Day 18, Trail Mile 188: Ben ran to the road as a vehicle approached. His thumb thrust into the air with a snap, and, as if by sheer will alone, the passing pickup turned on its blinker and pulled to a stop along the gravel shoulder. Ace and Caveman had been right. The trail provides.
“Can you take us to the post office in Stratton?” Ben asked with a contrived innocence, blocking the unsettling glare of sunlight with one hand. The words burst out of his alarmingly unkempt beard at an uncharacteristic clip.
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