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

It was day seven of acute symptoms, and Brad would probably only live for another three or four days. I could not survive that long without drinking water, which made waiting him out inside the engine compartment impossible. I had to control the boat to reach land. Eric had said paralysis and coma were the final stages of furious rabies. I would have a chance if I could wait until Brad became incapacitated, but how long would he last, and how would I know when it happened?

I heard nothing outside the compartment which meant Brad could be dead already.

My God, Brad . . . dead.

Sorrow brushed my fear aside, and tears filled my eyes. Brad had not been a wonderful husband, but he did not deserve to die, not like this. No one did.

Dr. Singh had said India experienced over twenty thousand deaths from rabies each year, and I had read there were more than fifty thousand annual deaths worldwide. If I survived this, I would combat this horrible disease. The challenge motivated me to keep fighting.

My swollen tongue stuck to my mouth and my head pounded. I needed to get water and food then wait for Brad to die. To survive, I had to sneak back into the galley, but fear riveted my feet to the deck.

Maybe tomorrow.

I grit my teeth and shook my head. I could not wait. I strained to hear Brad. If he was on deck, I could make it to the refrigerator and sneak back to my sanctuary. I had to try.

I would have to crawl to minimize noises, so I put my hands on the generator to orient myself and stretched my legs behind me. My foot struck the flashlight, and it skittered across the deck and fell into a trough between machinery with a deafening clank—the loudest sound in the world.

I froze. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Had Brad heard? Maybe he was on deck where the ocean would mask the sound, or maybe he was asleep.

“Aargh,” Brad growled from the starboard berth, just a few feet away. It was low and guttural, like a bear defending a cub, a dog protecting a bone—a monster hunting me on a sailboat. He knew where I hid, and he had been waiting for me to show myself. Brad clawed at the compartment door, coming for me.

I reached for the knife, but I could not locate it. It had to be close.

Brad banged on the door again.

I abandoned my search for the knife and slid away from the sound toward the port berth. The exit panel was flush against the bulkhead, but I could not see it.

I shuffled to my left, and my leg pressed against a scalding hot pipe. I yelped and bit my tongue to stop from screaming.

Brad pounded on the door, clawing and scratching, grunting with bloodlust.

I rushed forward, feeling my way through the machinery. A thick plastic tube hung across my path. I climbed over it and fell, banging my mouth against a sharp corner. I tasted blood.

The latch clicked behind me. Brad had solved the puzzle. I moved faster and my head collided with the bulkhead. I slid my hands across it, searching for the door. The panel opened behind me, flooding the compartment with light.

I whirled around as Brad stuck his head through the opening and glared at me with bloodshot eyes caked with mucus. His skin had turned beet red from either fever or the sun, and his face and chest twitched with spasms. He no longer seemed human. He bared his teeth and saliva foamed over his lips.

He crawled into the compartment.

I turned toward the bulkhead where light illuminated the panel latch. I dug my fingers into it and the cabinet swung open into the port cabin. I glanced over my shoulder.

Brad hunched on all fours behind me. He leaned over the generator and reached for me with blood-stained fingers.

I kicked at his hand, but missed, and my heel connected with his chest. The force of the blow knocked him off balance, and he tumbled between the generator and the air conditioner. I turned, grabbed the edges of the opening, and pulled myself through. My knees struck the bottom lip of the compartment as I dove onto the cabin, and I rolled onto my back.

Brad moved toward me—a malevolent shadow.

I knelt, slipped my fingers under the cabinet door, and slammed it shut. The latch clicked as Brad’s hands thwacked against the wood.

I sprinted from the cabin, around the companionway, and into the starboard berth.

Brad crawled toward me bathed in shadows, his face a mask of rage. I slammed the panel shut.

Brad wailed like an animal trapped in the dark. The virus had not weakened him, as I had hoped. He was strong, violent, and savage. A nightmare. He slammed against the door. It would not hold for long.

I had to hide. But where?

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

I fled through the salon into the galley and snatched a steak knife out of a drawer. It was better than nothing. I raced into the stateroom and slammed the door behind me. I threw the bolt, locking it, but that would not stop Brad either.

I examined the head, with its flimsy door. If I hid in there and he found me, the hatches were too small to climb through and I would be trapped. I eyed the hatches above the bed. Those I could get through, but what would I do next? I scooped my bikini off the floor and put it on. Somehow, being dressed made me feel less vulnerable.

Brad’s pounding resounded inside the engine compartment, as he tried to punch his way through the panel. If he used his legs, he would break the wood in seconds.

I had to defend myself, but I did not possess any fighting skills. I had never punched anyone, never been in a fight, not even as a young girl. I had jogged