Page 1 of Rabid
Prologue
The Bite
Rabies is nearly 100% fatal once symptoms appear, but it is almost entirely preventable with timely treatment. The vaccine for rabies was one of the first developed by Louis Pasteur in 1885, and it remains highly effective. Wildlife vaccination programs, such as those using baited rabies vaccines, have helped control the spread of the disease in wild populations, particularly among bats, raccoons, and coyotes.
People who are bitten by wild animals or animals that could be rabid are advised to receive post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP). Each year, about 60,000 Americans receive PEP after potential exposure to rabies. But what if they don’t…
The rabbit’s small nose twitched as it sniffed the scrub grass, each inhale shaky, broken by a dull ache where thepredator’s teeth had pierced its flesh. The memory of those sharp fangs haunted him, his tiny body quivering as the seconds replayed in his mind. Somehow, he had escaped. But how? He didn’t know. His thoughts fluttered like fragile leaves caught in a storm—disjointed, frantic.
He nibbled at the grass, forcing his mind to focus on food. Shelter would come next, but hunger gnawed at him. There was something wrong, a strange unease crawling just beneath his fur, but it was distant... for now. He chewed slowly, oblivious to the invader already working its way deeper into his veins.
A day passed, and the unease spread. The rabbit knew something was wrong. He was restless, his mind clouded by a strange, buzzing anxiety that tightened around him, smothering his thoughts. Sunlight became too sharp, stabbing at his eyes, and the slightest sound—the rustle of leaves, the whisper of wind—sent him into fits of panic. Every shadow held a threat.
Another day, and the terror bloomed. He was trapped inside himself, overwhelmed by a compulsion to run, to flee, though he didn’t know where. The burrow he had dug now felt like a tomb, its walls closing in, heavy with the scent of fear. His muscles twitched uncontrollably, and no amount of scratching could reach the itch deep in his bones. Food no longer mattered. His body was rebelling, and he didn’t know why.
Night blurred into day, time losing all meaning. The rabbit lashed out at invisible enemies, biting at the air, his movements jerky and wild. His throat tightened, and he couldn’t swallow. Each attempt brought a rising panic. Water, the thing he needed most, became something to fear. His body had turned against him, each nerve on fire, his mind unraveling into chaos.
The end was a storm of terror and confusion. Trapped inside his own skin, his limbs stiffened, and the world dissolved into a haze of pain and fear. He no longer recognized anything—friend, foe, or otherwise. Everything was a threat. Exhaustion weighed down his small frame as his muscles twitched uncontrollably. His eyes, once bright and alert, glazed over, dull and lifeless. He dragged himself from the burrow, collapsing in the open air.
“I’ll help you, sweet bunny,” a voice broke through the haze. The girl bent down, lifting the rabbit’s trembling body with gentle hands.
Then, a sharp gasp. “Ow, you bit me!” She pulled her hand back, watching the blood bead from the tiny wound. “But I forgive you,” she whispered.
The rabbit twitched, a final shudder as life slipped away. The virus surged with renewed energy.
Ah, at last... another host.
I slip in unnoticed, a quiet trespasser, creepingthrough the tiny break in her skin. She doesn’t feel me. Just a little prick, nothing to worry about. I spread, fast and quiet, sinking into her veins, riding her blood toward her nerves, inching ever closer to her brain. Soon, I will take control.
She will be mine.
Her body will bend to my will. Her bite will spread my legacy. Fear will follow her, an omen for my power. Her story will end, as they all do, but I will live on.
I am rabies.
I am unstoppable.
Chapter One
The Quiet Danger
Joan Morgan plowed the soil gently, using one hand to push the shovel into the dirt and the other to pull potatoes from the ground by the roots. The crop sustained her throughout the summer, and into the winter when snowstorms made the hour-long drive to town impossible. The nights were cool, but the days were already unseasonably hot. Even with the greenhouse shielding her from the June sun, sweat trickled down her face.
She lived on eighty acres in northeastern Arizona, a stretch of high desert known as Juniper Springs Ranch. The name was misleading. There wasn’t a spring in sight. The only water came from the largest aquifer in Arizona, hidden beneath thousands of acres of rock-laden, shrub-filled land. The ranch had once belonged to a cattle family, butafter the business failed, they sold off parcels. Joan, like most of the locals, called itthe ranch.
She purchased her land for a literal steal. The previous owner had been sentenced to federal prison for scamming people out of their money. The government auctioned off his property, including a three-thousand-square-foot garage intended to store antique cars. The government sold the cars too, but Joan didn’t care. Her old '75 Ford truck was all she needed. The property had a well, septic, and solar power, and at eighty-five grand, the garage that would become her house fit neatly into her cash-only budget. That was fifteen years ago, when she’d been fifty-five and eager for hard work to forget the past.
Now it was her sanctuary, where she could thrive off the grid and find peace most of the time. She had once been a city girl, unfamiliar with self-reliance, but now she had learned to fend for herself. She relished the challenges she faced, even as age crept into her bones and joints.
Max’s low growl interrupted her thoughts. She couldn’t see him from the greenhouse, but she knew the hundred-and-fifty-pound Rottweiler’s growl wasn’t his usual one. This was higher pitched, unsettled. He may have cornered another groundhog. She wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand, smearing dirt across her cheek, and tipped back the brim of her oversized gardening hat. The next bark, sharp andstrange, sent a chill through her. She set the shovel down, grabbed the shotgun leaning against the greenhouse wall, and headed toward the sound. Whatever had riled Max, it was better to handle it now than let this escalate.
She had to harvest the potatoes before the weather grew too hot. The greenhouse allowed her to plant through the winter, but the potatoes didn’t like summer heat. She would be able to harvest the second planter box again before the winter snow hit. Most of her other plants thrived throughout the year and gave her plenty to eat and ample work to keep her busy.
Max’s growling gave her an excuse to take a break and grab a glass of water. The gnats outside made it impossible to drink without them swarming her glass, so she had left it on an inside table.
Another bark, more frantic this time. Her pace quickened. When Max had a problem, it was best to figure it out before he decided to take matters into his own paws.
Today’s temperature pushed eighty degrees. Mother Nature had thrown in an early heat wave, complete with clouds of dust and swarms of gnats. Joan wiped a gnat from her nose and kept moving. She preferred the heat over the cold, though, and tried not to complain.
