Todd by Adam J Nicolai Read Free Book Online Page A

been there so long that the outside world
had become merely a vague idea, something to be glimpsed through the hazy window
of his computer screen or heard crackling in the audio of a YouTube video.
    But THE
GAME was coming along, or so he told his wife whenever she asked:
mechanics falling into place, yes, playtesting going well. He'd have a
prototype ready for a crowdfunding campaign soon, he said. This month, it was
always this month, and the faith burning in her eyes, the same faith that had
always buoyed him and given him strength, now made him flinch.
    Because THE GAME was supposed to be fun. When he started, he had trusted
his instincts on what constituted fun, but he'd been in this damn hole for so
long that those instincts were rusting. Or maybe, he realized, they'd never
been there in the first place. Maybe he just wasn't smart enough or creative
enough; maybe he was delusional to think he'd ever be able to do it. Maybe he
had quit his job and cashed out his retirement savings for nothing. Maybe his
empty hubris would crash his family; cost them their house; cost him his
marriage.
    You're not some creative
genius, his dad said. You're just a hack. You're a deadbeat, hiding in
your basement instead of getting a real job. For Christ's sakes, grow up. Your
family needs you.
    20
    "Dad," Todd murmured.
    Alan stirred, his muscles stiff
from hours on the ground. There were two narrow windows set high up in the
walls—he'd seen them igniting with lightning during the storm—and through them
he could see it was still nighttime. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness a
little, and he could make out the vague outlines of stacked junk now, not all
that different from his own basement. But the roaring and creaking from
outside, the sounds of shattering glass and uprooting trees, were finally over.
Now he heard rain pattering, and nothing else.
    Alan absorbed this. "Are you
okay?"
    "Yeah." A pause.
"That was really scary." Todd's voice was shaking. "Was that a
tornado?" There was a kind of awed reverence in his voice; he didn't have
that casual midwestern bravado about storms yet.
    "I don't know. It might have
been. It's hard to tell sometimes. Wind can be really strong without a tornado,
too." Suddenly Alan wanted to inspect him for cuts or bruises, make sure
he wasn't limping, but it was too dark. "Do you hurt at all?"
    "No. Well maybe a little bit.
My leg kind of hurts, and my shoulder."
    Alan remembered hauling his son
over the bridge, pulling him down the stairs. "But not a lot? Can you
stand up?"
    A rustle; Todd's shadow moved in
the darkness. "Yeah, I can stand up."
    "Okay." Alan heaved a
sigh. "That's good." The storm was a mess of blurred impressions in
his head. As they recurred to him, he wanted to kick himself. It was stupid
decision after stupid decision. He had to start making the right calls.
    We both survived, he tried
to remind himself. That counts for something.
    "The storm's over, I
think."
    "Whew." Todd said it
like a word, carefully pronouncing each sound, without a hint of irony. Then:
"Are we gonna go home now?"
    "No. Not right now."
They didn't have a car, and he wouldn't risk going back over that bridge in the
dark. "But it might be safe to go upstairs." Alan shifted, wincing as
blood burned its way back into his stiff legs. "I'm gonna go check, make
sure it's safe."
    Todd grabbed his hand. "You
can't leave me in the dark! "
    The words crackled with panic,
taking Alan aback. For just a second, he was in his son's head: alone in a
stranger's black basement, reeling from losing most of his family. The grip of
Todd's hand sparked an incongruous memory of Alan offering the boy his thumb
when Todd had been a baby, and the warm, fierce clutch of his gums.
    "No. Sorry. I wasn't
thinking. We'll both go up. But I go first, all right? And you have to
listen. Stay back until I say it's safe."
    "Okay." He was still
holding Alan's hand.
    21
    It was no brighter in the living
room than it had been in the basement. In one