Monument 14 2.5 - What Mario Scietto Says by Emmy Laybourne Page B

there’s food, hot water, everything you need to feel better. I’m not playing any tricks on you. I’ll tell you one other thing which is that my dead wife’s body is down there. Now you know. No secrets. She’s wrapped up in some bedsheets and PVC. Now you know.
    I’m scared.
    Sure. I understand that. Look, here’s the note your friend left for you. See that?
    Stop crying. It’s okay. You’re going to feel better when you get clean and get out of the air. So come with me now. That’s the way. Come on. I’m going to open the door then you gotta go in real fast, because the bad air will get in and we gotta try to limit it, okay? You ready?
    Josie, are you ready to go in?
    Okay.
    In you go. Down the stairs. Good girl. Watch your head. Good!
    It’s bright.
    I know. The lights come on automatically. And that sound, hear that? That’s the sound of the air filters. They’re automatic too. That means the faster we get you cleaned up, the better. Would you mind a shower? The door locks. You’ll have privacy. And I’ll set out some of my wife’s clothes for you.
    I’d kill for a shower.
    . . . Okay then. Here you go. You can have two minutes. Maybe more. You know what, take all the time you need. Screw it.
     
    Hey Josie! I put the clothes outside the door for you! I think my wife was bigger than you, so I just put out some of my extras
     
    Well, now, you look better.
    I feel better.
    Here’s some soup. It’s that kind with the hamburgers in it, which is my favorite. Some crackers. Stoned Wheat Thins. Also my favorites.
    There you go. Good. I can see you’re starving.
    Thank you.
    Oh, you don’t need to thank me. We built this stupid shelter just for this kind of situation. ’Course, Annette and me didn’t really ever think things would be this bad.
    Hear how the air filters went off? Everything’s automatic. They come on when there’s some certain amount of contamination in the air. I got your old clothes bagged up while you were in the shower. Air’s clean now.
    I’m sorry.
    You okay?
    I’m sorry.
    You’ve been through a lot. Maybe, um. Maybe you want to rest for a while? Lie down? You know, you can cry all you want. I’m not afraid of ladies crying. My wife Annette used to cry all the time. Never bothered me. Oh, she’d see some bit on YouTube and cry and then play it back and cry again. You just go on and have a rest. I’m not going anywhere.
     
    Say, Josie, I brought you some more hot cocoa.
    Thank you. I’m really . . . all of us were really lucky that you took us in.
    Do you remember anything about what it was like . . . to be like that?
    Maybe that’s a rude question to ask. It is a rude question to ask. Pardon my manners. Annette would have shot me a good elbow to the ribs. I guess somehow I forget she’s not around to reel me in.
    It’s okay.
    Okay.
    Say, I was thinking you might want to hear that we got Max’s feet patched up real good. I have some top of the line medical supplies stocked in here. We used dermaknit, you ever heard of it? That poor kid, he was a real mess, but by the time they left, he was doing better. And I got to thinking that you might have some scrapes or cuts—just let me know, if you do we can patch ’em up.
    Or not.
    So I also had the thought, just to tell you, that I figure you might need a few days before you feel better. You’ve been through a lot. You were outside for a good long spell. More than a day. And that damn chemical poison they unleashed . . . well, the effects wear off once you’re out of the contaminated air, but you know, there might be some damage done. You might not feel like yourself. We’ll just take it easy.
    I can see you’re not much in the mood to talk, but I just thought I’d tell you that when I saw you out there by the trash, I was getting ready to leave here.
    Your friends got me wanting to get to DIA to catch up with them. That’s the truth. A real nice bunch of kids. I’d probably have done just about anything to keep them