RORY, DROWNING HIS concerns with music from his iPod touch, was completely unaware of the danger. Sporting a pair of oversized latex rubber gloves, he scraped up the remains of the ghoulish rodent he had smashed with the canister minutes earlier. U2 blasted a classic hit through his ear buds, but it couldn’t cover up the unavoidable stink of putrid, rotting flesh in the lab.
Rory knelt to retrieve the gob of twisted slime by its tail. “Oh, no! Don’t you lose it!” he said to himself as he dry heaved and gagged. “Man up! Man up!” Rory tried not to breathe through his nose—blocking his nostrils from tasting the stench in the air. Undetected, and stalking Rory like a lion versus a gazelle, Lil’ Pete inched closer to his prey.
“It’s a beautiful day—Don’t let it—slip—away!” Rory dropped the fo
