Curse of the Healer

I’ve lost count of the pleading eyes I’ve disregarded, the mothers pleading to save their child, the outstretched hands of strangers.

The nights have been cooler the past few days, which have brought a welcome relief to the relentless heatwave.

This collision of unbearable temperatures and unrelenting plague has been difficult to deal with. Although it’s possible one exacerbated the other, it’s become clear they are both as deadly.

I need to stop distracting myself searching for an explanation. How we got here is irrelevant. How we survive is all that matters.

I have an oath to fulfil.

Stepping out of the hospital into the carpark ‘ward’ my throat fills with bile at the sight and smell of thousands waiting for help that won’t arrive.

I seek out the youngest, a natural complexion, even one whose eyes haven’t glazed over.

“Come with me,” is all I say on finding a potential subject.

Together we navigate our way through the hospital; down darkened corridors and up stairs lined with patients either dead or too far gone to attend to.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” I instruct. The lack of electricity has made the situation almost impossible. I take my time navigating through the pitch black rooms full of beds jammed together, until we finally exit onto the helipad rooftop.

Bathed in brilliant moonlight, I see my faltering patient clearly for the first time.

He’s probably just out of university, by the tightness of his shirt over his muscles it’s obvious he looked after himself, and only a few weeks ago I guess would’ve been quite popular with his chiselled jaw and classic features.

Now his eyes are already sinking back, the bags from lack of sleep prominent. His youthful hair is already starting to fall out in clumps, but owing to the amount he started with, it’s easy to think of him as still complete.

“You can help me?” the youth asks, partially bewildered, partially exhausted.

“I’ll do my best,” I reply, doing my best to quell the disgust I feel at the prognosis I must offer.

“You have a choice,” I say as I consider the best approach, “although it may not appear to be what you wanted.”

I take a moment to consider the best way to break the news. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve spoken these words, I still find it difficult.

“I can’t cure you. There is no cure. Not yet. I’m still working on it, but it will take time.”

He looks crestfallen and drops to the ground as he realises I’m not the saviour he was hoping for.

“But – but I can take the disease away from you. I know this sounds contradictory, but it’s not a cure in the technical sense. I can take the disease away by taking away your humanity.”

Sitting in the moonlight, he looks at me with furrowed brows. My chest heaves with a desire to console him, but the pressing nature of time urges me on.

“To keep up my strength and give me more time to develop the vaccine, I need to drink human blood.”

I allow him a moment to follow my lead.

“Yes. I’m a vampire. Your youthful panacea will give me the strength to work a further week or two without having to feed again.”

Again, I pause to allow him to take it in. His response is impressive. Instead of fear, his confused visage gives way to understanding.

“Your sacrifice could help millions, billions of people. Even your family if they still live. But I also offer you the chance to join me in eternal life.

“You drink my blood after I yours, and by tomorrow night you will be a creature of the undead. The disease purged from your body, but you will need to feed on human blood for the rest of your life.”

His puzzled look reappeared – accompanied by a shift in his stance. Almost as if considering an escape. Yet he remained transfixed.

“If you join me as a vampire you could assist in the hospital; sorting through the sick, helping me isolate the strain that might provide the cure.

“It’s a choice I’m allowing you to make. Sacrifice yourself to me and give the world a chance at survival, or take up the noble cause and join me in my quest.”

He stood silently, a sense of acceptance calming him, a hint of a tear showing in his beautiful eyes. Turning his head to expose his neck, he merely asked, “do you have a preferred side?”.