Furious

  Eric.

  When Jessica and I had seen Dr. Eric Franklin outside the hospital, he had said to call if I needed anything, and he had seemed sincere. Eric had the expertise I needed, and I could count on his discretion. Hearing a friendly voice would help too.

  I checked my watch. We floated off the coast of India, ten and a half hours ahead of Boston, which made it eight o’clock at night there. I found Eric’s home number in my email contacts and typed it into Skype. The call went right to voice mail. He had an iPhone too, so I tried him on FaceTime.

  The screen changed and Eric’s face appeared. Seeing him, I almost burst into tears. He appeared confused for a moment, then his face brightened with recognition.

  “Dagny, it’s good to hear from you. How are you?”

  Seeing Eric—someone I trusted and cared about—overwhelmed me. I smiled, but a tear ran down my cheek. “Hi Eric. I’m glad you answered.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I have a problem, and I need your advice. Can you talk?”

  “Always. Is this about you or a patient?”

  “It’s my husband, Brad.”

  Eric nodded, seeming less happy than a moment ago. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll probably sound a little paranoid, but I need a second opinion.”

  “Go on.”

  “When Brad and I visited Bali, a bat flew out of a cave and hit him on the head. It’s possible it bit him, but he—”

  “Did he begin treatment?”

  “He didn’t notice the bite, but two days ago, I found a minor puncture on his head and it’s still bleeding. Do you—”

  “Is he symptomatic?”

  “Flu-like symptoms. He’s diaphoretic, low fever, headaches, nausea, weakness . . .”

  “Has he manifested any neurological anomalies?” Eric asked.

  “Delirium. I don’t know. It could be the fever. Flu does that.”

  “How long since his first symptom?”

  “He’s been sick for a couple days, but his flu-like symptoms started over a week ago.”

  “And how long since the bat bite, er, the potential bite?”

  “Nine days. Let me ask you, if it was a bite and if the bat was rabid, could he exhibit symptoms this fast?”

  “The incubation period averages about thirty days, but I have known symptoms to appear in as few as five days. Outcomes depend on the strength of the virus strain, the health of the patient, and many other confounding variables. Predicting the disease’s behavior can be difficult, which is why treatment needs to start immediately post-exposure.”

  “He could be symptomatic already?” I asked.

  “Yes. We don’t know which toxin or virus he picked up, but rabies attacks the nervous system, and symptoms occur when the virus reaches the brain. If the bat bit his head, the onset would be rapid.”

  I realized I had been chewing on a nail and pulled it from my mouth. “I researched rabies online, and I’ve seen the outcomes. If he has it, what can I do?”

  “Are you alone right now? Is he there with you?”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  Eric cleared his throat. “Rabies is treatable before the patient is symptomatic, but once the patient exhibits neurological damage, there’s no cure. Dagny, I’ll give it to you straight. If the virus has reached his brain and is causing visible symptoms, the disease has almost a one hundred percent mortality rate. I’m very sorry.”

  I took another breath. “How long?”

  “It’s impossible to say, but if the behavior you described is rabies, then it’s rapid onset. I would guess he would last less than ten days after the first acute symptom.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Only palliative care to make him more comfortable, ease his pain. I’m sorry. I know this is difficult to hear after all you’ve been through this year.”

  “Yes.”

  Something bumped in the stateroom, and I glanced at the alcove. Brad’s snoring continued.

  “Based on your description, my diagnosis is Brad contracted rabies, but I haven’t examined him, and it’s possible you’re seeing symptoms of another illness. If there’s no hydrophobia, your husband may have contracted something else. My advice is to get him to a hospital as soon as possible.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, but it’s easier said than done.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Tell me what to expect.” I said.

  “Flu-like symptoms for about one week and acute symptoms for roughly ten more. That’s followed by paralysis, coma, and death. Some patients experience periods of lucidity as their impending death looms near.”

  My eyes misted, and I teetered on the verge of losing it. This wasn’t another patient; it was my husband and the only person onboard who knew how to sail.

  “Why didn’t we see the wound bleeding before this?” I asked.

  “It’s probably a tiny puncture. When rabies become symptomatic, old wounds bleed again. Maybe it itched, and he scratched it open.”

  “What a horrific disease,” I said.

  “I have to ask you something, but I want to be delicate. Rabies is a highly contagious virus. The primary factor limiting the number of epidemics is the rapid progression of the virus and the high mortality rate. Have you been exposed?”

  I pictured Brad on top of me, filling me with semen the day before his symptoms worsened. I had worried about him and had not considered my vulnerability. My stomach knotted.

  “Brad and I were intimate, once. It’s spread through bodily fluids, right?” I held my breath.

  “Rabies spreads through saliva, or through direct contact with blood or spinal fluid. You can’t get it from sexual contact alone, but an open-mouthed kiss would be an exposure.”

  My mind raced to remember that night on deck. “I, uh, I think I’m fine. I haven’t kissed Brad at all. We had intercourse, but we didn’t kiss.” I blushed, wondering what Eric thought about sex without kissing.

  He exhaled and sounded relieved. “You’re probably fine, but I recommend you get tested and receive treatment, just to be safe. If you’ve had an exposure, the clock is ticking for you too.”

  “I will, whenever we get to land.”

  “Good. I care about you.”

  How should I respond to that? “To be clear, Brad’s life depends on whether these symptoms are rabies?”

  “Yes. Watch for abnormal behavior, hallucinations, aggression.”

  “Aggression?”

  “Rabies affects people in two ways. The virus can cause paralysis, coma, and death—known as paralytic rabies—or patients can develop furious rabies.”

  A lump caught in my throat and I swallowed. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  “It’s not. With furious rabies, patients become hyperactive, agitated, and confused. They can’t sleep and often hallucinate. The classic symptoms are excessive salivation, difficulty swallowing, and hydrophobia. The pathological aversion to water is a unique sign. Some patients experience priapism, involuntary erections and orgasms, often dozens of times per day. Certain strains of rabies make people more violent than others.”

  I stopped biting my fingernail. “That’s not good news.”

  “Where are you now?” Brad asked.

  “We’re in the middle of the Indian Ocean.”

  “Can you get to port?”

  “I’m trying, but the wind . . .”

  “I don’t want to scare you Dagny, but this is serious. In the a
cute neurological period, patients become hyperaggressive. They foam at the mouth and make high pitched groans, which sound like barks. Patients have attacked people . . . even bitten them. There’s a reason mythology surrounds the disease.”

  I rocked back and forth on the bench with a sour taste in my mouth.

  “You’re saying if he has rabies, he could become dangerous?”

  “Extremely.”

  I thanked Eric and ended the call. I stared at the bulkhead leading to the stateroom. Brad had rabies and would die. He had been sick, exhibiting prodrome symptoms for a week. His violence and hallucinations over the past two days were acute symptoms, which meant he had eight days left, maybe less. He was dangerous, and I had no one to help me.

  I faced this crucible alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I sat behind the helm, blinking to keep my eyes open. I had not slept more than four hours in the past three days and my arms and legs felt leaden, useless. I closed my eyes to rest for a second.

  I awoke to a rumble, blissfully unaware for a moment, before I remembered my circumstances and adrenaline surged through my veins. How long had I been asleep? I stood, and pain stabbed my neck and shoulders from sleeping on the bench.

  Something felt wrong.

  A breeze blew in from the south and the sky darkened beneath thick, black clouds. I picked up the binoculars and scoped the ocean to port. A flash backlit the clouds.

  Lightning.

  Despite being stuck in the doldrums, a storm had appeared out of nowhere and headed directly toward us. I inhaled deeply to subdue my growing panic. I did not possess the skills to get us through a storm. Brad had reefed the sails and used the sea anchor to keep our bow into the wind, but I would have trouble doing it. He had also explained something about lowering the sails and riding out a storm below but warned we could capsize. My hands shook.

  I had about twenty minutes to prepare. I jumped online, searched for sailing techniques, and found a website listing my options. I could reef the sails, use storms sails to navigate, heave to, or lie ahull. Gusts blew harder, and the storm came fast. I had to act.

  Since I had already lowered the sails, I decided to ride out the storm below, where I could take care of Brad. I turned the ignition off, and the motors stopped. I dug out the sea anchor and threw it off the bow to keep us pointed into the wind and surging sea. It took less effort than Brad had needed during the last storm, because the weather was not yet on top of us.

  I sealed the companionway behind me and ran through the yacht battening the hatches and stowing everything loose in the cabin. I carried a two plastic bottles of Evian into our stateroom and monitored Brad.

  He mumbled as he slept, and his skin beaded with perspiration. His eyes opened, and he shouted as if he was delirious or having a nightmare.

  The yacht pitched as the waves grew. The patter of rain hitting the deck increased in frequency and volume. I had first seen the storm thirty minutes ago, and it had already arrived. Maybe its speed meant it would blow through fast. The doldrums were known for weather extremes.

  I wrapped my arms around Brad as the boat tossed us. He opened his eyes and looked up but did not seem to recognize me. Drool dripped out of his mouth and onto his tee shirt. A low groan slipped from his throat, almost a growl. I hugged him close, avoiding his saliva, and shut my eyes.

  The hair on my body rose, as if I had become weightless. Energy radiated around me, and my skin tingled, then a deafening crack filled my eardrums. I bolted upright.

  Lightning strike.

  The charred odor of an electrical fire tickled my nostrils. Light gray smoke curled through the air above us. I jumped off the bed and ran into the salon. Black smoke poured off the instrument panel above the chart table. Flames flickered inside it.

  I retrieved the fire extinguisher from under the sink and yanked the safety pin free as I shuffled to the chart table. The wall ignited and heat warmed my face.

  I aimed at the center of the control panel and doused it with dry chemical foam. The flames resisted for a few seconds, but the foam suffocated them, and the fire retreated. I emptied the extinguisher, and the fire died. The panel smoked, then stopped.

  I panted from the exertion and sweat glistened on my skin.

  The storm surged outside, and the cabin bucked like a wild horse. My heart beat out of my chest. I checked the rest of the cabin, but nothing else burned, and we did not appear to be taking on water. The thunderbolt must have hit the lightning rod, which directed the bulk of the charge into the ocean. I used handholds to reach the chart table and threw myself into the captain’s chair. The cabin reeked of burned wires, and I gagged.

  The fire had charred the instruments like a toasted marshmallow. I pushed the power button. Nothing. I hit several of the buttons. Nothing worked. The storm had fried the electronics, which meant no internet, no radar, no maps, and no AIS alert system. No Skype.

  If I could not navigate or call for help, we were dead. I picked up the satellite phone and heard a familiar beep. The phone still worked.

  Thank God.

  I leaned on the chart table, put my face on my forearm, and wept.

  The boat rocked less as the thunder moved past us, and the storm quieted. I climbed the stairs and opened the hatch. The showers had reduced to sprinkles, and the inky clouds moved behind us, dumping curtains of rain in the distance. The sky cleared to the south, and I exhaled.

  I donned my harness and made my way to the bow to retrieve the sea anchor. I pulled on the line and dragged the anchor toward me. It weighed a ton, and the taut line cut into my hands. My muscles ached and my skin burned, but the anchor drew closer. I hauled the anchor until it floated under the bow, but I could not lift it.

  I leaned over the lifeline and strained with my legs and back. The anchor broke the surface and seawater poured out, dumping its weight, and it flew toward me.

  I lost my balance and stumbled, waving my arms in the air. The lifeline caught the hollow of my knees, and I tumbled into space. I reached for the edge of the boat, but missed, and plummeted through the air.

  My feet splashed into the water as my safety harness tightened and dug into my shoulders and waist. The tether strained against the lifeline, and I swung like a pendulum back toward the hull.

  I threw up my hands and slapped them against the side to protect my head 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.