The child isn’t wearing the gas mask; it’s somehow become part of him, as though it’s welded to his face, seamlessly blending with his skin. It’s horrific, and yet it isn’t the creepiest thing about him. That would be his voice, lost, alone, hollow-sounding through the mask. All he ever says is, “Are you my mummy?”
Rose is torn. Part of her wants to comfort the boy, promise to help him find his mummy, but mostly she wants to run from him as fast as she can. She doesn’t know what’s made him the way he is, but it’s spreading.