![]() ![]() He eased out to the wooden box, as big as an oven, for a closer look. It roared toward the horizon and was gobbled by shimmering heat waves.Bryan looked both ways down the highway. Instead of busting on the blacktop, the crate flipped twice, then clunked flat in the center of the road. ![]() As the truck bounced over a pothole, the trailer's left rear door had flung itself wide.A large wooden crate slid from the shadows and tumbled out to the road.Bryan had braced for an explosion of splinters. The driver could still turn back to buy a cool drink. He'd been hoping the brake lights might blink. Just a minute before, he'd been gazing sadly as a big white semi sped past. Yet here was a crate, a big one, squatting atop the road's dotted line, and somebody odd was about to climb out.From his LemonMoo stand by the highway, eleven-year-old Bryan Zilcher gaped. 1SPECIAL DELIVERYPeople did not usually travel down Route 64 stuffed inside wooden crates. ![]()
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