At Dewitt's End

By Doc Henderson

Put together a witty, wheelchair-bound doctor, a couple of inept but lovable American Indians who kidnap him, a corrupt Western state governor, and some mafioso-style Indians trying to cheat the innocent villagers of Forked Knife – then throw in the C. I. A. and a baker's dozen other zany characters – and you have the outlandish but believable action-comedy novel, "At Dewitt's End."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543935165

Book preview

anyway.

PROLOGUE

This is WKWF-AM, transmitting to you from beautiful Key West, Florida. And it’s another sunny afternoon here, as usual, where we expect a beautiful evening on Mallory Square as hundreds, nay, thousands of springtime revelers will be watching for that ever-elusive green flash just as the sun goes down... Bill, I’ve seen it... Yeah, Kerri, but only when you’ve been drinking absinthe... I swear, Bill...

Turn off that station, Brother, or give me some recognizable pop – not some snap, crackle and pop!

Jesse was determined: Dewitt was not going to drive him insane trying to listen to every quarter-note of music he could find on the radio or in every bar he came across once they reached Key West. Not on this vacation. No sir. Even if this was Dewitt’s spring break from his internship. It was Jesse’s vacation, too.

Ah, man, we’re getting close enough to make out the words! lamented Dewitt. But he dutifully turned off the station anyway.

The bottom of the sun was touching the horizon to the west of the causeway, while just above the sea gray squalls were gathering. Jesse continued south, crossing the Seven Mile Bridge near Marathon, thinking of Key West’s pleasures. All was quiet except for the occasional clink of a scuba tank against the wheel well in the cavernous back of his old Checker.

Jesse turned on the truck’s headlights and, smiling and shaking his head, looked over at Dewitt, who had dozed off, still occasionally muttering some half-line of yet another country song.

Suddenly, Jesse felt with a sixth sense something amiss. Far, far down the highway he could make out too many brake lights and realized that the usual steady flow of traffic passing on the other side of the causeway had ceased for the last couple of minutes.

Putting on his brights, Jesse began to make out the outlines of a disaster. It looked like a multi-car pileup, with several vehicles on the edge of the roadway and one down the embankment, half submerged in the gulf.

In addition to rising black smoke and flames coming from a couple of RV’s, there was an ominous, almost ghost-like, cloud cover, looking like a Salvador Dali arrangement of large circus tents, that encompassed both sides of the causeway and ended only at the water’s edge.

Several folks were standing by their vehicles, in front of the cloud, immobilized.

This was bad.

More troubling, Jesse looked beyond them and could not see one soul running from out of the tent-like disaster.

This was real bad.

Dewitt! Wake up! Quick! Wake up! Remember that Warren Zevon song?

Dewitt opened his eyes as he felt the Checker slow and began to hear a cacophony of noise and screams as Jesse rolled down his car window. Jesse maneuvered the Checker toward the first of the stopped cars as Dewitt quickly looked around and let out a low whistle.

"Yeah. Send Lawyers, Guns and Money: The shit has hit the fan."

Opening their respective doors simultaneously, the boys jumped out and ran up to the first car. An older man was clutching his wife, who was sobbing. He was almost incoherent.

Tanker truck went by... Going too fast... It had some chemical signs on it... Next thing I hear is a big explosion. We stopped in time.

The old man looked ahead.

About more eight cars and a couple of RV’s... His voice trailed off.

Jesse and Dewitt edged away from the couple and toward the smoke and flames. They could hear screams coming from within. There seemed no way to pierce this death-like canvas. The brothers looked at each other. Jesse yelled out:

Dewitt, get the scuba gear! We’ll need the goggles, too!

Dewitt ran for the truck, calling back over his shoulder, Somebody get a bucket. Let’s douse ourselves with water!

In what seemed like an eternity but was less than half a minute, both Dewitt and Jesse stood in front of the fog-like smoke, wearing their scuba goggles. They each breathed from a hand-held scuba tank. A young man had come up from nowhere and doused a couple of buckets of water over them.

Dewitt tried to yell to Jesse but the roar of the fire and horns sounding from the mayhem drowned him out. He tapped on Jesse’s tank with his fish knife and motioned: You go left. I’ll go right. He then dipped his hand and turned it out toward the west: Stay low and let’s meet down by the water’s edge. Jesse nodded. It looked relatively safe down there – if they could make it.

Dewitt watched as Jesse disappeared into the tragic maelstrom. Then, he plunged in, too.

The first vehicle was an old cream-colored Chevy sedan. Both front doors were open but Dewitt could see that the two occupants, an older couple, lay dead inside the car although they didn’t appear to be physically injured. Dewitt figured there was probably a toxic fume interspersed with the smoke. It was unlikely anyone was alive even further in. But he continued forward.

There was about two feet of air below the smoke and chemical cloud. Instinctively, even though he was wearing goggles and breathing from his tank, Dewitt hunched over. He made his way forward.

Two cars had T-boned. Both drivers were slumped over their steering wheels. Dewitt checked each one for signs of life, but they were dead. One car’s horn, which had been blasting away, stopped when Dewitt pulled back on the body. Now, he heard only one horn, further in.

This is hopeless, thought Dewitt. Then he saw an RV, turned on its side. The light in the back cabin was on.

Maybe.

Peering into the back window of the RV, Dewitt couldn’t see anyone. But, on the lowest side panel, which now lay next to the roadway, was a small smashed fish tank. A single goldfish, lying just outside its own little puddle of water, squirmed. Something was alive! At least near the ground.

Maybe!

A moan. Just ahead. Dewitt hoped it was someone from the RV, but when he got to the front of the vehicle, its sole occupant was dead, contorted, but again not looking physically injured. Where had that moan come from?

Peering ahead as far as he could, Dewitt could make out the outline of the big tanker truck. He rushed forward. There was a steady hissing sound coming from somewhere on the body of the tanker and Dewitt could see several big skull-and-crossbones at the rear.

Damn! Poison! Damn it!

He inched his way toward the cab, on the side away from the leaking fumes.

Another moan! On the ground by the truck’s cabin lay a man, rolling his head back and forth on the concrete surface of the roadway. He kept groping into the air with one hand, but seemed out of it. Two feet above his head lay a white gaseous fume, which would become a deadly suffocating pillow to anyone who remained in it for long. Dewitt, on his knees, crawled up to the man. He called out.

Fellow! Fellow! Can you hear me? I’m here to help you!

The guy just kept shaking his head back and forth. He had blood on the back of his head. Probably a concussion, thought Dewitt. Otherwise, the driver looked okay, except for his wild eyes, which had dilated pupils and red streaks along the whites of them.

Probably on speed. Gotta help him get out of here, thought Dewitt. He shook the guy and called out again.

Hey, you! Driver! Can you hear me?

The driver of the big rig seemed to awaken with Dewitt’s shaking and yelling. He stared at Dewitt. Still lying close to the ground, the driver looked around. Suddenly, without warning, he lashed out at Dewitt and tried to stand, but the cloud just above them made him gasp and cough and he immediately dropped back to the ground.

Dewitt raised his goggles and removed the breathing apparatus from his mouth. He held out his hands, the precious oxygen just inches from the driver’s face.

Hey, take this! Just let me get you out of here, he implored.

But the trucker was having none of it. He reached out his arms and tried to grasp the mouthpiece. Dewitt could see a huge tattoo of an anchor on the man’s right bulging forearm. Dewitt retained the mouthpiece, but only barely, as the driver pushed him away.

Ain’t gonna get me! he yelled. Couldn’t help it!

Rolling away from Dewitt on the smut-laden tarmac, the driver reached into his untucked flannel shirt. He fumbled about but then,