Priceless

I visited my daughter’s grave yesterday. It was hard. Sometimes, when I stay away for long enough, I can pretend that she’s still in college, too busy to call home. But staying away is hard, too.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents do. It disrupts the natural order. Children aren’t supposed to die from coronavirus, but it happens. I had heard of it happening before Heather got sick, but I didn’t think it would happen to her.

When she started feeling sick, I wasn’t worried. When she was hospitalized, I held out hope for a speedy recovery. When she was gone, I felt nothing but anger. I kept that anger inside for a while, but eventually, it needed an outlet.

Serial killers often select their victims based on some set of criteria. I don’t select my victims though. They select themselves.

I know Heather wouldn’t approve, but she’s no longer here to give her opinion.

She didn’t get sick by doing the dumb stuff other kids have been doing, like going to parties and hanging out with friends. She rarely left the house, and when she did, she always wore a mask and kept away from people.

The week before she started showing symptoms, she went to the grocery store. In the parking lot, she was accosted by a woman without a mask, raving about the coronavirus hoax. Heather got away, came right back home, and took a thorough shower. But it didn’t work. The headaches started a few days later, and then came the fever and the cough, and then…nothing.

So you see, when I grew angry, I knew whom to blame. Not that woman, specifically. I never uncovered her identity, even after weeks of digging. But there were others like her. Setting up the bait was simple.

“TOP SECRET: CORONAVIRUS VACCINES AVAILABLE. China has developed a successful coronavirus vaccine but refuses to share with the rest of the world, especially the USA. My contacts have smuggled in a few hundred samples, but supply is limited. If you are interested in purchasing a vaccine ($100), email me at coronavirus-conspiracy@hotmail.com. Do not share this info out or spread the word. Every man for himself.”

I took out a few ads and waited for requests to come in. I got more emails than you would like to think. I was smart about who I ultimately selected for treatment. People who lived alone, who seemed at high-risk for coronavirus, who were ignorant about medical practices.

Did you know a potassium injection can lead to cardiac arrest?

Mrs. Dursman was my first buyer. She was 58 years old, with a pre-existing heart condition and no housemates besides her cats. She also enjoyed trolling mask-wearers online using the pseudonym “Super Karen.”

After a few emails back and forth, we set a time for me to visit her house and administer the vaccine. She would be waiting with a hundred dollars in cash.

The first thing I did after she opened the door for me was confirm that she had not shared my ad with any friends or family.

“No, no friends or family,” she chuckled.

Next, I asked her to delete our correspondence from her emails.

“Chinese hackers,” I said by way of explanation.

She nodded sagely. “Smart thinking.”

Then I sat down with her in the living room and removed a syringe from my medical kit. I also took out an alcohol wipe. She watched as I swabbed the crease in her arm, looking nervous for the first time during my visit.

“Doctor, will my heart issue cause any problems with the vaccine?”

I shook my head. “This is totally safe.” I offered a slight smile, carefully inserting the needle into her arm and pushing down the plunger. “You might feel some discomfort at first, but rest assured, that’s the vaccine doing its work.”

I was holding her hand when she died. Not out of any kindness. I needed to feel her die, needed to feel her clammy grip tighten and then slacken and then cool. Before I went through with it, I had wondered what emotions my first kill would bring.

Horror? Guilt? Satisfaction? Peace?

But I’m not quite sure what I felt as I looked at her body, slumped over on the sofa. I just knew that I couldn’t stop.

After Mrs. Dursman, I started administering the shot to victims in bed. This way, I don’t see their lifeless forms. I see Heather, lying on her hospital cot. I don’t hear their cries of pain or pleas for help. I hear Heather’s rattling cough as her eyes beg me to make it all better. I don’t care to remember their names or their faces. Instead, I remember my daughter, and the strength to continue with this cursed quest fills me again.

. . .

2146 A.D.

Overseer 7 finished reading and squinted at Worker 12. “You’re sure you translated this correctly?”

Worker 12 bounced their tentacles. “Yes. There were a few words that couldn't be directly translated, but the gist of the message is accurate.”

Overseer 7 emitted a high-pitched whistle. “Humans sure were a violent, stupid bunch, weren’t they? Is it any wonder they destroyed themselves?”

Worker 12 gurgled. “Their loss is our gain. Earth is a near perfect match for our home planet, and we were lucky to find it abandoned.”

“We would have wiped them out either way,” Overseer 7 declared.

Worker 12 paused before speaking. “They were a fascinating species though. I think I would have liked one as a pet.”

“Wild animals should be left to the wilderness,” Overseer 7 said pointedly before slithering away.

Worker 12 went back to working.