This Slaughterhouse Earth

Lloyd froze, for just a second... an endless second, as a hoarse but definitely human voice screamed and screamed and screamed, from just the other side of the locked conference room door – “NO! NOT ME! THEY'RE IN THERE!!! GET THEM THEY'RE THE ONES WITH THE WATER BOTTLE NOOOO NOT MEEEEEE!”

He felt Megan's arms and legs go around him and tighten, as if to hold him in place. In another circumstance it would have been erotic, would have been a real turn on – but that scream had already turned Lloyd's arousal to ashes, made his penis shrivel inside Megan, made his knees and elbows turn loose and unstable.

Megan's harsh whisper against his ear didn't help any: “It's Steve. He must have followed us, goddam him to hell.”

Lloyd rolled off of Megan, easily breaking her hold on him, and yanked his jeans back up. He could hear her scrambling in the shadowy gloom, too, and he only hoped their movements weren't audible outside the room.

They probably weren't. The screaming had stopped, but there was some kind of scuffling struggle going on out there – grunts and smacking sounds and hisses – a sound of office furniture overturning –

Lloyd got his jeans buttoned, started to buckle his belt – then changed his mind and pulled the belt out of its belt loops instead. It might make a weapon, the metal buckle on the end of the length of leather might knock one of those shock-wands out of a fish-lizard's hand, or if he got in a shot across the eyes, might blind one...