Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #172
…The once speedy roadster goes no further. Its top is cut off like a can of vacuum packed food and there is no chance that whoever is under the rear deck of the Mack could have survived…
The sign had read “ROCK BLUFF 3 miles”. Had it not been for the narrowing of the roadbed, he may not have noticed their wayward path.
“I’m sorry, Willy, I weren’t doin’ good though, eh?”
“You was, Clete.” Willy scouts for solid enough ground to make a Y-turn. If they put the truck on sand, they would be soon be on foot. “There! Puller in befo’ the bend……and give that horn a good pull.”
If there were a cemetery nearby, the occupants would think the gates of heaven were being opened, so loud the report.
Pulling off the road is easy, but Clete has yet to configure the gears to reverse and gropes unsuccessfully for the R slot in the H shift pattern. Willy has to help.
“It’s right……there!” One gets a “feel” for gears, which comes with repetition.
From out of the roar of the 100 horsepower comes the screeching crunch of metal, the same novel chorus of sounds being repeated throughout the country. The only difference is that the Mack is an immovable object.
The once speedy roadster goes no further. Its top is cut off like a can of vacuum packed food and there is no chance that whoever is under the rear deck of the Mack could have survived. There is equally little chance that they can pull forward, but they try anyway, with Willy at the wheel. The truck will not loosen its grip; they can only drag the Chadwick Six along and under.
Clete waves off any further attempts to free the shiny white auto, when a Model T headed for Rock Bluff stops to help.
“My God, is anyone alive in there?” asks what appears to be a traveling salesman, peering into a slight opening spewing smoke and steam.
“Ain’t heard nothin’ since they run into us, goin’ faster than Casey Jones’ train.” Clete describes what he did not see.
“When did this happen?”
“Ain’t been ten minutes – we’re tryin’ to get away from the car.”
“You were going to cut and run?” accuses the confused man.
“Oh, nosir, nosir, we hada see ifin anybody is livin,” pleeds Willy, already flustered and distraught.
“Well, I am going back to Bristol to locate the proper authorities. I believe it is the Liberty County seat. So I recommend you wait here for us to return.” It is a stern warning by a concerned citizen, just a little bit suspicious of a Negro driving a new truck. For better or worse, he is mistaken.