Plague: A gripping suspense thriller about an incurable outbreak in Miami

More Horror from Graham Masterton
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IKON
SACRIFICE
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WHITE BONES
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RED LIGHT
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LIVING DEATH
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The Scarlet Widow Series
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THE COVEN
Standalones
GHOST VIRUS


PLAGUE
 
Graham Masterton
www.headofzeus.com


First published in the UK in 1977 by W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd
This edition first published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Graham Masterton, 1977
The moral right of Graham Masterton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781800243392
Head of Zeus Ltd
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.headofzeus.com


Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Book One: The Quick
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Book Two: The Dead
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Read on for an exclusive preview of The House of a Hundred Whispers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
About the author
An Invitation from the Publisher


Book One
The Quick


One
He was still half-asleep when the doorbell rang. The sound penetrated his head like someone dropping coins down a well. It rang again, long and urgent, and he opened his eyes and discovered it was morning.
‘Just a minute!’ he croaked, with a sleep-dry mouth. The doorbell wouldn’t wait, though, and kept on calling him. He swung his legs out of bed, groped on the floor for his discarded bathrobe, and pushed his feet uncomfortably into his slippers.
He shuffled out into the hallway. Through the frosted glass front door he could see a short stocky figure in blue, leaning on the bellpush.
‘Just a minute!’ he called again. ‘I’m coming!’
He unlocked the door and peered out. The brilliant Florida sunshine made him blink. The warm morning breeze was blowing the palms beside his driveway, and already the sky was rich and blue.
‘You Dr. Petrie?’ said the man abruptly. He was heavy-set, dressed in crumpled blue coveralls. He was holding his cap in his hand, and his face had the expression of an anxious pug-dog.
‘That’s right. What time is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the man hoarsely. ‘Maybe eight-thirty, nine. It’s my kid. He’s sick. I mean, real sick, and I think he’s gonna die or something. You have to come.’
‘Couldn’t you call the hospital?’
‘I did. They asked me what was wrong, and when I told them, they said to see a doctor. They said it didn’t sound too serious. But it keeps on getting worse and worse, and I’m real worried.’
The man was twitchy and sweating and the dark rings under his eyes showed just how little sleep he’d had. Dr. Petrie scratched his stubbly chin, and then nodded. Last night’s party had left him feeling as if someone had hit him in the face with a rubber hammer, but he recognized real anxiety when he saw it.
‘Come in and sit down. I’ll be two minutes.’
The man in the blue coveralls took a couple of steps into the hallway, but was too nervous to sit. Dr. Petrie went into the bedroom, threw off his bathrobe, and dressed hastily. He slipped his feet into sandals, ran a comb through his tousled brown hair, and then reached for his medical bag and car keys.
Outside in the hallway, the man had at last sat down, perched on the edge of a wooden trunk that Dr. Petrie used for storing old medical journals. The man was staring at the pattern on the tiled floor, with that strange dull look that Dr. Petrie had seen so many times before. Why has this happened to me? Of all people, why has it happened to me?
‘Mr.—’
‘Kelly. Dave Kelly. My son’s name is David, too. Are we ready to leave?’
‘All set. Do you want to come in my car?’
‘Sure,’ said Dave Kelly woodenly. ‘I don’t think I wanna drive any more today.’
Dr. Petrie slammed the glass front door behind them and they stepped out into the heat and the sun. His dark blue Lincoln Continental was parked in the driveway. At the kerb stood a battered red pickup which obviously belonged to Mr. Kelly. On the side it said Speedy Motors Inc.
They climbed into the car and Dr. Petrie turned on the air-conditioning. It was March, and by this time of morning the temperature was already building up to 75 degrees. All along the quiet palm-lined streets of the fashionable Miami suburb where Dr. Petrie lived and practised, the neat and elegant houses had blinds drawn and shades down.
‘Now,’ said Dr. Petrie, twisting his lanky body in the seat to reverse the Lincoln out of the drive. ‘While we’re driving, I want you to tell me everything that’s happened to your son. Symptoms, color, everything. Oh, and direct me, too.’
‘I live downtown,’ said Kelly, rubbing sweat from his eyes. ‘Just off North West 20th Street.’
Dr. Petrie swung the car around, and they bounced over the sidewalk and into the street. He gunned the engine, and they flickered through the light and shade of Burlington Drive, heading south. The air-conditioning chilled the sweat on Mr. Kelly’s face, and he began to tremble.
‘What made you choose me?’ asked Dr. Petrie. ‘There have to be a hundred doctors living nearer.’
Mr. Kelly coughed. ‘You was recommended. My brother-in-law, he’s an attorney, he used to be a patient of yours. I called him and asked him for the best. I tell you, doc – I gotta have the best for that kid. If he’s as bad as he looks, I gotta have the best.’
‘How bad does he look?’ Dr. Petrie swerved around a