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Back The Bone Factory
Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. The Bad Man
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUEBLOOD
  5. PART ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. PART TWO
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. PART THREE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. EPILOGUE
  46. Acknowledgments
  47. High Praise for Nate Kenyon’s
  48. Other Leisure Books by Nate Kenyon:

By the time he saw the beginning of their driveway through the heavy snow, he almost missed it and slid past into the drifts. It was visible only as a vague opening in the trees that huddled like ghosts along the road’s edge, and when he saw it he automatically hit the brakes, putting the little car into a skid. Swearing, he fought for control, the back threatening to fishtail and swap ends with the front.

When it ended, he was sideways in the wrong lane. Feeling a little shaky, he swung the car gingerly around and into the driveway, thankful again for the lack of traffic and the guardian angel that had gotten him this far. The gusting winds had blown the snow into drifts here and there close to a foot high already, and he had to constantly gun the engine and then feather the brakes to maneuver in it, knowing he was pushing the edges of the envelope but equally sure that he could not stop or he would never get the car going again.

About halfway down the driveway, the tires caught a frozen rut hidden under the new snow’s surface and the wheel was yanked out of his hands with incredible force. He felt the car begin to slide and then the wheel shuddered again and the front tires leapt the shoulder into the deeper drifts. The car came to an abrupt stop, tilted forward and stalled. It was suddenly nearly silent, nothing to hear but the sound of the wipers scraping the glass and the thin hum of the heater fan.

He turned the key, jamming the car into reverse and flooring the gas pedal. The tires spun uselessly, buried in the drifts.

Looks like you walk from here.

He opened the door and the storm attacked him, whipping hard granules of snow at his face and neck. He pulled the collar of his jacket up as far as it would go, jammed his hat over his ears, and stepped out into the wind. The front of the car was almost completely buried in the drifts that lined the road’s edge. He looked down the driveway in the direction of the house, but the storm blotted everything out farther than twenty or thirty feet. It can’t be more than a quarter mile. No sweat.