Crimson Waters
“The scalies of the little mountain ville had died hard.
“Shit,” Ryan said.
The village stank of burned grass and charred flesh.
The muties smelled worse than humans did when they were burned. That actually took some doing, since the smell of incinerated human flesh tended to hit humans in the core of their being, instinctively revolting them. The humanoid mutants gave off the porky-sweet stink human flesh did, plus some kind of weird chemical reek that stung Ryan’s eye like tear gas.
Unlike Nuestra Señora, the little ville had been built of highly combustible materials. It had burned so fast and thoroughly that there was little left but smoking ashes by the time Ryan, Ricky and Jak returned to it in midafternoon.
The chillers of the tiny mutie ville had been thorough. Dead scalies lay everywhere: sprawled on the paths between the mounds of ash that had been their homes, their deflated corpses showed the marks of blades and bashing as well as bullets.
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