Desolate The Complete Trilogy

20



Liz Clark sat at her workstation chewing on the end of a pencil and stared blankly at the wall. Phillip had gone to bed and she insisted she would join him after catching up on some paperwork. Now that she sat alone at her desk, she found it hard to concentrate. It didn’t help to know just down the hall two strangers slept.

Something was odd about the two men and the tall loud one with the long hair gave her the willies. She didn’t like the way he looked at her all the time. He sure didn’t look like a prison guard to her, but then again, when had she ever seen one except for in the movies? Still, he gave her the creeps and she felt uneasy being alone with those two. Liz loved Phillip dearly but he was an intellectual, not somebody who was likely to fight to defend the honor of his lady. Even if he was, the tall guard looked like he was perfectly capable of pummeling her Phillip.

She clicked off her desk light and accepted the fact that no paperwork would get done that night. She was just being paranoid. When Ron and Lisa got back, those two guards would be on their way, and things would get back to normal. Liz heard a creak in the floor behind her and she spun around her chair to see what made the noise.



****



Once Carl heard the steady breathing coming from Howard’s bed he relaxed a little. Howard was a skinny little know-it-all p-ssy, but Carl had to admit, he liked the guy. They made a pretty good team. But he had a feeling old Howie would probably get in the way of what he had planned tonight.

He quietly slipped out of bed and stuck his head out the doorway of their room. The coast was clear and he walked down the hall as softly as possible.

The door to the Clark’s room was open a crack and Carl could make out the form of Phillip in bed. He saw the steady rise and fall of his chest and Carl smiled to himself. This was going to be easier than he thought.

He slowly walked down the hall to the lab area, the steady hum of the ventilation system drowning out the sound of his footsteps, and he reached the open door. Liz sat at desk with her back to him. She was leaning back in her chair and looked like she was chewing on the end of a pencil. Carl could smell the shampoo scent from her hair and his pulse quickened. His grip on the doorframe tightened and he considered maybe, just maybe, she’d be down for it. There was no way that scrawny little prick of a husband knew how to handle her. Maybe alone in this tube in the middle of nowhere she was aching for it. Asking for it. Wanting it. He couldn’t decide which was hotter – begging him to stop or begging for it harder. Maybe he’d get lucky and have it both ways.

He put his hand on the comforting bulge created by the Glock tucked in his pants and shifted his weight to the other foot. The floor creaked and Liz turned around.