Dismember

EPILOGUE

THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, COLORADO

2005

On the first night of the rest of his life, Hank Abbott drove out of the mountains in a silence broken only by the sound of gravel ricocheting off the undercarriage of the Honda and the occasional groans and bursts of rustling from his newfound family. Lori sat slumped in the passenger’s seat with her cheek flattened against the window, her lips parted, her breath frosting the glass. George and Davy sat tangled around the dog in the back seat, looking scared though Hank knew what they really felt was relief.

The clock on the dashboard went from 11:59 to 12:00, and Hank realized it was no longer his birthday. But that was all right—he’d gotten everything he wanted.

Their trip out of the mountains had been twenty-three years in the making, but late was better than never at all. Hank watched the sides of the road carefully, looking for glowing eyes or dark-brown blurs. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice. This was his family, after all, and he loved them.

He piloted the car around a sharp curve and thought to himself that this had been one hell of a vacation. As the road straightened out ahead, Hank guessed he didn’t care if he never saw the mountains again.