10 Cloverfield Lane Page

He pointed to a crude gas mask hanging by the door. Then to the bolted steel hatch above. “That’s all that’s between us and it.”

She didn’t sleep.

“You’re safe,” he said, placing the tray just out of reach. “The air outside is bad. Real bad. Something happened—attack, maybe, or a leak from the plant. I pulled you in before you breathed too much.” 10 Cloverfield Lane

The next morning, she smiled at Howard. She asked about the jigsaw puzzle. She let him show her how to use the gas mask. And when he turned his back to refill her water, she took the bolt cutter from his workshop. She hid it in her mattress.

She ran.

She put the key in the ignition.

Days passed. Michelle learned the bunker’s layout: a main living area with a jigsaw puzzle of a sailboat on a card table, a pantry stacked with canned chili and powdered milk, a radio that only hissed static. And Emmett, the young man from town, who’d helped Howard build the place. Emmett had a bruised rib and a nervous laugh. He believed Howard. He pointed to a crude gas mask hanging by the door

His face broke. For one second, he was just a tired, lonely man in a terrible bunker. Then he lunged.

Michelle didn’t look. She watched Howard instead. The way he stood too close to her “room.” The way he’d polished the bolt on the hatch every morning, whispering to it like a pet. The way he’d tense whenever she asked for details about the “attack.” “You’re safe,” he said, placing the tray just