by Sam Subity
I balled my fists in frustration, looking back and forth from Gwynn and Grimsby to the flower. I pictured my dad’s frail form collapsing against his hospital bed, then saw Gwynn fall to one knee next to Grimsby, clutching her arm. It was an impossible decision. I closed my eyes and felt a tear streak down my cheek.
“I—I know what you’d want me to do, D-Daddy,” I whispered.
I opened my eyes and sprinted toward Gwynn. “Hold on to the trash can while I hoist him in.”
When I knelt and bear-hugged him from behind to haul him to his feet, Grimsby mumbled, “Juz a few more minutes, Mommy.”
A movement caught my eye. In the shadows on the periphery of the room, the vapor seemed to jerk and dance. Dark forms started to materialize out of the mist: countless furry things with long claws and wicked-looking teeth, hissing and screeching as they scurried in our direction. Somehow the Grendel’s one pet had morphed into a thousand …
“Rats!” Gwynn shrieked.
“Yes, my pets!” cried the Grendel. “Do not let them escape alive!”
I looked at Grimsby hanging limp in my arms, then back at the rats. “Sorry, buddy, this may hurt a little.” And I shoved him headfirst into the garbage can. A soft groan echoed from the depths of the can.
“This way!” Gwynn shouted, and ran in the opposite direction from where we’d entered the cavern.
Across the top of the trash can I saw a wave of rats approaching. I spun it around with Grimsby’s feet flopping to the side and pushed him and the can after her at a sprint. A chunk of rock crumbled from the ceiling and smashed to the floor nearby. Then more and more rocks started falling all around us. I dodged around one, then stopped and changed course as a column toppled in front of us, nearly losing Grimsby in the process.
“Driver,” his voice echoed from inside the trash can, “lemme off at the necks stop.”
Ahead, Gwynn appeared out of the darkness. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” I shouted back.
She waved me onward. “Go! I’ll be right behind you.”
Rock crumbled everywhere, filling the air with a dusty haze. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Gwynn slap a rat away as it sprang toward her. A dark wave of fur and teeth spread across the floor behind us like a living carpet. We bolted across the crumbling cavern, barely able to see the way forward. I had no idea if we were even going toward an exit or into a literal dead end.
“Over there!” Gwynn shouted. I saw it too: the distinct rectangular outline in the dark of a door lit from behind. Seconds later I barreled into the door shoulder-first, pulling Grimsby behind me without slowing down, feeling a flare of pain on the impact. But the door gave way into a bright white room.
I tripped and sprawled forward, temporarily blinded by the sudden light. The trash can spun and tipped over, spilling Grimsby onto the floor. He flopped limply into a pile of limbs. Gwynn staggered out on my heels and dropped to her knees by my side, panting.
An enormous BOOM! came from behind us, followed by a cloud of dust that blossomed out of the door we’d just come through. The caverns had collapsed.
I waited for a minute to let my ears stop ringing, then pushed myself up on one arm. “Where are we?”
The dust slowly dissipated as I peered around. The door we’d just come through had a sign that read “Supply Closet” to one side of it.
“I think we’re in Asgard,” Gwynn said with surprise. “The Grendel must have used this as a secret entrance to and from his lair.”
A pair of burly Vikings turned the corner and sprinted our way, alerted by the noise. They slowed as they recognized us. One had shaggy brown hair just like my dad.
Dad. I lay my head back on the floor again and felt the tile on my bare cheek. It felt cold. Just like everything inside me. Now there was nothing we could do to save my dad. Absolutely nothing. The only antidote was buried under a mile of rock.
“What’s that?” Gwynn’s voice cut through the fog in my brain.
But I only lay there on the ground, closing my eyes tightly against the darkness that seemed to be closing in on me. It wasn’t until I heard her gasp that I flopped my head to one side to see what she was looking at. Grimsby lay on the floor facedown, snoring like a lawn mower. Near his feet was a small glowing object. Gwynn leaned forward to pluck it off the ground.
I sat up quickly, my eyes growing wide. “How … ?”
Gwynn’s laugh was choked off by a sob. “He must have had it in his pocket the whole time! The original one he saw that made him fall into the well.”
She held it up to the light. It was a single petal from the svefnthorn.
“There,” said Dr. Swenson, extracting a hypodermic needle from Grimsby’s limp arm, then pressing one palm gently against his cheek. “Now only time will tell if the serum from a single petal is enough to counteract the thorn’s poison.”
I sat in the ICU between the unconscious forms of my dad and Grimsby. Dr. Swenson had already administered the same treatment to my dad after distilling what we hoped was the antidote from the tiny svefnthorn petal. It seemed impossible that something so small and fragile could bring my dad back from the edge of death. Would it actually work? My fingers clenched and unclenched nervously as I sat there on the precipice with him, not willing to let the tiny bud of hope in my heart blossom too soon. His body seemed to be in the process of slowly collapsing into the bed, with only the beat of the heart monitor giving any evidence that he still lived.
“Owwwww!” I complained, and looked down at Bryn.
“Hold still for just a sec.” She continued cleaning a series of deep cuts on my forearm from where the Grendel’s claws had raked my skin. Added to the throbbing ache, the antiseptic she was now applying made the area burn like my skin was on fire. “Given the circumstances, you should be glad this is the only significant injury you sustained. This should heal quickly, but you might want to take a break from knattleikr for a while.”
Gwynn stood on the other side of Grimsby’s bed and stared down at him. Unlike my dad, he seemed to hover on the verge of consciousness, mumbling incoherently as if he was only in a deep sleep. Occasionally his body would give a sudden jerk or his face would twitch like he was fighting the toxin that coursed through him. But my dad gave no outward signs of life.
“Is it strange that the poison never fully knocked him out?” Gwynn said.
Dr. Swenson nodded, studying Grimsby’s face as it briefly contorted into a frown. “At even the minimal dosage he received from pricking his finger, he should have been out cold. He’s showing the same resistance to the venom that I’d expect of a much larger adult.” She smiled up at us. “An adult grizzly bear, that is.”
Gwynn smiled. “Well, he sure eats like one. I’ve never seen—”
Suddenly Grimsby made a loud snorting noise. He jerked straight up in bed like someone had electrocuted him, his arms flailing. “Get them off! Rats!”
“Grimsby!” I said happily, leaning out of range of his windmilling arms.
He froze, then blinked and turned to look at Gwynn and me. “You guys, I just had the weirdest dream. There was this underground cave. And the janitor tried to kill us with his mop. And there were all these rats and …” He looked around as if noticing the hospital room for the first time. “Mom? What am I doing here?”
Dr. Swenson smiled and leaned down to kiss him on the top of his head. “I’m so happy to see you awake, sweetie.”
My eyes widened. “Wait … Mom?”
Grimsby turned his head to me. “Yeah, well, I told you my mom was a doctor, right?”
“Sure, but …” I trailed off.
As if reading my thoughts, Dr. Swenson added, “I was already established professionally when I met Jacob’s father, so I kept my maiden name after we married.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her glasses, and suddenly I saw the resemblance in the mass of unruly curly hair.
Gwynn leaned down and gave Grimsby a hug. “Good to see you again.”
“Oh. How,
um, is your dad?” Grimsby asked over Gwynn’s shoulder, noticing the bed next to his for the first time.
“Still with us,” I said, searching my dad’s face for any sign of recovery. “Dr. Swenson … er, your mom said you were only exposed to a small dose of the thorn’s poison, and very recently. His dose was a lot larger and had longer to work through his body. So to be honest, we’re not sure yet if it’ll be …” I couldn’t bear to say the words “too late” out loud.
I stayed by my dad’s side the rest of the day. By dinnertime, Grimsby was feeling well enough to go home under his mom’s care, his only complaint an odd bump on his forehead. I didn’t think he’d be too happy to learn that he’d gotten it when I’d shoved him headfirst into a trash can, so I discreetly avoided the subject.
As the night wore on, I felt like I was slipping into a half-dream state. My exhausted brain clung to the fact that the forty-eight-hour window Dr. Swenson had originally proposed had come and gone, and my dad was still alive. Even if barely so.
At some point, I snapped awake to find Bryn entering the hospital room to check on him.
“How are you holding up?” she said gently to me. She pointed to an untouched food tray on the table beside me. “You know, going on a hunger strike won’t do either of you any good.”
I sat up and yawned. “I know. I’ll be okay.” I plucked a carrot stick off the tray and bit into it, mostly to make her feel better because I had zero appetite. “He’ll make it,” I said more confidently than I felt. “He’s always been so strong.” But he looked anything but strong now. So small and frail amid all the wires and machines.
Bryn made a few notes on her clipboard. “I’ll let the doctor know there hasn’t been any change. Be back in a little while to check in on you guys again.”
I nodded absently and took a seat at my dad’s bedside. His tape player was making a buzzing noise, indicating it had reached the end of the tape, so I hit Stop and switched it off. Then I slid my hands around one of his. “Hi, Daddy. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m still here. And I’ll be here for as long as—” I choked on the carrot and my emotions, then swallowed hard before continuing. “For as long as you need me.” A tear slid down my cheek.
“Do you remember all those times we watched The Princess Bride? You said it was the silliest movie you’d ever seen, but I knew you secretly loved it as much as I did. And afterward … afterward for days we’d go around the house shouting … we’d shout …”
Suddenly I couldn’t speak, overcome with emotion. My head sagged toward the floor and I pressed my eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the heartache.
“Inconceivable …”
The word was barely a whisper. Had it been a figment of my imagination? My head shot up just in time to see a corner of Dad’s mouth twitch slightly. Had he just …
I leapt to my feet. Ran to the door. “Bryn! Dr. Swenson!”
I ran back to his side, my pulse pounding and the fog falling away from my brain. After watching The Princess Bride, we’d go around the house for days shouting the villain Vizzini’s catchphrase. And I was pretty sure my dad had just whispered that same word a second ago. It was, well, inconceivable.
His mouth twitched again, then he coughed. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, blinking in confusion. Then his head turned toward me, a look of surprise on his face. “Abby? Where … ?” he said weakly. He shifted his gaze over my shoulder.
I spun and saw Gwynn and Grimsby framed in the doorway with a bouquet of balloons. Their mouths hung open in happy bewilderment. Bryn came rushing in past them, the balloons bobbing in her wake, with Dr. Swenson right on her heels. Grimsby’s mom hovered a thermometer over my dad’s forehead and quickly checked his other vital signs.
“Well, hello, Mr. Beckett. We’re all so happy to see you with us again.”
I edged past the doctor and fell on my dad in a huge bear hug, unable to speak. My shoulders shook with silent sobs. Dr. Swenson eventually gently pulled me away, then turned to him.
“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you? Pain medication, perhaps?”
Dad lay there blinking his eyes. Then in a dry, raspy voice: “Yes … I’m dying for … a cheeseburger.”
I stared blankly at him for a moment. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry. In the end, I did a little of both, leaning over to clutch him in another tight hug.
“Well, you heard the man,” said Gwynn, smiling and poking her head out into the hall. “What’s a guy have to do to get some cheeseburgers up in here?”
A surprised-looking nurse scuttled off toward the cafeteria. Ten minutes later, a pair of legs returned with the rest of the body and face obscured behind several bags already turning dark with grease stains from burgers and fries. A grinning face peeked around the edge of the mountain of food. It had a bald head and Coke-bottle glasses.
“Doc!” I shouted, grinning.
“I heard you guys were having a party,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing it.”
“Sig!” Dad exclaimed with surprise.
Uh, Sig? “You two know each other?” I asked.
“A story for another time, perhaps,” Doc said. He set the food down on a nearby table, then turned to me with a quizzical look on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a sea monster in Vale’s swimming pool, would you?”
Grimsby, Gwynn, and I all looked at one another and broke down laughing.
“Now, that’s a story for another time,” said Grimsby, already fishing around in the bags of food and pulling out a fistful of fries.
“How about we hear that one now?” Dad said, raising one eyebrow.
So we sat around his bed, bringing him up to speed on the events since our arrival at Vale while we munched on our food. I kept catching myself reaching out to touch his hand or adjust the hem of his sleeve as if to convince myself he was really alive. That the nightmare was finally over. Every once in a while, he asked us to stop and go back and repeat ourselves because we’d gotten to a part that was just too unbelievable.
When we were finished, Doc studied each of us for a long moment, then said, “I knew bits and pieces of this, but it’s indeed eye-opening to finally see the full picture. The Vikings owe you each a great debt of gratitude. Abby. Gwynn. Jacob. Thank you.” He turned to Dr. Swenson. “And thank you for letting me conscript your son into service.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Doc winked at me. “Well, who do you think assigned Mr. Grimsby to be your tour guide? I think he comported himself quite well under the circumstances.”
“But he’s not even a Viking,” I said, then glanced at Grimsby, no longer sure. “Right?”
“Not a bit of Viking blood in us, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Swenson. “But I prefer to think of us as, let’s just say, Viking adjacent.”
Viking adjacent? What did that mean?
Doc tapped his chest over his heart as he stood and shrugged his jacket on. “It’s as I told you: The true measure of who we are is right here. Mr. Grimsby may not be a Viking, but in the times that I fear may be coming, I feel we should not be so nearsighted as to fail to look for allies wherever they may be found.” He put a hand on Grimsby’s shoulder. “Your friend here has the heart of a true warrior.”
I looked at Grimsby, who grinned at me through a mouthful of fries. I laughed and nodded. “The heart of a warrior.”
This was all still so unbelievable. My life had completely changed in the space of a few days. But it suddenly looked like everything was going to turn out okay. My dad was alive. The Grendel was gone. It was over.
Then what Doc had said finally registered. “Hold on. What did you mean by ‘in the times that I fear may be—’ ” I said, spinning around. But Doc had already left the room. I looked down at the half-eaten bag of fries in my hand and set it on the table, my appetite suddenly gone.
“Is this Abby’s wittle dolly?” Grimsby teased, extracting a pi
nk-and-white bonneted doll with frayed yellow bangs from one of the moving boxes on my bedroom floor.
It was a week later, and I knelt on the floor of my bedroom, finally getting the chance to take my things out of moving boxes. We’d recently moved into our permanent residence, a two-bedroom bungalow on Faculty Row, right off the main Vale campus. That night in Charlotte when my dad and I had fled north already felt like ages ago. I could hear Bryn humming in the kitchen while she baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies. My dad was slowly improving but still far from one hundred percent, so Bryn was temporarily living with us to help out while he recuperated.
“Give me that!” I said, yanking the doll out of Grimsby’s hand and hugging her protectively against my chest.
“Ow!” he said, jerking his other hand out of the box and jamming his finger into his mouth. “Are these things real?”
Gwynn punched his shoulder as she leaned over and looked appraisingly at the collection of Viking seaxes—close-range fighting knives—assembled neatly in the bottom of the box. “Never mess with a girl’s dolls … or her knife collection.”
As I came to a framed photo of me with my parents, I dropped into the swivel chair at my desk and leaned back, studying their faces. At last, I felt like something I’d accomplished really mattered. It felt good. I only wished Mom had been there to see it.
There was the sound of a snort beside me, and I turned my head to see Grimsby lying on his back on my beanbag chair and staring at his phone while he sucked on his injured finger. His entire body shook either with the sudden onset of hypothermia or an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I assumed it was the second one.
“Baby dolphin!” he finally gasped, followed by a squeak of laughter.
Gwynn looked up from the books she’d gone back to helping me organize on a small shelf in one corner of the room. “Anything you want to share?”