Finger Wrong Turn __top__ — Three

I killed the engine. Somewhere in the dark, an owl laughed.

The rain had turned the dirt road to soup by the time I realized my mistake. three finger wrong turn

So I took what my gut said was the third left. I killed the engine

Three miles later, the trees closed in. The GPS spun its little wheel of futility. And the road, once gravel, then mud, then just two tire tracks through wet leaves, gave out entirely. three finger wrong turn

I’d taken the wrong turn, all right. Not by a mile—by three fingers.