Starting Line, Part 2
It was much later—after he'd answered all of Mr. Kim's questions as best he could (without revealing Triple A's existence)—when Sam stood outside the door to a VIP suite on the top floor of the hospital.
The tag on its right side read, “Sarah Ryder... so that’s her name.”
Sam wondered if he should knock. He wasn't sure he'd even be welcome.
Mr. Kim had told Sam that his role in the “Battle of the Bronx,” as the Herald had dubbed it, was nearly nonexistent, as far as the press and the public were concerned. Partly because no one would have believed that a zeta-level healer could have played such a major role during one of the worst calamities to hit the city this year.
“Twenty-three heroes dead along with more than a hundred civilians, an entire block’s worth of property damage, and the number of missing people. It's still a shit storm over there,” Mr. Kim had explained. “Marie had to pull some considerable clout to ensure your name wasn't mentioned in the police reports.”
The police and media had credited victory over the horror to Thunder with a solid assist from Dr. Hearthstone. And despite Thunder’s assertions that Sam was instrumental in this victory, Marie’s efforts ensured that as far as the world was concerned, Sam Shepard wasn't even in the Bronx that night.
“Thunder's stock rose pretty high the day after,” Mr. Kim had chuckled before his face turned melancholic, his brow furrowing to such a degree that he seemed to have aged suddenly. “It's really too bad what happened to her. I wouldn't wish the Blight on my worst enemy.”
In the present, Sam gazed at Thunder’s wooden door with more than a little apprehension. Still, he had told Marie he wouldn't run away anymore, and he meant it.
Sam's hand hovered over the door handle, but it opened on its own before he could do it himself. On the other side was a tall man who wore the white jacket and slacks of a member of the clergy.
The man looked down at Sam, his brown eyes narrowing behind square-rimmed glasses. Behind this man, Sam could hear the soft voice of a woman speaking.
“I know things are hard now, but please consider our proposal. It'll no doubt help with your situation,” the woman said.
There was a pause, and then a muffled response Sam couldn't catch.
“I'll come by again,” the woman said. “The Olympians bless you.”
Sam noticed that the cleric standing by the door was glowering at him.
“Move or you will be moved,” the cleric threatened.
Sam quickly stepped aside so that the bigger man could pass. After him came the woman, and the sight of her caused Sam to bow his head out of respect. She was a head shorter than Sam and wore the form-fitting sky-blue robes of a priestess of Zeus, Lord of the Sky.
Sam glanced up and saw the woman's amber eyes gazing back at him.
“The Olympians bless you, brother,” she said.
“Praise be to the Olympians,” Sam replied automatically.
The priestess seemed satisfied by his response because she smiled back at him with pale lips. Then she and her companion walked away.
Sam sighed. He wasn't very good at dealing with the clergy. They always seemed to be able to make people feel guilty with a single glance. Not that he had anything to be guilty about—usually.
“Is that you, Sam?” called a voice from inside the VIP room.
He took a deep breath before poking his head inside. The room was much more spacious than his. An entire section of it was covered in flower bouquets and get-well cards.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Thunder replied.
She was sitting up on her hospital bed and grinning at him, despite her complexion, which was almost as pale as that night he'd first laid eyes on her.
“So...” Thunder gazed pointedly at Sam. “What took you so long to visit, lame-brain?”
Thunder motioned Sam over which was when he noticed the tube stuck to the back of her right hand. That’s my fault…
“How did you know it was me?” he asked as he walked in and shut the door.
Thunder shrugged, but even just lifting her shoulders seemed to take a lot of effort. She winced.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I just knew...”
A moment of awkward silence lay between them. Underneath her hospital gown, Thunder’s entire left side was wrapped in silk bandages, the kind that had powerful healing runes written over them.
“Is it really the Blight?” Sam asked.
It was a while before Thunder responded. “It’s not your fault, Sam...”
The sadness in her tone forced him to look up.
Thunder’s face was turned away from him, but he could see that the corner of her eye was wet.
Sam looked away again.
“If I hadn’t messed up the timing of my second attack—” he began, then felt a strong pinch on his arm. “Yow!”
One of Thunder’s bushy eyebrows was raised as she scowled at him. The momentary weakness he’d glimpsed was gone now, and she was all fierce again. “Get this through your thick head, lame-brain: you and I survived a battle that killed nearly every hero in the Bronx that night. It’s a damn miracle we’re both even up and talking.”
“I know that, but—”
Thunder sent Sam a smoldering gaze that wouldn’t have lost to Dr. Hearthstone’s signature glare.
“You gave me the power to achieve miracles, and I fumbled the ball and now you’ve got the Blight because that horror tainted you with its last attack and I can’t help you,” he said in one quick breath.
Finally, Sam could voice the true source of his guilt. Thunder had chosen him as her successor, but he couldn’t even use Triple-A to protect her. Even now, Sam could only watch as the Blight weakened her body and slowly ate at her mind.
Thunder’s face softened.
“The Blight affects the gifted differently from regular people,” she reminded him. “Don’t forget that we’re the chosen few who still carry the blood of the gods in our veins.”
“I know,” Sam answered. “But the end result will be the same. It’ll take away everything that you are until…”
Sam couldn’t finish that last sentence.
“Until I’m nothing more than an empty husk. No more personality, no more memories, no more Thunder,” she finished for him.
Sam recalled the name of people who contracted the Blight. “The living dead…”
“I prefer the term zombie, but sure,” Thunder chuckled.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it before letting go. Normally, this kind of thing would have made Sam blush, but now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.
“I’m not gone yet, and anyway, I don’t plan to be,” Thunder assured him.
“The Blight doesn’t have a cure,” he reminded her.
“Stop being so pessimistic,” she snapped.
There was another long pause.
“So…what’s your plan then?” Sam asked.
“There are a few options to choose from,” she replied.
A light bulb turned on in Sam’s head, causing him to glance toward the door before turning his gaze back on Thunder. “The priestess… she wants you to become an official hero of Olympus?”
Thunder nodded. “Having a godly patron will help slow down the disease’s progression. It could buy me more time to figure out the next step.”
The priestesses of the gods had drilled this thought into all the children’s heads, Sam remembered. The different pantheons paid attention to every act of heroism done on Earth, and heroes who venerated them through these acts were given incredible blessings. These heroes who were descended from the children of the gods themselves and carried the blood of the pantheons in them undiluted throughout the centuries.
“Honestly, I’m not too sure about Zeus. There are too many restrictions placed on the servants of the Sky Lord,” Thunder admitted. “I’m thinking of holding out for another equally powerful god of thunder.”
“You’re in the wrong city then,” Sam replied, after a moment of thinking about what she meant. “The Norse pantheon is based out west…”
“I hear Seattle and Portland are pretty nice this time of year,” Thunder mused.
Sam wasn’t sure why, but the thought of Thunder moving far away soured his mood. They’d only just met, but it felt to him like their shared experience already forged a steel-like bond between them.
“Actually…I’m surprised you don’t serve a pantheon yet… Most top-tier heroes are already attached to some god, right?”
“I couldn’t. The thing I gave you wouldn’t let me sign up with anyone.”
Thunder’s answer surprised Sam. Triple-A seemed like it was one of those famous blessings he’d heard about. After all, it was a system that allowed Sam to do the impossible.
“The impossible…” Sam mused.
The beginnings of an idea flitted across his mind.
“What if I gave it back to you?” he asked.
“I’m already an Argonaut.” Thunder shook her head. “You can only choose a successor who isn’t one.”
“Then,” Sam wracked his brain some more, “what if I used it to heal you?”
Thunder frowned. “I love the thought, Sam, but it’s—”
“Impossible?” Sam was grinning now. “Maybe not. I’m a healer, after all.”
“I know that already,” Thunder replied.
“And the”—Sam tried to say the system’s name but the words were stuck to his throat—“the thing we can’t discuss, it can help me become a better healer. Good enough to heal even the Blight.”
“Sam, that’s im—”
“Who’s being pessimistic now?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You said it yourself: it’s the thing that makes miracles come true, right?”
Sam’s face turned very serious in that way a man’s attitude changed when he was about to make an oath.
“For my first big act as an Argonaut,” Sam said, never looking more determined in his life than he did at that moment, “I’m going to heal you.”