Hands balled into fists at her sides, Cass barely kept herself from punching the man in the teeth. Faces began turning their way. “Harmless, polite, nobody Jun killed himself because of your little social science experiment and you’re not going to get me to follow him.”
“Jun’s dead ?” For the first time since she’d known him, Hanratty looked shocked.
“Yes, you cocksucker. He hanged himself from the middle of that great-goddamned antenna in the COBRA building. And you had Pete send me out there to find him.”
Shaken, Hanratty turned to Taylor, who bent his head close to catch every word. The security chief’s eyes widened, then he jerked his head toward the door to the galley. Hanratty turned back to her. “Jennings, this isn’t the place to handle this. Let’s go to my office and you can debrief me fully.”
“Debrief? Debrief? Jun is dead . He just committed suicide .” She clawed at Hanratty’s shirt, balling the fabric in her fists and screaming into his face. “You want a debrief? Here’s your fucking debrief. You’re through experimenting on me. You’re through experimenting on us. You’re going to call McMurdo now and we’re going to shut down this station tonight .”
The last words came out as a shriek that she couldn’t contain. The accumulated suspicions and fear she’d been harboring, the residual guilt and paranoia, bubbled up and out in a scream. Some of the crew, seeing Cass grab Hanratty, stopped what they were doing and stood or turned their way or stepped closer. Someone turned the music off abruptly.
“Nothing to worry about, everyone,” Hanratty said, his voice jerky. “Cass here has had a little too much to drink.”
“I am not drunk,” she yelled, furious. She pivoted to address the room. “I just came back from COBRA. Jun Takahashi killed himself tonight.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hanratty said. The galley was deadly silent, as though the air had been sucked out of the room . . . then the crowd erupted in groans and whispered “nos.” Anne buried her face in her hands. Carla and Colin, stunned, stood with mouths literally hanging open. Biddi and Dave, along with others who hadn’t quite understood the message, were asking what had happened; those who had understood began shouting simultaneously, demanding details from Cass, an explanation from Hanratty.
“They’re using us like rats in experiments,” she yelled at the top of her voice, trying to convince the crowd on the strength of her voice alone. “This whole winter-over is all just a goddamned psych test. They’re using you, using all of us. Sheryl’s death was faked! The power outage was planned!”
The words came out in a garbled rush, but enough of the message got through that people started yelling questions.
“What?”
“What did she say?”
“What does she mean, Sheryl isn’t dead?”
Hanratty, glancing at the outraged crowd, gestured. “Taylor, get her out of here. I’m going to have to handle this.”
The security chief nodded and reached for Cass’s arm.
The patronizing, take-charge gesture broke her last remaining thread of self-control. As the man’s fingers curled around her bicep, she screamed incoherently and drove the butt of her palm into his face. Taylor’s nose buckled with a crunch and blood exploded across his face. Shocked by the assault, the security chief looked at her in disbelief, then shook his head like a bull and swung.
His fist caught her on the side of the head, a clumsy punch that stunned her but galvanized the onlookers. The room broke into full chaos, with crew members surging forward to try and separate the two. Taylor, not a popular man, had as many hands restraining him as Cass, although someone grabbed her from behind and shouted in her ear, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Hanratty was shouting for Ayres and Keene to help him. Taylor, his face a nightmarish mask of blood and anger, struggled against the hands restraining him. The crew split into camps, with some trying to tug Cass out of the galley under Hanratty’s shouted orders, others trying to subdue Taylor, while still others tried to quell the panic and rage that had destroyed the night’s festive atmosphere with an explosion of violence and recrimination. Jun’s suicide seemed forgotten.
While Ayres and Beth Mu?ez tried to pacify the crowd, Hanratty, Deb, and Keene bundled Cass out of the galley and down the hall toward the administration offices. Taylor followed them, cursing and holding a napkin to his nose. The procession was an awkward tangle of bodies and emotions, with Cass struggling against the three of them. The shouts and bellows of the uproar behind them faded.
They dragged Cass through to Hanratty’s office, where she was shoved into a guest chair. Cass, caught between crying and snarling, bruised, simultaneously cold and white hot, seethed.
Hanratty tossed a box of tissues from his desk to Taylor. “Clean yourself up and get out to the lab.”
“Make sure you get rid of the evidence,” Cass called as Taylor walked out holding a wad of tissues to his nose. He shot her a dark look as he left.