She’d come to the conclusion long ago that the burden of guilt she would bear from killing a parent couldn’t compare to the cross she’d been forced to bear when, as a seven-year-old in a daisy-patterned dress, she’d discovered her father hanging from the second-floor banister of their Providence brownstone. Anything would be preferable to that.
Two of her friends had come over to play, and when she’d turned to them, hysterical, for help and advice, they’d laughed at her and accused her of making up stories. Since then, any time thoughts of her father and an image of his slack body resting still and motionless in the stairwell invaded her head—when she’d looked up at the dish antenna and was sure she’d seen him hanging from the steel catwalk, but shod in Jun’s threadbare sneakers—they were accompanied by the light, scornful laughter of little girls.
Anne pressed her hands to her face, willing the image and the sound away, desperately trying to put the look of pity and impatience on Carla’s face into perspective, trying to rationalize to herself why her friend’s charity and tolerance might be wearing thin enough to send her on a bullshit mission in search of coffee.
“Get ahold of yourself, Klimt,” she said out loud, startling herself, but the sound died in the dead walls of the station. No one was around to hear her, which, not long ago, would have struck her as strange. Even on a winter-over, she should have run into a familiar face or two on the way to the galley, but since Cass’s announcement at the midwinter party, people had chosen to hunker down in their berth or bury themselves in their work. Like some people she knew.
If she had any doubts that life at Shackleton wasn’t proceeding normally, entering the galley put them to rest. The dining room was as empty as the halls and that was definitely not right. People on base ate and drank constantly for comfort and camaraderie. Not long ago, half the station would’ve congregated in the galley simply to be close to one another. Now, the room stood empty, and she could imagine herself as the only one alive on base. Alone, wandering the halls, looking for someone, anyone to talk to . . .
Stop that . Yes, there’d been two deaths, and a blistering chaos of violence and accusations, but forty-odd crew members still lived at the station. She wasn’t the only human being left on earth, for Christ’s sake. She moved deeper into the galley, hoping to see someone she’d missed.
“Pete?” she called, figuring the cook, at least, had to be around. When there weren’t meals to be made or served, there were dishes to be washed and appliances to be maintained, right? But there was no answer. Despite the fact that she’d just left Carla in the biology lab five minutes before, the sensation that she was utterly alone returned in full force. It was like a ten-pound weight had suddenly appeared in her gut, dragging her to the floor.
Timidly, she walked across the galley to the coffee urns that were a mainstay at the base. Ignoring the decaf, she grabbed two porcelain diner cups from the rack and tilted the REGULAR urn forward, but she knew it was empty as soon as she touched it.
“Goddammit.” She slammed the cup against the counter, cracking it, and turned to look around, as if there were a roomful of people to share her exasperation. Under normal circumstances, running out of coffee would have started a riot.
She grimaced. Riot. Nice word choice . While the fracas at the midwinter party hadn’t quite fit the definition, it had been close. And for better reasons than running out of coffee. But still, where the hell was everyone?
Anne called the names again, hoping that one of the kitchen grunts simply had their head in a bin and hadn’t heard her, then bellied herself across the countertop, trying to see into the prep area without actually crossing the line from the dining room into the kitchen—a big no-no that earned an ass-chewing from Deb for violating sanitation guidelines. But there was no one.
Looking around again, this time guiltily, Anne scooted her butt onto the counter— how’s that for a sanitation violation, Deb? —spun in place, and landed on the other side. No Pete. Maybe they’d run out for supplies?
In the meantime, there had to be coffee somewhere. Gingerly at first, then with more and more assertiveness, she proceeded to ransack the kitchen, tipping open boxes and peeking into cabinets, first in search of coffee and then, she had to admit to herself, simply because it was so much fun being nosy. A grin, unfamiliar but welcome, spread across her face. If she’d known it would be this much fun to snoop, she would’ve risked a demerit weeks ago.