Office Preserves

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  “Welcome to Preser Tech!” she says in her bubbly voice.

  Toby skids to a stop as he comes to her side. “Up!”

  He says it with such force that the receptionist obeys without hesitation. She stands there, bewildered, and Toby grabs her chair and charges the front doors with his makeshift battering ram.

  His first strike is heavy. He can feel the power behind the blow in the shockwave that ripples through the chair and up his arms. The doors, however, don’t budge. The glass doesn’t chip, let alone break. Regardless, Toby remains undaunted. He brings the chair back and swings again and again. The glass wavers and thumps with each strike. By the time the muscles in his arms give out, all Toby’s managed to do is knock off each and every one of the chair’s wheels.

  “Toby!” Melissa scolds. “You stop destroying company property this instant!”

  Toby lowers the chair. “Look,” he says, panting. “You can either stand there and look pretty and die, or you can help me escape.”

  “Why would I need to dye my hair if I already look pretty?”

  Toby groans and rolls his eyes. “Not you, too,” he mutters. “Screw it.”

  He raises the chair and slams it into the door one more time, splitting the chair’s back in the process.

  “Freddie is going to make you take a furniture-sensitivity class if you keep that up,” Melissa says.

  Toby goes to say something snide but stops when he spies movement off to the side. He squints, and there, in a tall, covered trash bin, he sees a hiding alien who’s pointing something at Melissa.

  Without a second thought, Toby rockets across the lobby floor, vaults over the reception desk, and tackles her at the shoulders. They hit the floor with a thump, and Melissa’s coffee cup explodes, showering them both in a cold double latte.

  “Oh, Toby,” she giggles from underneath him. Her cheeks blush, and she rolls her eyes. “Like I’d ever have sex with a janitor.”

  Toby pushes off her and is about to try and pull her to safety when the large, meaty paw of Boris clamps down on his shoulder. “You try and steal Boris’s girl again?”

  Toby is spun around and catches a solid fist with the right hinge of his jaw. The force of the blow knocks him back around, and Toby collapses in a heap on the desk. His vision swims in a sea of colorful lights, and his ears take nothing in but a steady ringing. He’s vaguely aware of being hoisted in the air before finding himself flying through the lobby.

  Toby hits the ground and tumbles until he hits a wall. His vision clears fast enough to see a massive black boot driving down on him. Instinctively, Toby rolls out of the way, and Boris’s foot stomps the ground where his face was a moment ago.

  Toby scurries to his feet, but not before he catches a reinforced toe to the hip. “Stop being such a goddamn Neanderthal,” he says, with a wince. “I saved your girlfriend’s life!”

  Boris approaches, fists raised like a champion boxer. “You not talk your way out of this.”

  Toby brings his arms up as well and keeps moving lightly on his feet. He’d suspected it before, but now that he’s actually been hit by the brute, he knows he’ll never be able to go toe-to-toe and live. But staying in a fighting stance seems to have at least made Boris wary, and Toby hopes he might be able to keep him at bay long enough to escape before getting his skull crushed.

  Boris’s hesitation ends, and the guard lunges forward with a left jab. Toby jumps back, and Boris immediately follows with a right cross that grazes the side of Toby’s head. Reflexively, Toby answers with a left jab of his own, and to his surprise, manages to connect with the guard’s cheek.

  Boris steps back, growls, and undoes his belt. Mace, gun, and keys thud on the floor. “You have fight in you,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll enjoy tearing arms from socket.”

  “Don’t be such a dumbass,” says Toby. “You’re going to die if you don’t knock this off.”

  Boris smirks. “You are big in talk, but small in deed.”

  Toby doesn’t get a chance to reply before Boris hits him with a bull charge. The guard catches Toby around the waist and drives him backward. Toby rains elbow after elbow, punch after punch on top of the brute’s head, but none have any effect. Toby impacts the wall with his spine, and he’s certain at least two ribs crack in the process.

  “Maybe next life you’ll leave girl alone,” says Boris. The fingers on his left hand close like a vice around Toby’s neck, and he draws back his right in a tight fist. “Time to die.”

  Boris’s eyes flicker. His body wobbles. He coughs once before his grip weakens, and his hand drops. Then, like a marionette whose puppeteer is having a heart attack, he slides to the floor with periodic spasms. A metal rod sticks out of his back, and from it, an all-too-familiar red pool forms.

  Toby scurries to the side. Melissa is on her back, draped over her desk. Her hair and arms dangle to the ground. Her eyes look empty, and half of her face is caked in blood. Behind her, Mr. Squid ruffles through her clothes with his tentacles. Next to him, Mrs. Squid – for she’s slimmer and dressed in pink – shoulders what has to be a spear gun and levels it right at Toby’s chest.

  “Oh damn,” he says, inching sideways. He wonders how fast that thing will fly, or if he can even see it coming, let alone dodge it. All those wonderings immediately cease when he’s tackled from the side.

  Toby drops to the floor like a heap of bricks. There’s a flurry of red hair in his face. Kisses assault his cheeks and lips. A tongue darts in his mouth, and hands grip his shoulders.

  “Clarice!” he sputters out, too shocked to push her off. “What are you doing?”

  Clarice, who is now straddling his waist, stops ravishing him long enough to glare and answer. “Quiet!” she orders. “Fuck me if you want to live.”

  Toby balks, unable to understand the rationale to her demand. Clarice, however, doesn’t wait for him to react. She sheds her blouse and smothers him in kisses. As she does, she wedges a hand between them both, and pops open his shirt, sending buttons flying.

  “Clarice-”

  The secretary nibbles his ear and slides her hand into his pants. “Toby,” she whispers. “I’m off limits – you are off limits – if we’re mating. Now fuck me like I’m the last piece of ass you’ll ever have because I just might be.”

  Toby nods and forces a smile. He glances at Mr. and Mrs. Freddie who are still in the lobby watching. Though Mrs. Freddie still has a spear gun in hand, she’s lowered it for the moment. His view of them is short lasting, as Clarice turns his face to meet hers with a gentle hand on his cheek.

  “Don’t look,” she says. “God, don’t look.”

  With one hand, Toby reaches behind her and deftly pops open the clasp on her bra. Clarice pulls her hand from his pants long enough to let the garment slide from her shoulders and fall to the floor. Said hand then plunges back between them and goes for the button and zipper to his pants.

  Toby shuts his eyes and tries to force the image of a pair of hunting, voyeuristic aliens from his mind. He runs both hands down her neck and chest, cupping her breasts before trailing his fingertips over her back. He leans up, kisses her shoulder, and works his way up to her mouth. Cold air brushes his groin, and a glance downward shows that Clarice has managed to get his pants down to his knees.

  Despite the fact that her body is soft and warm and her sexual appetite is voracious, his performance is lacking, and he suspects that no pill on Earth would be able to help. After all, that damn smiling Bob never had to deal with this kind of pressure. Clarice, on the other hand, looks unfazed. She breathes heavily into his ear and wraps her fingers around his little man, a semi at best, and strokes it evenly. To Toby’s relief and guilty pleasure, little Toby responds to her coaxing and turns into the tall, proud warrior he’s known since puberty.

  “Not bad,” she whispers. She adjusts her grip on his erection, pulls him into her, and groans. “God, you feel good,” she says, panting, rocking.

  Toby’s primal male takes over
, and he flips her onto her back. His hands clasp hers, and each thrust of his pelvis builds a harder and faster rhythm. Clarice’s moans grow loud enough to make even the most seasoned porn star blush. In the back of his mind, Toby understands it’s all show, but he doesn’t care. It’s hot. She is hot, and the very Y side of his chromosomes is enjoying every last minute of it.

  Toby turns his head at the sound of a nearby grunt. A dozen feet away, Mr. and Mrs. Squid have Boris’s body hoisted between the two of them and are now awkwardly carrying him to a portal that’s standing in the middle of the lobby.

  “Harder, damn it,” Clarice says, turning his face one more.

  Toby complies, redoubling his effort. Heat builds between the two. Sweat pours from his forehead, runs down his back. Beads of water pool between her breasts, making the perfect target for his next kiss. But each and every moment he’s screwing her brains out and feeling her nails dig into his back, he’s watching the Squids.

  They’re about to enter the portal, Boris still being carried between the two, when a sudden influx of pressure builds in his groin. The tension works its way up his back and signals an impending grand finale. Toby bites his lip and closes his eyes.

  Clarice locks her legs on his hips, grinding their sex fest to halt. “Get off me!”

  Toby’s eyes go wide with shock. His mouth hangs open, and an ill-formed, unintelligible question tries to pop out, but mostly it’s the noise of a stuttering idiot.

  “Get off! Get off!” she orders once more. Clarice squirms out from under him, apparently uncaring about the fact she has given Toby the worst case of blue balls he’s had in a long time.

  Toby watches her grab her blouse before finally managing to spit out, “What?”

  Clarice points. “It’s open! It’s still open!”

  Toby looks over his shoulder, back to where the Squids were, and sure enough, the portal is still open. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Squid are about, but Melissa’s body is still draped over the reception desk.

  “Move!” Clarice says, pulling him up.

  Hope springs up in Toby’s soul, and the two make a dash for the portal. Toby’s run is more of a hopping at first, for it takes a second to pull his pants up from his knees. But he manages to get them up with minimal stumble, and by the time he’s got them zipped, Clarice has pulled him through the portal.

  Chapter Ten

  Toby takes in the scene. Goosebumps spread over his body. His breath hangs in the frosty air a good five or six seconds before disappearing. Angled, metallic walls—smooth, shiny, and an electric blue—shape the room into an egg. A vaulted ceiling stretches high overhead, and from it, dangle the upside-down bodies of dozens of office coworkers. They gently sway in an artificial breeze generated by noisy, unseen fans. At the far end of the room, Mr. and Mrs. Squid hang Boris on invisible suspensions. Worse yet, there are at least another half-dozen aliens tending to their own kills as well. Thankfully, none of them are aware of Toby’s and Clarice’s arrival.

  “Come on,” she whispers, tugging his arm.

  Toby obeys and keeps his eyes riveted on the aliens as she leads him out of the room and down a side passage. The hall, made of the same reflective blue material as the room before, winds a short way before ending at a large, grey door frame. Beyond it is simply a wall, as flat and hard as the others. Nearby is a narrow, marble pedestal on which sits a large, black disk. Embedded in the disk are a number of much smaller disks arranged in concentric circles, each having a unique white glyph etched into its face. In the very center of the pedestal is a small cylinder that’s no more than an inch wide and maybe twice that tall.

  “What now?” asks Toby, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

  Clarice points. “That pedestal has to open another portal or something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not willing to consider anything else.”

  Toby lets a tiny laugh slip. “Okay. Any ideas on how to get it to work?”

  “Nope. But it’s all yours if you want.”

  “Well, here goes nothing,” he says with a shrug. Without knowing what else to do, Toby pushes down on the cylinder. It sinks down a half inch before clicking into place. Immediately, the disks light up, some only slightly, but a few shine bright. The glyph of one disk, however, blinks steadily. Toby, hoping nothing will explode, sucks in a breath and presses the blinking glyph with his thumb. A low hum fills the air, and the blinking is replaced by a bright glow.

  “Try another,” says Clarice.

  And so Toby does. He picks one at random and gives it a push. The hum in the air drops in pitch, and a portal, as cool and blue as all the others he’s seen, fills the doorway.

  Clarice exhales. “God, I hope this leads out.”

  “Me too,” he says, feeling tension build in his neck and shoulders.

  Clarice steps toward the portal, but Toby stays where he is. He doesn’t like not knowing or seeing where he’s about to go. Clarice, on the other hand, grabs his arm and pulls him through without hesitation.

  Toby stumbles as he comes out the other side, but Clarice’s iron grip keeps him upright. Dark brown, stony walls curve around them, and a domed, lighted ceiling sits on top. Before Toby can take in the details of where they are, the most horrid of screeches fills the air.

  Startled, Toby jumps, breaking free of Clarice’s grasp. He spins around the moment he touches down and sees a Mrs. Squid pointing at them with one of her tentacles. He hasn’t a prayer to understand what she’s saying in her rapid, alien language, but he figures it can’t be anything good.

  A circular door behind the alien opens, and in rush two Freddie look-a-likes, each fumbling to pull out their sci-fi sidearms that hang from their belts.

  “Don’t move,” Clarice whispers, grabbing Toby by the arm. “Be dumb. Always be dumb.”

  Despite Clarice’s warnings, Toby isn’t convinced that’s the best course of action. His brain furiously searches for an option that doesn’t involve being led back to the slaughterhouse.

  The two Freddies stop a few paces in front of Mrs. Squid, and the fatter of the two then slithers forward a couple of feet, blaster drawn but pointed downward. “Here persies,” Fattie Freddie says, crouching slightly and extending its free hand. “Don’t be scared.”

  Clarice stays rooted in place, but Toby takes a wary half-step back. As he does, he feels her tighten her grip on his arm.

  “How did you little fellas get up here?” Fattie Freddie says, slithering forward a few more feet. “Let’s get you back to the office where you belong.”

  Toby throws a glance to Clarice at The Farm’s mention. While the alien could be speaking about Preser Tech, Toby suspects he is not. Clarice, however, seems just as clueless as he is about the reference and doesn’t say a word.

  “Come on,” Fattie Freddie says. “Come on. It’ll be okay.”

  Mrs. Squid begins to screech once more, but Fattie Freddie whips around and silences her with the raise of his hand.

  “Don’t mind her,” Fattie Freddie says, turning back around. “She’s just happy to see you. We only want to get you back to the office where it’s safe.”

  Fattie Freddie eases forward and comes to a halt four feet from Toby and Clarice. Though his weapon is still drawn, the alien still has it pointed to the ground, and as best as Toby can tell, the alien isn’t expecting an attack. And if he’s not expecting an attack, Toby thinks, it might be possible to wrestle that gun away and use it to shoot their way out of this nightmare.

  Clarice squeezes Toby’s hand. “No, Toby,” she says. “He’s only trying to help. Trying to see us home.”

  Fattie Freddie puts an arm around Toby and directs him to a side hall. “Come boy,” he says. “Don’t you want to get back to your janitorial duties?”

  As Toby is pulled along, he turns around and tries to plant his feet. “What about her?” he says, looking straight at Clarice.

  “Raegul will help her, don’t worry, persie,” says Fattie Freddie. “She’ll be
fine.”

  The moment Fattie Freddie finishes answering, Raegul, the other armed alien, slithers up to Clarice, takes her by the hand, and escorts her toward the one and only door in the room.

  Tension builds in Toby’s body, and time seems to slow. He knows must make a choice, right here, right now. He can go along and play dumb, and ultimately wind back up on the preserve dodging water coolers and blow up dolls, or he can take a stand here and now and fight for his life.

  Toby glances at Fattie Freddie who in turn looks him over. Their eyes meet, and Toby smiles before giving Fattie Freddie a right cross.

  Toby’s fist hits Fattie Freddie square in the chin. The alien spins and crumples to the floor. Toby doesn’t waste a moment seeing if the alien stays down. He charges toward Clarice and Raegul, his legs driving him forward with powerful strides. Mrs. Squid howls, and Raegul turns as Toby leaps through the air. Raegul tries to raise his gun, but the alien isn’t fast enough. Toby drives his fist into the center of Raegul’s face with a satisfying crunch.

  Like his counterpart, Raegul drops to the floor. The alien’s gun hits the ground, as does something else completely unexpected: a small, rectangular box. It’s a portal device. No doubt about it. For a half second, Toby stares at them both, unable to believe his good fortune. A weapon and a key delivered to his feet.

  Toby dives for the gun, but Clarice knocks it across the room with a swift kick.

  “What the hell did you that for?” Toby yells.

  “They’ll shoot you if you’re a danger,” she says.

  “They’re going to shoot us anyway!” Toby yells, shaking his head. Why this isn’t painfully obvious to the woman, he’ll never know. But now isn’t the time nor the place to be having a long, thoughtful conversation on the matter.

  Toby snatches the portal device, grabs Clarice by the arm and yanks her toward a nearby door. The other side reveals a long, stone hall. They run down it, passing several circular doors on the right as the hall slowly curves to the left. Toby doesn’t dare slow because if Fattie Freddie and Raegul aren’t back on their tails and in hot pursuit, the other aliens Mrs. Squid undoubtedly called are.