Virus by S. D. Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

two of them were alone on the bridge, but neither spoke, still searching for a human voice in the haze of crackling radio silence.
    He closed his eyes, amazed at man’s deep capacity for optimism in the face of disaster. With the long-range down, they had a snowball’s chance that anyone would hear them—and yet he still half expected to hear a response each time Foster pushed that button, still felt his gut knot in disappointment with every fruitless attempt.
    Optimism or stupidity, maybe. Either way, he needed to get some air or he was going to start breaking shit, he was that agitated. She started again, her voice low and clear in spite of the strain that he saw in her face and in her tight shoulders.
    “Mayday, Mayday, this is MV Sea Star . . .”
    Steve walked out onto the raised wing bridge to stand with Squeak and Richie, the two men staring out at Leiah through the thickening fog. Woods would be up in a minute to give Foster a break; Steve had seen the helmsman in the galley, stocking up on liquor. Everton still hadn’t bothered to show his face, which was fine with Steve; he didn’t want to waste one minute of whatever time they had left breathing the same air as that nut-ball.
    Squeaky looked away from the distant storm and nodded tensely as Steve joined them. “She gettin’ anything on the radio?”
    Steve shook his head. “VHF only has a fifty-mile range. Better break out the survival gear.”
    Richie looked fuzzy, out of it. “Where the hell’s the captain?”
    It was a rhetorical question, and neither Steve nor Squeaky bothered answering. They stood silently, watching the storm, and Steve wondered how much time they had left.
    They hadn’t actually discussed the options as a crew, probably because they all knew what would happen. Steve figured they could afford to keep hailing for maybe another half hour or so, then they’d have to move the Sea Star before the engine went under. They’d head for the eye wall opposite to the storm’s direction, put on the jackets, and wait, maybe an hour or two, hailing until water hit the bridge. When she went under, they’d bob helplessly along until Leiah swept over them, separated them—
    —and then we die; the end to a perfect day.
    He’d been thinking about the obvious alternative he supposed they all had; faced with the particularly nasty thrill ride that Leiah offered, you’d have to be crazy not to consider it—opting out early, taking a deep breath before the storm hit and then taking off your life jacket. Not a nice thought, but maybe better than the prospect of being battered to death by raging waters, drowned by rain, or forced under to drown anyway.
    Steve didn’t think he could do it. It wasn’t that he relished the idea of the struggle, he just didn’t think he had it in him to give up, no matter how much the odds were against his survival. He’d always believed that while there was still life, there was hope—and the thought of letting himself slip beneath the waves, to die without a fight . . . he couldn’t imagine it. As far-fetched as it was, there was always that one-in-a-million chance that the storm could blow out, another ship could happen along—hell, the hand of God could reach down and pull them all to safety, for that matter. He wouldn’t take off his life jacket for the same reason he’d never seriously considered suicide, even in the worst of times; things could always change. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Woods and Hiko walk onto the bridge. Foster let Woods take her seat, moving over to the navigator’s console. She had a nice body, well endowed but athletic, tight; a strong, intelligent face. Great eyes. He thought about what he’d said to Hiko earlier about women, and wondered why he didn’t feel that way when he looked at Foster . . .
    He shook his head; it didn’t matter now, did it? Richie and Squeak were heading in to join the others, and Steve followed, still hoping somehow that their call for help would