Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

“You have to take the pills, honey. Trust me.”

I raised his hand to his mouth and tilted it until he dropped the pills on his tongue.

“Good. Now take a sip and swallow them,” I said.

I lifted the glass to his lips. “Drink this.”

“Nnnngh.”

The water flowed into his mouth, and he tried to swallow but gagged. His head bobbed forward like a chicken. Water dribbled over his lips and out of the corners of his mouth. It dripped off his chin. I pulled the glass away and stepped back to avoid his slobber.

I set the glass on the floor and dug in the medical bag for latex gloves. I had been in denial for too long. He had rabies, and I needed to follow the medical protocol and protect myself. I donned gloves, lifted the glass and tried again.

“You need to hydrate and take these pills. I know you’re delirious, but you have to do this if you want to feel better.”

I sounded more optimistic than I felt. I pressed the glass against his lips. Brad slammed his mouth shut and shook his head, like a baby avoiding food.

“Come on, Brad. Drink this.”

“Nooo.”

“Come on.”

I tilted the glass and poured it into his mouth. He seemed unable to swallow, choking and spitting it out. His eyes widened—angry, wild. He slapped the glass out of my hand, and it shattered against the bulkhead.

I fell backward, my hand stinging from the blow. He had been so fast.

Brad pounded the bed with his hands. He wiped the back of his arm across his mouth.

“No,” he yelled, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The muscles in his thighs and calves contracted in spasms, and he grabbed them, grimacing.

I stepped back, afraid, unsure. Pain shot through my foot and up my leg.

I lifted my foot off the ground and bent my knee to examine it. A large shard of glass protruded from the sole of my foot.

“Dammit,” I yelled.

Brad gawked at me.

I stripped off my gloves and threw them into the corner. I yanked the shard out of my foot, and blood dripped onto the deck. I hopped into the head, pulled a wad of tissues out of their holder and applied pressure to the wound. I turned to Brad.

He stared at the pool of blood on the floor.

“Don’t move. Let me clean it up. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

He raised his gaze, meeting my stare, and I saw intelligence behind his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, lucid again.

I exhaled, and my stress poured out. “It’s okay, honey.”

I hopped to the medical bag and cleaned my wound with alcohol. It looked deep, and I needed stitches, but I was too worried about getting the glass off the floor to deal with it now. I applied a sterile dressing and wrapped my foot in a bandage.

I tested it on the deck, stepping on my forefoot. The wound burned, but I could walk. I swept the glass up, under Brad’s watchful gaze.

“Try to sleep,” I said.

I closed the door behind me and climbed on deck.

Brad’s anger and strength scared me. He always had a violent side, but this was different. Primal anger. Feral. He was not acting like himself. He exhibited neurological impairment and something else. I had never seen it before, but I had no doubt.

Brad had hydrophobia.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Brad had rabies. I was certain of it. I clamped down my panic and tried to analyze the situation. I used this skill often as a doctor when I had to look into the innocent eyes of a dying child and make sound decisions without crying. Empathizing with patients led to emotional responses, and those interfered with my ability to do what the situation required.

I had to think clinically.

I wanted the Wi-Fi more than ever. It was a miracle the satellite phone had survived when the lightning destroyed the main electronics board. Luckily, the phone sat in a separate panel and relied on its own communications pod on the mast. I needed to get Brad off the yacht, either by reaching port or by requesting a medical evacuation.

I dialed Eric, and he answered with a groggy voice. It was late in Boston and he had been asleep. I apologized and got to the point.

“Brad has hydrophobia.”

“I’m sorry, Dagny.”

“His behavior is erratic, and he’s in discomfort. I’m worried about him, but also about my safety.”

“Of course.”

“I need to ask a hospital in the Maldives or India to send a boat or a helicopter. I would find the information myself, but I lost the Wi-Fi connection when lightning struck our boat. I—”

“Lightning? Jesus. Are you okay?”

“I’m at least a three-day sail away from being okay. Can you find a number for a hospital and patch me through?”

“I met an Indian doctor at an infectious disease conference a few months ago. Let me find his number. Stay on the line and I’ll conference you in.”

I waited on hold, listening to echoes and pops. After an eternity, Eric’s voice came through the speaker.

“Dagny, I have Dr. Arjun Singh on the line with us. He is a senior researcher with India’s Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, in New Delhi. I briefed him on your situation and your husband’s diagnosis.”

“Thank you, Eric. Dr. Singh, I need to get my husband to a hospital. If my diagnosis is correct, and it’s rabies, he needs palliative care.”

“Where are you, Dr. Steele?”

“That’s the problem. We lost our navigation system in an electrical storm, but based on our last position, I estimate we are five hundred miles south of Sri Lanka, close to the equator. I’m using the motor to head for the Maldives.”

“Dr. Steele, I fear you have two problems. First, if you cannot provide an exact position, there’s no way for a ship to intercept you. Eric told me you’re on a satellite phone, which could be tracked to determine your coordinates, but there’s a second and superior problem. Even if we knew your exact