Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) by Emmy Laybourne Page A
Authors: Emmy Laybourne
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in.
“You’ve done enough for us already,” I added.
“All right then—that’s good—just stay here and don’t move.”
He removed his headset and climbed out of the cabin.
“Sweet ride, huh?” Jake said, grinning back at us. “I can’t believe we did it! We’re out!”
“I think my booty is iced to the floor,” Niko said, groaning.
Something about it was funny—the way he said it, and suddenly I started chuckling.
I put my hand over my mouth.
“Dean!” Astrid shushed me.
I couldn’t help it.
“It’s just,” I gasped. “The way you said ‘booty’!”
Astrid giggled, Jake guffawed, and then the three of us were laughing.
“Shut up, you guys!” Niko hissed, but he was smiling, too.
Then the door flipped open.
A pilot stood there, in full uniform. Almost impossibly tall, with a crew cut that was straight and had a hard edge, like a broom.
“You the Monument four- teen agers?” he asked us in a thick accent—New Orleans, I thought.
We blinked at him, and finally I answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Put these on. But don’t bother with the headgear,” he ordered, and threw in a duffel bag, which Niko caught. “Knock when you’re decent.”
He shut the door, and God help me, I almost burst into laughter again.
“Get it together, Dean,” Niko said.
It took me a couple deep breaths, laced with last chuckles, to get myself together.
Niko opened the duffel. Inside were four shrink-wrapped packages.
We ripped into them and discovered they were some kind of ultralight hazmat suits. They had four parts—a jumpsuit, a face mask, gloves, and a belt that held round cartridges.
Niko took one of the cartridges out of his belt. “An air filter!” he exclaimed.
The material of the jumpsuit was in a dark-brown-and-gray-camouflage pattern and was incredibly light—almost like silk.
The headpiece was really weird. It sort of looked like beekeeper headgear—with a large, clear visor and the rest of the head covered by the light material. But attached to the faceplate, on the inside, was a mouthpiece that you obviously would put in your mouth. On the outside of this mouthpiece, on the outside of the mask, was a slot for the round air filter to fit into.
The headpiece curled into the shape of a tube and there was an elastic holster on the thigh of the suit to hold the tube.
A little piece of paper fluttered out of each suit.
It showed a drawing of a soldier putting on the suit and then putting his boots on over the foot part of the jumper. There was copious writing in Japanese, but in English there were just two words: boot over.
On the other side it showed a soldier inserting a new cartridge into the face mask.
I was thinking about Japanese design ingenuity when Astrid asked:
“Why did he give these to us? I mean, is it for drifts? Are there drifts out there?!”
“Maybe it’s a kind of disguise,” Jake hypothesized.
“He said don’t worry about the headgear,” I said. “So Jake’s probably right.”
“Oooh, he said I’m right,” Jake lisped, mocking me.
Getting dressed in the tiny chamber, along with three other people, wasn’t easy.
When we were all geared up, and looking pretty ridiculous, I might add, Niko tapped on the door.
The giant pilot opened it up.
“Took y’all long enough,” he said. “Come on out.”
Niko must have looked timid, because he added, “Stand tall and proud. Confident. You’ve as much a right to be here as anyone else.”
He helped Niko down, then me, adding, “As least that’s what we want folks to think. My name’s Edward Francois Roufa, the third. But y’all can call me Roufa. Everyone does.”
Jake hopped down from the cockpit.
When Roufa took Astrid’s hand he gave her half a smile, “Pleasure to meet you, miss. Hank’s told me all ’bout you and the others.”
Roufa looked Astrid over in the suit.
“Nice and baggy, just like I hoped,” he said.
The protective suits were very loose, and because the material was so
“You’ve done enough for us already,” I added.
“All right then—that’s good—just stay here and don’t move.”
He removed his headset and climbed out of the cabin.
“Sweet ride, huh?” Jake said, grinning back at us. “I can’t believe we did it! We’re out!”
“I think my booty is iced to the floor,” Niko said, groaning.
Something about it was funny—the way he said it, and suddenly I started chuckling.
I put my hand over my mouth.
“Dean!” Astrid shushed me.
I couldn’t help it.
“It’s just,” I gasped. “The way you said ‘booty’!”
Astrid giggled, Jake guffawed, and then the three of us were laughing.
“Shut up, you guys!” Niko hissed, but he was smiling, too.
Then the door flipped open.
A pilot stood there, in full uniform. Almost impossibly tall, with a crew cut that was straight and had a hard edge, like a broom.
“You the Monument four- teen agers?” he asked us in a thick accent—New Orleans, I thought.
We blinked at him, and finally I answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Put these on. But don’t bother with the headgear,” he ordered, and threw in a duffel bag, which Niko caught. “Knock when you’re decent.”
He shut the door, and God help me, I almost burst into laughter again.
“Get it together, Dean,” Niko said.
It took me a couple deep breaths, laced with last chuckles, to get myself together.
Niko opened the duffel. Inside were four shrink-wrapped packages.
We ripped into them and discovered they were some kind of ultralight hazmat suits. They had four parts—a jumpsuit, a face mask, gloves, and a belt that held round cartridges.
Niko took one of the cartridges out of his belt. “An air filter!” he exclaimed.
The material of the jumpsuit was in a dark-brown-and-gray-camouflage pattern and was incredibly light—almost like silk.
The headpiece was really weird. It sort of looked like beekeeper headgear—with a large, clear visor and the rest of the head covered by the light material. But attached to the faceplate, on the inside, was a mouthpiece that you obviously would put in your mouth. On the outside of this mouthpiece, on the outside of the mask, was a slot for the round air filter to fit into.
The headpiece curled into the shape of a tube and there was an elastic holster on the thigh of the suit to hold the tube.
A little piece of paper fluttered out of each suit.
It showed a drawing of a soldier putting on the suit and then putting his boots on over the foot part of the jumper. There was copious writing in Japanese, but in English there were just two words: boot over.
On the other side it showed a soldier inserting a new cartridge into the face mask.
I was thinking about Japanese design ingenuity when Astrid asked:
“Why did he give these to us? I mean, is it for drifts? Are there drifts out there?!”
“Maybe it’s a kind of disguise,” Jake hypothesized.
“He said don’t worry about the headgear,” I said. “So Jake’s probably right.”
“Oooh, he said I’m right,” Jake lisped, mocking me.
Getting dressed in the tiny chamber, along with three other people, wasn’t easy.
When we were all geared up, and looking pretty ridiculous, I might add, Niko tapped on the door.
The giant pilot opened it up.
“Took y’all long enough,” he said. “Come on out.”
Niko must have looked timid, because he added, “Stand tall and proud. Confident. You’ve as much a right to be here as anyone else.”
He helped Niko down, then me, adding, “As least that’s what we want folks to think. My name’s Edward Francois Roufa, the third. But y’all can call me Roufa. Everyone does.”
Jake hopped down from the cockpit.
When Roufa took Astrid’s hand he gave her half a smile, “Pleasure to meet you, miss. Hank’s told me all ’bout you and the others.”
Roufa looked Astrid over in the suit.
“Nice and baggy, just like I hoped,” he said.
The protective suits were very loose, and because the material was so
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