“Death had its own smell, one he found comforting, but tonight, the nasty blade of methamphetamines sliced through it, fouling the air. The stone walls of the old pump house would have been comforting and cozy for the giant horned vipers, probably reminding them of an earthen den. Long, colorful cushions and radiators, warm necessities of life, once lined the floor but now were shredded and punctured by the mated pair’s anger at the attack on their clutch. The nursery, a round pit in the floor o...f the hut, would normally have been tucked with electric blankets to keep the eggs warm while they incubated. Colorful ceramic bowls of water and minced meat, once neatly arranged on the lip of the pit to welcome the babies when they hatched, lay crushed and leaking over the entire floor. Radu squatted, balancing on his toes away from the muck spilling from the eggs. For a moment, a whiff of sandalwood incense overcame the stench of death and suffering. The draped altar hanging from the wall told him these snakes had been devout Hindus.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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