping the bolt into the open position. Unlocked.

I lunged for the latch and jammed it home.

That thing is not my husband.

Brad’s footsteps faded away into the salon. I exhaled and plopped onto the bed. I needed a plan. I closed my eyes and assessed the situation. I had to treat this the same way I diagnosed a patient—observing and articulating the problems and thinking of ways to mitigate each of them.

Brad’s mental condition had deteriorated to a point where he would not recover. I had to accept it. I had to sail to land, and I could not do that hiding in the cabin. I knew enough to operate the engine and sails and keep the yacht moving, but with our navigational systems gone, finding the Maldives would be difficult. We had been on the right course when the lightning struck, so if I followed the setting sun, we should hit the Maldives, or if we missed them—Africa.

Lightning had destroyed the entire electronics board, so the AIS was offline, which created a second problem. Ships would not see us, unless they manned their radars, and I would not get a proximity alarm if we were on a collision course with another vessel. If one rammed us, we would die.

My third problem was the lack of wind. We had been in the doldrums for days and it could last for weeks. Our gas would last for a couple more days, and I would not have to use the sails until we were close to the Maldives. I could deal with sailing problems later.

The weather still threatened us. The last lightning storm had moved in fast, and if another one hammered us, we may not survive. I did not have the skills for rough seas, and if a wave broadsided us, we would capsize. If the weather worsened, I would need to cut to engine, deploy the sea anchor, and batten down the boat. To prepare for a storm, I would have to leave the cabin.

The virus addling Brad’s brain was my most immediate problem. He was in the acute stages of furious rabies—aggressive and violent. Brad seemed capable of hurting me, and in his diminished cognitive state, I could not count on him to have any self-control. His behavior in the shower confirmed it. My safety had to come first. He was in pain and dying, but I could not render aid while he raged. Even if he calmed down, I could not do much for him, other than administer Tylenol and provide emotional support.

If Medevac Worldwide Rescue had traced our location before Brad destroyed the phone, they may have dispatched a rescue ship. But if they had not triangulated us, they would not send help, because the ocean was