Part One

Charles Bennis kissed his perfect wife and his perfect
children goodbye. He left his perfect home and walked across
his garden, towards his perfect car, in order to drive to
his perfect job.
Charles had a perfect life, and he was perfectly aware of
that fact.

Charles drove to his job, using the "North-East" turnpike.
He wasn't stressed when he saw that he only had twenty
minutes to get to work without being late, even though his
company's entire budget depended on his arrival to work on
time that specific day. He also wasn't stressed when the
radio reported that a car accident in the "North-West"
highway caused a massive traffic jam. He wasn't stressed,
you see, because he had a shortcut. And not just one of the
shortcuts that takes you around one traffic jam and straight
into another. No. He had the shortcut. For ten years, he
had been ignoring traffic, as if it had been just another
irritating word in the alphabet.
He was stressed however, when he found out that he had
missed the first turn to his shortcut. He was even more
stressed, however, to find out that his back-up turn, was
currently under repairs. But what really made him stressed,
was the sign beside the road that read "North-East
Highway".

Charles knew that if he wouldn't do something soon, he would
be doomed to spending the next few hours in his car. He
pulled over his car, and started to think. He thought hard
and long, what eventually turned out to be a mistake,
because by the time he got to a resolution, the traffic jam
had reached his car.

Charles started to honk. He figured that if this was what he
was going to be doing for the next few hours, then why not
start now?
He had been honking and beeping for three hours, when
finally, a policeman approached his car. Charles slowly
opened the window and smiled towards him.
"Can I help you officer?" Charles asked politely.
"That's what I wanted to know." The police officer replied
with a voice that was sharp as a knife.
"Oh, no thank you. I'm perfectly fine." Charles continued to
smile.
"Can you please tell me why you have been honking for the
last two hours?" The police officer asked, with genuine
concern apparent in his voice.
"Three," Charles corrected him.
The police officer stared at Charles blankly.
"Well, I guess I did it because that's what they do on
television." Charles explained.
"Are you mocking me citizen? You do know that insulting a
man of law while on duty, is a direct offense of city law,
right?" The police officer said with a threatening voice,
although his face had somehow managed to stay blank.
"No! I'm serious! You see, I haven't been in a traffic jam
for quite some time, I'm just not used to it."
"Define quite some time." The police officer requested with
a voice full with doubt.
"Ten years, next week." Charles finally gave up smiling and
started grinning.
"Ten years???" The blank expression had left the police
officer's face and was replaced with a weird, puzzled look.
Charles resolved that he had liked the police officer more
with his former appearance.
"I found a shortcut." He explained.
"Oh. So why didn't you take it today, of all days?" The
police officer had changed his facade once again, this time
to an interested yet distant one.
"I missed a turn." Charles decided that if he would continue
grinning for another second, his face would suffer severe
cosmetic damage, so he slowly moved his mouth to a neutral
position, ready to pop up another smile in the first sign of
trouble.
"Didn't you have a backup turn?"
"It was under repairs."
"Oh."
"Is there anything else?" Charles asked the police officer,
wishing full-heartily that he would leave him and go bother
somebody else.
"Yes." The police officer apparently felt otherwise.
"If I find you honking again, I will be forced to put you in
my squad car." He turned around and left angrily towards his
car.
Charles was tempted with making a nasty comment about what
the police officer had just said, but he decided that it
wouldn't be very wise to get into a feud with the only
policeman in his immediate area.

KNOCK, KNOCK.
Charles was suddenly awakened from his sleep, and he tried
to remember where he was...
Shortcut. Missed turn. Traffic jam. Shit.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Charles suddenly became aware of an irritating headache,
which had fallen upon him for no apparent reason. The
headache was accompanied with something that sounded as if
someone was knocking on his car's door.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Charles had finally decided to open his eyes and he saw a
group of people, grinning happily at him.
'How much time have I been sleeping?' He asked himself. Then
it occurred to him that he could simply check the clock in
his car...
2 hours. That was the best sleep he had had for days. He had
been working overnight lately, in order to fix his company's
budg... shit.
Charles had just now realized that his company had, by now,
probably went into bankruptcy, or will be falling into it
soon enough. Well, he had nothing to do about it now. For
some reason, his cellular phone had stopped working, and so
have the cellular phones of his fellow drivers.
Anyhow, he didn't want to worry about that right now. What
he did worry about, however, were the grinning people
outside his car.

Charles left his car and turned towards the grinning
people.
"Yes?" He asked in a sleepish manner.
"We are your fellow drivers!!!" The people, who appeared to
all be men at the age of twenty.
"..." Charles waited for them to say something else, but
they just kept on staring at him, whilst continuing to grin.
"... and?"
"Well," One of them stepped forward "We're pretty new at
this. We don't really know what we're supposed to say."
"How about... 'We hope you'll enjoy your wait'."
The man that stepped forward retreated towards his
companions, and they, still grinning, talked among
themselves.
The man came back. "We decided that you are smart." He
declared happily. "Me and my buddies think that it would be
great if you join us. We only got started."
Charles thought about this man's proposal. It involved
walking, an action Charles disliked very much. Furthermore,
it involved communication with other human beings. That just
wasn't one of his good qualities. He was a computer person.
A calculator person. A memo person. A sitting at home Friday
night watching television person. Not a people-person.
On the other hand, after waking up, it would take intense
meditation and extreme relaxation to get him to sleep again.
And that wasn't exactly possible in a traffic jam filled
with honking and beeping.
Besides, with these guys talking to them, all the drivers
might kill themselves, and then he would be stuck in the
traffic jam alone, with a bunch of morons who could sustain
a grin longer than anything ever to be recorded in human
history.
"Sure, I guess." He answered. The person who was talking to
him, brought his friends over and introduced them one by
one. Biff, Mack and Phil. After talking to them briefly,
Charles realized that they were even dumber than what he had
thought at first. He wasn't about to spend the day alone
with these guys, so he decided to ask the police officer to
join them. He didn't have any reason to invite him, but he
thought that a person with even a small amount of
intelligence might help them from getting killed by angry
and frustrated drivers. Plus, he had firearms. Who knows
when that may come in handy?
He walked towards the police officer's squad car, and told
'The Dudes' - which was the name Charles had decided to call
them - that he was bringing a friend along with him.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
In a deep, dark corner of his mind, Charles actually took
pleasure in waking the police officer up from his sleep.
Sadism always takes your mind off your problems.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
The police officer quickly opened the door.
"WHAT???" He screamed like a monkey that lost its banana.
"Hello again officer." Charles said with a grin. He figured
that he had about five minutes to keep his face in its
current, loveable posture, before it will start to hurt like
hell in a teacup. He didn't have any idea what that parable
meant, but he was sure that it meant something. He suddenly
realized that he was confusing two parables, but that didn't
really matter at that moment.
"Well?" The police officer had been apparently waiting for
Charles to say something.
"I wanted to ask you if you would mind joining me and my...
er... friends, in greeting our fellow drivers."
Suddenly, the police officer changed his all-too-familiar
blank look into a hopeful, even wishful look, which almost
made Charles vomit.
"Sure!" He almost screamed out. "I mean... of course,
citizen." The police officer quickly put on his sunglasses
and police-jacket.
"Isn't it too hot for you to be wearing a jacket officer?"
Charles asked hesitantly.
"The law, citizen, does not feel the heat." The police
officer said in a preaching sort of voice. "Oh, and by the
way," The police officer added. "My name is Puddy. John
Puddy."
"Charles Bennis."
John and Charles shook hands.
"Now take me to your friends, Mr. Bennis." John had stayed
in official names, and Charles wasn't sure if he should try
and move the relationship forward.
"You bet, John." Charles had figured that if he calls John
by his first name, he might be able to get a little closer
to him.
"Mr. Bennis, from now on, you are to refer to me as 'Officer
Puddy'. Is that understood?" Apparently, Charles was
mistaken.
"Clear as a deer." Charles had now attempted humor.
"I once shot a deer."
Charles stared at Officer Puddy, with skepticism.
"Ooookay... let's go then, Officer."
"Officer Puddy." He corrected Charles.
Charles started to regret bringing Officer Puddy along with
him, but it was now too late to change that.

While two of 'The Dudes' and Officer Puddy were occupied
waking innocent drivers up and greeting them with the new
and improved version which Charles had composed, Charles
himself caught a heart-to-heart conversation with Phil.
"Hey." Charles had found the most reasonable way to start a
conversation with a dumb-ass.
"Hey." Phil replied.
"Sooo... what's your line of work?" Charles wasn't really
sure that a man like phil would be able to keep a job for
more than a day, but he amused himself.
"Oh, I work in the transportation industry."
"What? You're a cab driver?" Charles was amazed by the mere
thought that any cab company could ever employ such a
simple-minded person.
"No, no. I'm a truck driver." Phil corrected Charles'
horrible mistake quickly. "I carry food supplies."
"Oh."
Charles was surprised by the fact that he hadn't thought
about this option earlier. Of course he was a truck
driver!!! What other job could such a lowlife be able to
keep?
Charles felt suddenly mad at himself. He had always been a
kind, open and loving man. Why was it that he suddenly
started to think such negative thoughts, towards people who
hadn't done anything to harm him? 'I must've inhaled too
much smoke from the surrounding cars.' Charles decided. 'The
sooner I get out of this traffic-jam, the better.'
"Are Biff and Mack truck drivers as well?" Charles asked.
"Yes they are! How did you know?" Phil sounded as surprised
as a husband who comes home to find his wife making love
with their family-dog.
"Lucky guess." He said with an ounce of cynicism, and
quickly regretted it.
"Wow! Are you like, a magician or something?" Phil had
apparently failed to detect the cynicism in Charles' voice.
Or maybe he was using cynicism himself.
Charles decided to stop this conversation, so he wouldn't
say anything else that he would later regret.
"I think we should go help them." Charles suggested.
"Ya, I guess you're right. Especially since that police-guy
you brought looks as if he's about to shoot someone."
Charles looked towards Officer Puddy filled with horror, and
saw him screaming at a man who had apparently beaten up Biff
and Mack, who were both lying on the road.

"What's going on here?" Charles screamed at Officer Puddy
when he reached him.
"This man has attacked your fellow citizens, Mr. Bennis, and
he is refusing to accept his rightful punishment."
"Which is?" Charles asked.
"Death." A cold facade crept onto Officer Puddy's face.
"Death?!?" Charles screamed out with disbelief.
"Can you believe it?" The man who Officer Puddy was
threatening tried to participate in the conversation that
would most likely determine whether he was about to be shot
to death or stay alive.
"You shut up!" Officer Puddy shouted at him.
"Isn't 'death' a little too... er... harsh? Don't you
usually just lock up his type?"
"Not under my jurisdiction!!!" Officer Puddy screamed out.
"What do you mean by 'my jurisdiction'?" Charles couldn't
understand.
"It means what it means. From now on, until I die, I am the
judge, juror and executioner in this traffic jam." Officer
Puddy spoke in a cold, serious manner.
"You're... you're joking, right?" Charles couldn't tell if
Officer Puddy was really serious or trying to control a
bursting laughter.
"I wish I was. You see, this traffic jam was caused by a car
accident, right? Well, it seems that one of the cars
involved in the crash was carrying a new and experimental
type of radioactive material. Everyone in the traffic jam
was infected from the radioactivity leak, which was caused
by the accident." Officer Puddy paused in order to let
Charles register the information.
"One of the characteristics of this radioactivity, is that
as long as we stay in the infected area, we will be just
fine, but we leave it, not only will we die, we will also
infect everyone else who comes in contact with us." Officer
Puddy sounded quite serious, but Charles refused to believe
him. He knew that getting out of the traffic jam would take
him hours, even days. He never thought he would be
spending the rest of his life there.
"Stop it! Don't you know you're not supposed to joke about
that stuff!" Charles screamed at Officer Puddy.
"Well," The man that Officer Puddy was pointing a gun at
interrupted. "Actually, he's kinda telling the truth. They
said so on the radio."
Charles was in total shock. 'This can't be!' he thought
'They're probably both in this together. Heck, I bet 'the
dudes' organized this, so I would to Phil, and meanwhile
they made this guy cooperate. Oh wait... I was the one who
started talking with Phil. Shit.'
But still, there was an ounce of hope.
"What's the date?" He asked, wishing with all his heart for
it to be April 1st.
"23rd of July." Officer Puddy answered swiftly.
"Dammit." Charles summed up his feelings towards the new
information he had just obtained. He was stuck there for his
entire life. The only friends he managed to produce were a
gang of truck-driving imbeciles, and an hyperactive police
officer. The date was the 23rd of July. His wife would kill
him for missing her birthday. Oh, wait... he was going to
die anyway.
"Dammit." Charles repeated.
"Err... sorry to interrupt you, but your friend here is
about to shoot me!!!" The desperate man had now started
screaming.
"Oh... Ya..." Charles decided to concentrate his attention,
for now, on what he could affect, as opposed to something as
vague and uncontrollable as radioactivity.
"You can't kill him, it's against the law." Charles tried to
convince Officer Puddy not to kill Bill and Mack's
attacker.
"You can't tell me what the law is! I AM THE LAW!!!" Officer
Puddy started waving his  gun hysterically.
"Officer Puddy," Charles talked in a kind manner to the
officer who was still in a quite fearful position. "Why
don't you simply put this man into your squad car?"
"But then if I go and put every offender in prison, then
I'll run out of room in no-time!" Officer Puddy explained
his position.
"Eh... Officer Puddy, who do you plan to put in jail?"
Charles asked.
"Why, the murderers of course!"
"Why not... kill the murderers, and jail everybody else?"
Suggested Charles.
Officer Puddy considered this for a while "That could work
only if I had more jail cells." He concluded.
"Aren't you 'the law', as you said? Nationalize a few cars,
and you'll have your jail cells!" Charles had begun to be
amazed by his own intelligence. But maybe that was because
he had been spending too much time with idiots lately.
"You know what? I think I'll do just that." Officer Puddy
announced.
A few drivers who gathered around to watch the action -
Officer Puddy shooting a fellow driver - quickly ran away,
and locked themselves in their cars.
"So? Are you gonna take me to your police car officer?" The
offender asked wishfully.
"No. I'm still going to kill you." Officer Puddy declared.
"Why?" Charles was beginning to be fed up from this
conversation, but he still had to save the offender's life,
even though he wasn't quite sure why.
"Because I need to set someone as example." Officer Puddy
explained.
Charles knew that there was only one thing that he could do
to save this poor man's life.
"Shoot him in the leg." Charles suggested.
"What?" Officer Puddy asked, surprised.
"Yes, exactly! WHAT?!?" The offender shrieked.
"Shut up... I'm saving your life!" Charles snapped at the
helpless offender.
"Oh... ya. Carry on." The offender formed an "OK" sign with
his fingers, which caused Charles to consider letting
Officer Puddy shoot him in the head. He hated finger signs.
They reminded him of how when he was young, all the kids in
his class had all sorts of finger sings which he did not
understand, and which were usually used in order to mock
him.
"Set an example by shooting him in the leg. Trust me, that
will provide sufficient deterrence."
Officer Puddy considered the matter.
"I guess your right." Officer Puddy concluded after a
minute's thought.
BOOM.
The offender fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Charles
ran to him quickly, to check if he was still alive and
well.
"Hey," The offender talked towards Charles. "Thanks. I owe
you one." He made another "OK" sign with his fingers, and
passed out.
"What now?" Officer Puddy asked Charles.
"What now?! Find a doctor!!!" Charles shouted at Officer
Puddy, who went away quickly to perform said task.

"Officer Puddy?" Charles approached the officer's
police-car, a few hours after the "offender's leg" incident,
which was how Officer Puddy instructed the drivers in the
traffic-jam to call it. He caught the Officer just as he was
about to open his car's back door.
"Yes, Mr. Bennis?" The officer asked with a peaceful voice,
turning towards Charles upon hearing him approaching.
"How is the prisoner?"
"He is doing quite well. The doctor I called for him stopped
his blood-loss and pretty much saved his miserable life."
Officer Puddy answered with noticeable vexation.
"Did he tell you his name?" Charles asked.
"Mr.  Dennis McTaggert." Officer Puddy answered with an arid
voice.
Charles stared at him with disbelief.
"The Dennis McTaggert?"
"Yes... The Dennis McTaggert." Officer Puddy answered.
"Are you sure? I didn't recognize him."
"He looks kind of different without his million dollars
worth tux, and dozen bodyguards."
That was the first time Charles had ever heard Officer
Puddy use cynicism. McTaggert must be really getting to
him.
"I was just about to start interrogating McTaggert. Do you
want to join me? I'll let you be the 'good cop'." Officer
Puddy winked.
Charles thought about his proposition and decided to agree
for two reasons. The first, was that he had now, for the
first time in his life heard Officer Puddy make a joke with
him, and if he was stuck in this Traffic-Jam for the rest of
his life, like the Officer says, then he better make friends
with people with power... Gun-Power would be even better.
The second reason was that by the way things looked, Officer
Puddy hated McTaggert deeply, and leaving those two together
would probably bring to McTaggert's untimely demise.
"Sure."
"Then let's enter my car." Officer Puddy answered with a
suddenly cheery voice.

The whole situation was quite ludicrous. Dennis McTaggert
was sitting in the middle seat, while Officer Puddy and
Charles were sitting by both his sides. The back seat felt
very crowded and Charles made a noble attempt not to scream
gruesome and horrifying screams of pain.
"So... ouch... Mr. McTaggert. Can you please tell me and my
fellow... um... associate why you attacked those two men?"
Officer Puddy had abandoned attempting to seem fearful since
he, too, was more preoccupied in keeping his body from
breaking apart than in planning interrogation tactics.
"I demand to speeeee... ouch, move a little left, would you
now?" He asked Charles who had accidentally moved his elbow
into McTaggert's ribs. "Thanks. As I was saying, I demand to
speak with my lawyer before answering any of your
questions." McTaggert said in a calm, yet full-of-pain,
voice.
"Err... Mr. McTaggert, we're in the middle of a Traffic-Jam
full with poisonous radiation. Now, I know that the job with
the highest rate of suicides is a lawyer, but no one would
be that suicidal. How do you expect to get a lawyer in
here?"
"Easy."
McTaggert pulled out a cellphone from his suit that almost
made Charles scream in pain.
"Sorry." McTaggert said with an amused facade.  
"What do you think you are doing?" Officer Puddy wrathfully
and grabbed McTaggert's cell-phone, with a movement that,
yet again, made Charles' legs feel like iodized melons...
whatever that meant.
"Hey! I AM entitled to make one phone call, aren't I?"
McTaggert asked with an over-righteous voice.
Reluctantly, Officer Puddy returned McTaggert his
cell-phone.
"ONE phone call." He reminded him.
McTaggert talked with his lawyer for a few moments, and then
the three of them waited for five minutes until a knock was
sounded on one of the car doors, which hinted to the fact
that the lawyer was probably standing outside.
Officer Puddy and Charles left the car and greeted the
stranger.
"Hello citizen." Officer Puddy said with a voice full with
noticeable superiority.
"Hello Officer." The lawyer answered pleasantly.
"I'm surprised to find that McTaggert was able to achieve on
finding a lawyer so fast here." Charles mentioned.
"It's simple math," The lawyer spoke as if the subject was
beneath him. "McTaggert has a hundred lawyers working for
him, and about eighty of them work in this city. While
bearing in mind that this road is the main route to our A.C.
offices, than you can guess that about thirty of his lawyers
are stuck here with him, all in their way to work."
There was a pause between the three of them, and then the
lawyer opened his mouth to talk again.
"Let us cut the crap, as they say. You have illegally
imprisoned my client, and I demand his immediate release."
The lawyer spoke with a stern voice.
"Maybe you haven't heard, citizen," the officer replied with
an even more aggressive voice. "But as of ten o'clock in the
morning, everything I do is legal. And you, citizen, are
attacking an officer of law while on-duty, so now I demand
that you get into my police car immediately, do your job,
and then serve your sentence of five hours."
The lawyer stared at Officer Puddy with disbelief.
"You must be joking, right?" He asked.
Officer Puddy quickly pulled out a crumbled paper full of
scribbled lines and began to read from it.
"By law, every offender who refuses to accept his punishment
shall be shot in the leg, to set an example for future
lawbreakers." Officer Puddy said and took out his gun.
The lawyer quickly opened the door and sat in the back seat,
next to his client. Now the back seat was, again, crowded,
so Charles suggested that he, too, would move to the front
seat beside Officer Puddy.
"No, you stay there, in case one of them try something
funny." Officer Puddy refused.
'This is going to be awkward.' Charles thought to himself.
And indeed... it was.

"Temporal insanity."
"You are pleading for insanity?"
"Temporal insanity."
"Whatever."
"No! There's a big difference between the two. If he's
insane, he needs to be sent to a lunatic asylum, or whatever
they call it today."
"I think they call it a 'mental home'."
"Does this have anything to do with our conversation?"
"No, I just thought that you should know what it's called
nowadays."
"Now we know."
"Actually, you don't. I only said I think it's called a
mental home. I'm not sure that's what it is called."
"...... Now, back to our plea. Do you accept?"
"Accept what? All we know, is that the president of
Intercorp inc. decided to attack a few helpless citizens
without any apparent reason."
"I assure you that this wasn't the case."
"Then what was the case?"
"Hunger."
"What do you mean?"
"My client was, and still is, hungry."
"What kind of lame-ass plea is that?"
"Officer Puddy, you are in in charge here, right?"
"... right..."
"Didn't you even stop to think what will happen in the next
few days, when people will slowly realize that there is no
food whatsoever in this godforsaken Traffic Jam? Don't you
know how people go crazy when they are hungry? I won't be
surprised if they become cannibals!"
"Oh... shit..."

After the lawyer presented his client's case, Officer Puddy
had no choice but letting Dennis McTaggert go, though his
lawyer still had to finish his jail-time for attacking an
officer of the law, which did comfort Officer Puddy's ego.
"He had a point." Charles and Officer Puddy were standing
outside the officer's car, and talking. It was quite late,
but Charles decided that he must first deal with the issues
at hand before worrying about such unimportant details like
sleep.
"Of-course he had a point, but what can we do about it?"
Officer Puddy looked pretty helpless, and looked at Charles,
his newfound friend, wishfully.
Charles took a long pause to think and then spoke with a
firm voice. "First of all, radio your station and ask them
to get in touch with whoever it is we need to get in touch
with in order to get us some food and supplies."
"But that'll take days! Maybe even weeks! They'll probably
need to prepare special equipment that won't absorb the
radiation."
"Then just have to find another source of food in the
meantime."
"Do you have anything in mind?"
Both of the men looked into the police car, and stared at
the thin looking lawyer.
They were just about to dismiss the idea that entered their
minds altogether, when 'The Dudes' passed by and waved
towards them in a silly fashion.
"I do now." Charles said and grinned towards 'The Dudes'.

"What do you want?" Mack of 'The Dudes' asked Charles.
"To ask you for a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Biff asked with an ounce of
suspicion.
"I hope it doesn't have anything to do with cats." Mack
sounded worried. "I have a... situation."
"No, no. It has nothing to do with cats." Charles assured
Mack.
"Phew," Mack took a long sigh full with relief. "Because we
wouldn't want that happening again, right guys?"
The other dudes shook their heads fearfully.
Charles stared at 'The Dudes' filled with uncontrollable
feelings of superiority, and continued talking.
"What I wanted to ask you... dudes... was if you would be so
kind as to grant me and Officer Puddy here, permission to
take... err... stuff, from your trucks."
"What... stuff?" Biff asked suspiciously.
"All of them." Charles answered conclusively.
"What do you mean?" Mack was quite puzzled.
"What he means," Officer Puddy intervened. "Is that we are
asking you to give us all of your trucks and everything
inside them."
"EVERYTHING?!" Mack was left quite surprised by this
request.
"Indeed." Officer Puddy continued intervening.
"But you will be compensated, of course." Charles saw that
'The Dudes' were about to lose their interest.
"They will?" Officer Puddy was surprised. Charles and he
hadn't talked about giving 'The Dudes' any compensation.
"Yes," Charles stared at Officer Puddy to imply to him that
it would be best if he shut up. "we will."
"Oh, yeah... sure," Officer Puddy caught on to what Charles
was trying to do. "We were just discussing it now."
"Yes... we were thinking about... adding you to the 'General
Council'." Charles wished this would shut them up.
"I don..." Biff started talking when he was interrupted by
Mack, who screamed out "SURE!!!" in a decisive manner.
Charles and Officer Puddy looked at Biff, who quickly
changed his position, in light of his friend's noted
acceptance of the deal.
"'kay." He agreed.
Phil agreed too. He wasn't really interested in the
conversation anyway, because he was too occupied in looking
at small flies being burnt from the headlights of a '71
"Toyota".
"Hey," Phil noted "Its not like it'll kill us to give you
access to our trucks, right?"
Everyone laughed in a non-rhythmic pace, and returned to
their vehicles.

A week later, there wasn't a soul in the traffic-jam, which
had not eaten from 'The Dudes' distribution points.
According to a stock-count they made, they figured out that
there was enough food to last for three months, and
according to Officer Puddy, the food supplies from the
government would arrive in three weeks.
To insure that people would not try to take extra food,
Charles had commisioned a "Representative" to every "zone",
who would get to know it's residents and supervise on the
food's distribution.
The representatives were usually police officers, who
Officer Puddy declared were "Trustworthy". The others were
people who, basically, Officer Puddy waved a gun in front of
their face and told them that if any laws would be broken,
they would be quite dead. That did the trick.

"Officer Bennis!" The representative of zone "B", Eric Cohen
called for Charles. For some reason, people had begun
calling Charles that way. Maybe they assumed that since John
Puddy was in charge, and he was referred to as 'Officer',
then Charles who was also in charge, was also to be referred
as 'Officer'.
"Yes?" Charles asked, with a hidden frown. He didn't like
being called 'Officer'. Once, when he had to choose which
career-path to approach, he had actually considered being a
police officer. He even asked a friend of his, who was a
police officer, to join him 'on the job', to see if it was
really what it was cut out to be. It was very exciting, and
Charles loved every minute of it. The rush. The radio. The
car. The authority. The doughnuts. But then, when his friend
took his last call for the day, they arrived at a building,
where a husband had been reportedly, beating his wife. The
husband of course denied this, and Charles' friend had to go
and get an arrest warrant. When they turned to leave, the
husband said "Goodbye Officer." And slammed the door shut.
They way he said the word "Officer". A dark demonic voice
mixed with daring cynicism. It made Charles shudder. Two
days later he killed another officer, who came to take him
to the station for questioning. So Charles became an
accountant.
"Err... the 'General Council' members have denied me access
to my zone's food supplies." Eric explained.
"Have they? On what grounds?" That news came as a total
surprise to Charles.
"On grounds of not delivering taxes."
"What taxes?" Charles was now officially puzzled.
"I was wondering the same, Officer."
"Don't worry," Charles assured Eric. "You'll have your food
in no time."

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU???" Charles screamed at
'The Dudes' who were standing in front of Biff's truck,
where most of the food had been stored.
"What do you mean?" Mack asked with an inquisitive face.
"You deny the representative of zone "B" access to the
food!" Charles screamed.
"Yes! Because they didn't pay their taxes!" Mack replied
with a surprisingly firm voice.
"WHAT TAXES???" Charles was on the verge of exploding.
"Every zone must give one bottle of gasoline to the members
of the 'General Council', or will be denied access to food
supplies."
"Now who's bright idea was it to decree such a law?" Charles
asked in an ill-tempered manner.
"Mine, actually." A familiar voice interrupted their
conversation.
Charles turned and was surprised to see Dennis McTaggert
before his eyes.
"You?" Charles was astonished, to say the least, by the
sudden reappearance of the richest man in the traffic jam.
"Surprised? Now, if you would be so kind, me and my fellow
council memb..."
"Wait, wait, wait, just a second." Charles stopped
McTaggert, who was apparently anxious to go away.
"What now?"
Charles realized that what he wanted to say shouldn't be
said in front of 'The Dudes'.
"I need to have a word with you." Charles said.
McTaggert stared at Charles with bored anticipation.
"Well?"
"In private."
"Oh, very well then." McTaggert followed Charles, as he led
him to his private car.
"And meanwhile," Charles ordered 'The Dudes' "If a zone
representative comes by, GIVE HIM ACCESS TO THE FOOD
SUPPLIES!!!"

"Doesn't this feel like a dej'a vou?" McTaggert asked
Charles, as they both sat in the front seats of Charles'
car.
"Not really." Charles repelled McTaggerts' attempt on
nostalgia.
"Well, it would've been a dej'a vou if we sat in the back
seat together with my lawyer."
"Hopefully, it won't come to that." Charles assured himself,
more then he assured McTaggert.
"Let us cut to the chase." McTaggert suggested.
"Let's."
"You called me into your Ford '97 to..."
"First of all it's a Ford '98, and I called you to ask what
the hell you think you're doing?"
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, ask me."
"............ Okay...... What in the name of God do you
think you are doing?"
"In what context? Right now I am sitting beside you waiting
for you to say something productive."
"Weren't you the one who said we should 'Cut to the
chase'?"
"Indeed I was." McTaggert now stopped grinning and his face
was suddenly full of eerie seriousness. "As for what I think
I'm doing, I am trying to survive in this 'Jam, just as you
and any other driver."
"At the expense of everyone else you mean!"
"Oh, don't go finger pointing me, 'Officer Bennis'. I'm not
the one playing 'Monarch' with my impulsive cop-friend."
"What are you doing in the 'General Council' anyway?"
"Why, I was appointed by the council."
"Appointed? As what?"
"As a strategic advisor."
"Well, McTaggert, I guess I'll have to disappoint you. You
see, the 'General Council' has no legal power in the 'Jam.
They are powerless. They weren't meant to be anything else."
Charles figured that telling this to McTaggert was the only
way of persuading him to stop meddling with their affairs.
"I was quite aware of that, actually."
"You... you were? Then why did you think you could use them
to charge taxes?"
"I knew it. But our fellow drivers did not. For all they're
considered, they believe that Officer Puddy and yourself
appointed the council in order to use them as a
law-enforcing authority."
"So, basically, you decided to lie."
"... basically, yes. I decided to lie."
"Why these taxes though? Why do you need gasoline? It's not
like you're driving anywhere anytime soon."
To this question McTaggert answered quickly, as if he had
the answer planned from the beginning. "Oh, poor, innocent
Charles. You just don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"IT doesn't matter what tax I ask for, as long as they
have it and want food. By asking them for taxes, they feel
your control on them, and they both respect you and fear
you. If you ask them for nothing and treat them as equals,
then they will slowly realize that you have no actual hold
on them, and that means Anarchy."
Charles considered what McTaggert just said. It,
surprisingly, made a lot of sense. Charles even agreed with
McTaggert with every word. He didn't know what to say. He
decided that he would consult with Officer Puddy on this
subject.
"Go away." Charles decided that this was the best way to get
McTaggert to leave his car, without exposing his thoughts.
His plan had apparently failed, because when McTaggert left
Charles' car, he was wearing a triumphant smile.

"What???" Puddy was astonished after Charles told him of
what had transpired in the last two hours.
"What would you have done in my situation?" Charles asked
defensively.
"Well, I wouldn't let a criminal go loose, for starters!"
Officer Puddy muttered irritated.
"Oh, come on! You know that he is right! At some point the
people will decide that we aren't giving them enough food,
or that we aren't fair enough with our distribution, and
begin wrecking havoc. And we still have two weeks until the
government will be able to give us food supplies! What was I
supposed to do? Arrest him for being right?!?"
Officer Puddy stared at Charles with dissapointed eyes.
"How can you trust him Charles? Don't you see that evil look
in his eyes? You should've let me kill him when I had the
chance."
"Evil? What's evil about McTaggert? I admit that he is
devious, but if we use his resourcefulness to our
benefit..."
"Can't you see Charles??? He's using you! He planned this
from the beginning! He knew that he would be able to
persuade you, but he didn't add me into that equation. I'm
going to end this, before everything gets really out of
control." Officer Puddy drew out his gun, and checked the
bullets.
"What are you going to do?" Charles asked.
"What I should've done a week ago. Shoot the sonovabitch."

Part Two

As Puddy crawled beneath the crowded cars of the
traffic-jam, he couldn't help but think that he could've
chosen a better course. He figured that walking towards his
target, or running for that matter, would probably have the
same affect once he reaches his destination.
He guessed that the reason he chose this very uncomfortable
way of traveling, was because he started to feel like a
soldier again. Ten years ago, before turning into a
police-officer, John Puddy was a full-fledged marine. He had
been highly decorated for his actions in the war. He had
also spent most of his adolescence in military school, and
his father was a general, so he had military blood pumping
through his veins. Even now, being a typical,
doughnut-eating cop, he always felt the need to express
himself in a military fashion.
Now was his chance.
Officer Puddy didn't like Dennis McTaggert from the first
moment he'd ever set his eyes upon his smirking, irritating
face. McTaggert was on television donating a billion dollars
towards the research of cancer. He was grinning towards the
camera. Puddy felt an extreme urge to puke. He knew that
there was something fishy about him, but he couldn't quite
put his finger on it. So he closed the TV set instead. But
now there wasn't any TV set to close. The only way of
getting rid of McTaggert this time, was in the old fashioned
way. Killing him.
Officer Puddy had learnt to listen to his gut feelings the
hard way back in the days of the war. His troop had a native
guide which gave Puddy the same feeling that McTaggert gave
him. One night, he had disappeared, and later returned with
a large group of enemy soldiers, who killed twelve of his
fellow marines. Puddy himself was injured in that attack,
and had a scar in the stomache to prove it. He now used it
as a reminder to always trust his gut feelings.
This time, Puddy decided not to wait and see if his
suspicions were to be confirmed before acting. This time
he would be the one to strike first. He was going to shoot
first, and ask questions later. Though he didn't really have
any questions, being that he didn't have a doubt in his mind
regarding what kind of man McTaggert was.
As he grew nearer to the General Council's meeting place,
where he figured McTaggert would be, he bited his tongue,
pulled out his gun, and prayed to Alla.
Even though he wasn't a muslim.

"Okay John," Puddy muttered to himself. "You have ten
bullets, and one man to kill." Puddy looked at the gun,
inspecting it to make sure there was nothing defective about
it. He wouldn't want to run towards McTaggert, and suddenly
find out that he had a naked gun. That'd look pretty silly.
Besides, for all he knows, McTaggert had probably acquired a
gun by now, and would take advantage of his situation him
there and then himself. And no one could blame McTaggert for
killing him. It would be pure self-defense. Puddy had told
Charles that he was going to kill McTaggert.
Puddy quickly realized that he was running out of time. If
Charles was still content on trusting McTaggert, he would
probably be on his way to try and warn him, or stop Puddy at
that very moment.
Puddy slowly rose from the bottom of a Subaro '91.
It was dark. Puddy could only faintly see Biff's large
truck, which he knew the General Council used to meet and
talk in.
He slowly walked towards the truck, disregarding greeting
which he received by puzzled citizens, who were not regular
to seeing Officer Puddy walk in that area, and were
especially surprised by the fact that he had been carrying a
gun.
As Puddy arrived at Biff's truck, he knocked gently on the
back door, wishing with all his heart that McTaggert himself
would answer the door, so he could shoot him there and then,
and finish it all.
To his disappointment, it was Biff who lifted the sliding
truck door open.
"Yes? Oh! Officer Puddy! What are you doing here?"
"I need to have a word with McTaggert." Puddy explained,
attempting to keep his gun away from Biff's sight.
"You did? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but he isn't here.
Do you want me to give him a message? Anything you want to
say to him, you can say to me as well. I am the head of the
"General Council" you know."
"Trust me," Puddy assured Biff, "You don't want to hear what
I have to say to him."
With this he walked away with disappointment.

Puddy stopped his walking for a few moments to ponder. He
could just forget about the whole idea. But he didn't really
see the point in doing that. If he was out to kill
McTaggert, he should strike now, and not wait.
It was obvious to Puddy now that the only sensible place
where he could find McTaggert was in his limousine. He had
probably employed a few body guards, guessing that Puddy
wouldn't be persuaded into believing his honest rationalism
to his actions.
Thus, Puddy began crawling again.

After a long crawl, Puddy finally reached McTaggert's
limousine.
"No time to think now," He said to himself, and as if a
contestant in a running competition who had just heard the
gunshot, he quickly stood up and run swiftly towards the
limousine.
Suddenly, he spotted rather large fellows pointing their
guns towards him.
Instead of ducking, he immediately shot them both in the
head. They apparently hadn't expected him to react so
quickly, and that assumption cost them their lives.
Puddy didn't stop to mourn, or wasn't filled with guilt for
killing two people who were probably nice blokes who were
just in the wrong job, place and time. Remorse is for the
weak. He was now a marine. A fighter. His mission was for
the taking. All he had to do now, was open the limousine
door.
"Puddy!" A faint scream called out his name. Just as he
heard this, another voice was sounded.
BOOM.
Puddy suddenly heard a gunshot. It took him a moment or two
to realize that he was the one that had been shot. Shot in
the back.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Two more shots pierced Puddy's leg bones. He fell to the
ground, fighting the urge to loose conciousness. He felt the
need to lie down and sleep, but he know all to well what
sleeping meant.
He turned his head around to see his attacker.
Puddy was horrified, for before his eyes was the person whom
he had least expected to shoot him. Charles.
Charles was looking confused, and he quickly ran away.
Puddy continued to fight the need to lie and rest. He
realized that the only way to keep awake was to keep on
moving. If he falls asleep, he dies. If he moves, he has a
fighting chance. Upon this realization, Puddy gathered all
the strength he could muster, and crawled away.

After crawling for what seemed as ten days, but was probably
more close to ten minutes, Puddy reached a point in which
continuing seemed impossible.
'So this is it,' He thought as he felt his conscious mind
quickly slipping away. 'This is how I go. Under an ugly '84
Flokswagon. No medal of honor. No gold watch. No hero's
funeral. No buyer's discount...'
Puddy's thoughts were interrupted by a child whom appeared
to be no older than five years of age who was staring
straight at him.
"Have you seen my ball?" The child asked politely.
But Puddy did not answer, he just stared at the child, and
new thoughts arose in his mind.
'Maybe I'm not going to die after all.'

Part Three

Charles looked at the smoking gun in his hand, and at the
stream of blood left by Officer Puddy, and collapsed.
Only now did he realize what he had done.
He shot Puddy. He killed Puddy.
He didn't mean to. His plan was just to stop Puddy from
killing McTaggert. He didn't want to live with the knowledge
that someone died when he could have stopped it. When he
could have done something about it.
He broke into Puddy's car, and took the spare gun he knew
Puddy kept in his glove compartment. He hurried, even though
he guessed that Puddy would first go to the General
Council's truck before heading towards McTaggert's
limousine.
When he arrived, he found two of McTaggert's body guards
lying motionless, with a hole in both their heads. Suddenly
Charles realized that he would probably suffer the same fate
if Puddy sees him there, with a gun in his hand. He was
about to turn away, and run, when he found that he was
staring straight at Puddy's back.
Without thinking, he aimed his gun and shot. He knew that if
Puddy knew he was there, his reaction would be to shoot
first, ask questions later. The two with the head wounds
were proof of that. Seeing that the shot didn't have a
stronger effect than stopping him, Charles thought that he
had missed, so he shot Puddy in the legs, so he wouldn't
attack him.
Only now did he discover that not only did he hit Puddy in
the first shot, he had also hit him in the back... not quite
healthy for the human body.
His first reaction was to run over to Puddy and help him.
But then he realized that if Puddy were still alive, as
unlikely as it might seem, he would most surely shoot him.
And if he was dead, then being beside Puddy's body with a
gun that had just been shot from is pretty suspicious, one
might think.
He hesitated for a few seconds, and then resolved on running
away, remembering to throw away the gun just as he left the
scene.
He had never felt more guilty in his life. Puddy was his
best friend in that God-Forsaken traffic-jam. He might've
been a tad gun-happy, but besides that he was a good man.
And he killed him.
Charles knew that he needed to reorganize his thoughts. He
now had to concentrate on the living. And mainly, on
himself.
What was he going to say when they find Puddy's body? He'd
have to say that it was self-defense. He couldn't say that
he didn't have anything to do with Puddy's death. With so
many cars around, someone must have noticed him. Suddenly, a
horrifying thought entered Charles' mind. What if someone
saw him shoot Puddy? He shot him in the back. Not a very
self-defensively thing to do. The people in the traffic-jam
loved Puddy. They felt calm knowing that he was watching
over them, They would never believe Charles if they knew
that he shot him in the back. They might even say that he
was the one that killed McTaggert's bodyguards. And the
punishment for murder was death... Charles was slowly
understanding how much he didn't want to die. He killed
Puddy because he was afraid of dying. He'd be damned if that
act would cause his death. That would, ironically, make
Puddy's death be in vein. Charles killed him to stay alive,
and now he could die because of it.
'No matter what,' He decided 'I'm not going to die over
this. No matter what.'

Charles had a stroke of luck. Puddy's body not found, thus
allowing Charles to lie and say that he had traveled to the
far reaches of the traffic-jam, to negotiate the food
transports that were to arrive in a week or so. He figured
that McTaggert disposed of the body, being that it would be
suspicious if a body were to be found right in front of his
limousine, especially puddy's body. He didn't actually say
anything to McTaggert, because he knew that by doing that he
would be admitting that he killed Puddy. And besides, that
was the only reasonable explanation to the body's fate. What
else could've happened to it?
His luck shone on him another way. Eric Cohen, the same Zone
supervisor who complained to Charles' in the first place,
was found holding Charles' gun by McTaggert who brought him
to "Justice". Charles, who was now in command of the
Traffic-Jam, since Puddy appointed him as second in command
and now he was... unavailable... resolved that Eric was
guilty of killing the two body guards, and that the
punishment the was to be delivered to Eric by him would be
death.
Charles was going to kill Eric Cohen, to cover up the fact
that he killed Puddy.

The execution was to take place beside the General Council's
truck, where Eric Cohen had been held. An angry crowd of
drivers came to watch it. They just couldn't believe that
somebody had the nerves to commit such a foul act in the
situation in which they were.
Charles entered the execution area, holding the same gun he
had used to shoot Puddy and suddenly felt his stomach turn.
'I can't do this,' he thought to himself 'I can't kill
another person. I can't let someone die because of something
that I did!'
A drop of sweat came down Charles' face. He ignored the
shouting and cheering crowd and walked slowly towards the
blindfolded Eric Cohen.
'I'll sentence him to life imprisonment,' Charles suggested
to himself. 'They will all just think that I had a sudden
change of heart. They'll be sure that I simply didn't want
to use such a harsh punishment.'
He was now near to the accused. He was about to call out
that he decided to spare the man's life, when he suddenly
noticed that he was contently muttering something.
Charles came closer and attempted to hear the man's words.
It was clear that the man was deranged, probably because he
knew that he was about to be killed for something that he
had nothing to do with.
"Cheese... Officer Bennis... shot... shot... Bennis did
it... Bennis Officer Bennis' underwear... Officer Puddy
dead... Bennis.... Bodyguards... festively plummed..."
Charles was astonished. Someone had seen him shoot Puddy.
And he was standing right in front of him.
Suddenly Charles realized something. Eric Cohen was with
'The Dudes', who kept him guarded from angry mob attacks in
their main truck. He must have said something to them...
He stared quickly over to 'The Dudes' and saw that they were
looking like their old, stupid selves.
He now had no choice. If Eric was to stay alive, he would
surely tell someone about him shooting Puddy... if he hadn't
told anyone already. Charles threw another glance over to
'The Dudes' who were now jointly picking their noses.
He leant over to Eric Cohen and whispered "I'm sorry."
"Wha..."
But before Eric could talk, Charles pointed the gun to his
head point-blank, and pressed the trigger.
Suddenly, everything seemed to Charles as if it was moving
in slow motion.
The gun fired a bullet. It entered one side of Eric's head,
it slowly reached the other side and continued to fly in the
air. Eric was gone.
Needless to say, there was a lot of throwing up in the
crowd.

Part 4

"Don't worry," Charles assured Eric. "You'll have your food
in not-time."
Charles ran away quickly, leaving Eric behind to ponder.
He wasn't very nerved by this sudden request of taxes. He
was just doing his job as zone supervisor. He remembered all
to clearly Officer Puddy's threats regarding what would
happen to his privates if he fails on performing his duties.
He didn't want to risk it.
He realized that standing there for hours waiting for
Charles to come back would be just a silly waste of time, so
he began to walk back towards his zone, and return
afterwards in order to hear from Charles what to do with the
tax situation.
While walking, he began to think about what he'd been
through for the past three weeks or so. He was late for
work, so he took the "North-East" turnpike. Too bad his
radio was jammed. If he knew about the Traffic-Jam, he
would've taken "Liberty" Lane. He was never late for work.
But now, technically, he was five hundred and four hours
late. It was good thing the radiation didn't allow them to
ever leave, because otherwise he would've spent an
eternity in order to catch up on missing work-hours.
He didn't have a family, so he didn't really have anyone to
miss back home, except Sibil Sheperd, Tony Soprano and
Barnie the Purple Dinosaur. His ex-girlfriend took his dog
when she left him... but then died in a car-crash on the way
to her new house. And that was two years ago. Since then,
the only serious relationship he'd been able to commit to,
was the one he had with his hand.
So Eric wasn't feeling particularly anxious when he heard
that once you have entered the traffic-jam, there is no way
out. He thought of it as a career change. From a cubical
worker, he was now becoming a bum, who sleeps in his car.
Not that it was that much of a difference. He was still
stuck in a small space and couldn't find a decent place to
pee. Besides, living in the traffic-jam had its advantages.
Suddenly, all the sexy women who were always married were
single again. It felt like college all over again, but
without the hassle of learning.
The one thing that really bothered him was the lack of water
to wash himself with. They all had spare clothes thanks to
ten "Clark's Ware" trucks stuck in the traffic jam. But what
good were spare clothes when all you body stank from sweat?

He was calm, though. Officer Puddy and Officer Bennis
assured them that once the supplies from the government
arrive, they would have enough water to spare for things
like personal hygiene.
Walking, he suddenly noticed a group of unfamiliar females.
Attractive unfamiliar females. Thinking that he had
nothing special to lose except his dignity, he approached
them.
Walking towards them, he thought of a good opening line. His
mission was to buy at least one of them with his personal
charms, so that he wouldn't have to sleep alone that night.
"Hello."
That was the best line he could find.
"Hello." An especially attractive young lady spoke back.
Without much thought, he decided that this fine lady would
be the current object of his desires. It's not like he
didn't have time to concentrate on other targets if he
failed with this one...
"Well I... err... this is quite embarrassing." Eric now wore
an innocent face.
"What is it?" The woman asked with a caring voice.
"Well, I'm the supervisor of Zone 'B'," Chicks dig
authority. "And I lost my glasses. So now I can't fill my
daily report. I need... no, forget it... I don't know why I
even approached you..." Eric began to turn away.
"No, no, please, what?" The lady he was talking to stopped
him with a gentle arm.
"Oh, shucks... okay then. What I really need is for you to
come back to my car to help me find them."
The woman stared at Eric with disbelief. She gave the matter
some thought, and then, strangely enough, agreed to come
with him. Eric was relieved. If he managed this, the next
stage should be a piece of cake.
On the way to Eric's car, they didn't say much. He described
his car to her so that she could find it. He was, after all,
half blind.
"Is this your car?" The women whose name, so she said, was
Margaret, pointed towards a white Subaro Justy.
"Does it have a 'Shit happens' sticker on it?" Eric asked
innocently.
"Yes, it does actually."
"So let's go in..." He suggested, taking his keys out of his
pockets.

While Margaret was extensively looking for Eric's
supposed-glasses, he was planning his next move.
He touched Margaret's knee, and began fondling it.
"What are you doing?" She asked angrily.
"Oh, sorry," He quickly removed his hand from her knee.
'Wrong move, Eric." He said to himself.
He continued to think. What more could he do? She was
apparently, Although he could not see why, not attracted to
him. He decided to take a more direct approach.
He opened the air conditioner on "Cold".
He waited.
"Is it me, or is it really cold in here?" He finally asked.
"That's probably because you opened the air conditioner."
"What do you say, you and I, do a little... 'Number' to warm
up, eh?" Eric suggested.
Margaret finally turned around from her searching and stared
at Eric.
"What is this about?" She asked firmly.
"I... err..." This was new. Usually, when a woman doesn't
want him, she simply storms out screaming or gives him a
ringing slap in the face. She doesn't ask him questions.
"You were aware of the fact that I was a nun, weren't you?"
Eric was perplexed after hearing this last piece of
information.
"But... but you can't be a nun. You're attractive! Besides,
you're not wearing you penguin outfit."
Margaret now laughed.
"First of all, trust me, there are enough attractive nuns to
fill the "Red Window" street in Amsterdam. And second, we're
not wearing our 'Penguin Outfit' because it's too darn
hot."
Saying that Eric felt extremely embarrassed would be an
under-statement.
"I'm sorry sister... I..."
"Don't think anything of it. I just hope that you haven't
sinned too much since you arrived here."
"I'm Jewish."
"Oh. In that case, you're your Rabbi's problem. Though we
are open for baptizes."
Erik gave her a puzzled look.
"Are you trying to revert my religion after I offered you to
have sex? Aren't you even mad at me or something?"
"Mad? No, I'm not mad. Though I should really suggest that
you'd check who it was you're hitting on next time. It'll
spare you much embarrassment."
With that, she left.

That was, indeed, the weirdest... religious experience Eric
ever had.
'Good thing there isn't a God,' Eric resolved. 'If there
was, I'd be so dead by now.'
He sat in his car for an additional quarter of an hour. He
was suddenly reminded of the food that he was supposed to
provide. Officer Bennis should be back by now. Eric checked
his watch but was then reminded that the batteries died out
a week ago. This was something quite surprising. Watch
batteries never die out. Why would they, now of all times,
die out on him? Was God sending him a message? Nah. It was
probably just because they were ten years old.
Eric left his car, and started to slowly walk towards
Officer Bennis' car.
As he was walking, Eric heard something that sounded like a
gunshot from nearby. Then there was another. Without much
thinking, he ran over to the sounds. When he arrived, he was
horrified at what his eyes saw. Officer Bennis was pointing
a gun at Officer Puddy's back.
He quickly shouted out to warn Officer Puddy, but the sound
of a single gun shot was much louder than his faint voice.
Officer Puddy, who had been walking before Officer Bennis
shot him, stopped suddenly.
And then came two more gunshots.
Officer Puddy had now fallen to the ground. Officer Bennis,
who was looking very confused, seemed as if he was going to
approach the Officer and help him, but suddenly had,
apparently, a change of heart and he ran away.
Eric stood there, filled with disbelief. Officer Bennis?
Shoot Officer Puddy? It just could not be!!! But his eyes
didn't lie to him. Unlike what he told Sister Margaret, his
eyesight was so good that he could spot an ant from ten
meters.
Eric decided to go closer, and see if he could help Officer
Puddy.
He wasn't very wishful. The shot that hit the Officer was
both precise and from a close range. From the looks of it,
he was a goner for sure.
Only when Eric had arrived to the empty puddle of blood in
which Officer Puddy's body once lay, did he realize that
Officer Puddy still had some life in him. Enough to get him
away from there, anyway.
Eric looked around the puddle and found a gun. The same gun
used to shoot Officer Puddy. He picked it up and examined
it.
Suddenly a thought entered Eric's mind. 'What were those two
gunshots I heard before?' If neither Officer Bennis, nor
Officer Puddy were hurt before, than who was?
And then it struck him. The limousine. The big DM letters
written on it. This was Dennis McTaggert's limousine. Is it
possible that Officer Puddy or Officer Bennis had shot
Dennis McTaggert?
He quickly started to look around for signs of a struggle,
or something that might indicate where, or who the gunshots
hit.
What he found made him scream in terror.
Two bodies. Both headless. But not cut clean, like after a
guillotine cut off a head back in the days of the French
revolution. No. It was more like a bomb had exploded and
severed both men's heads. It was horrifying. He quickly
moved his eyes away from the decapitated corpses, and fought
his mind so that it would allow him to forget all memory of
what he had just seen. Moving his eyes away, he quickly met
the eyes of another person.
He was looking straight into the eyes of Dennis McTaggert.

"What is this?" McTaggert asked coldly.
"I... I..." Eric had suddenly found a lack for words. He
realized how this might appear to someone who had just
arrived. He was holding a gun. He was near the bodies. He
was the only one there. It looked like he was the killer.
"Get on with it." McTaggert demanded impatiently. He seemed
awfully calm, considering that a man with a gun with two
decapitated corpses lying near was standing before him.
"I... I didn't do it."
"Oh, don't give me that crap. What do you think I am? An
imbecile? A child?"
"No... no, really. It was, it was either Officer Bennis or
Officer Puddy. I'm not sure. I got here to late... too late
to stop Officer Bennis from shooting Officer Puddy." With
this Eric started sobbing. He dropped the gun in his hand,
and sat on the floor. He covered his eyes and cried for a
few minutes.
"Now, now." McTaggert who had come closer to him, finally
spoke.
Eric lited his eyes only to see McTaggert pointing his gun
at him.
"Don't worry. This won't kill you. It will, however, most
likely make you faint from the immense pain."
"But... but why?" Erik asked with a sob.
"Why? Well, we don't want you up and awake telling people
about what happened here, now do we?"
At that moment, a shot was heard, and Eric fainted with the
agony of his pierced body.

When Eric woke up, he found himself lying in a particularly
uncomfortable bed. He opened his eyes and looked around. The
first thing he had noticed was that he was inside a truck
that looked eerily familiar... the "General Council's"
truck, he had guessed.  
The second thing he noticed was that he was handcuffed to
the bed.
The third thing he noticed was that a woman, Sister
Margaret, the nun he tried to seduce to be exact, was
sitting beside his bed.
"Hello." He said quietly.
"Hello." She said with a distant face.
There was a silence between the two.
"Why did you do it?" Sister Margaret asked with a sad
voice.
"Why did I do what?" Eric asked. But then, feeling his
handcuffs again, he realized that she probably thinks that
he killed the two men.
"Oh... that. That, I didn't do."
"I keep asking myself if I could have stopped you somehow."
She ignored him. "You were apparently... aroused. Maybe I
could have let you take out our anger on my body, instead of
on those poor people's... on those poor people's heads..."
"I'm telling you I didn't do it." Eric now answered
vigorously, though a part of him could not help but be
amused by what she had said.
"Don't play games with me. They told me that Dennis
McTaggert found you next to the two men's corpses, and that
you attacked him so fiercely that he had to subdue you with
a gunshot!"
"Dennis McTaggert lied!" Eric felt a feeling of desperation.
If a nun wouldn't believe him, who would?
"Why would Dennis McTaggert lie???"
'Why would Dennis McTaggert lie?' Eric asked himself. It's
not like Eric had done anything to him. He even believed
him. But then he shot him...
"I don't know."
"Then why should I believe you?"
Eric thought for a moment.
"Tell me this," He finally spoke. "If I was looking to 'take
out my anger', wouldn't it be a lot easier to rape you
instead of going and killing someone? I'm sure the
punishment is much less severe... and that was I would have
gotten rid of that 'aroused' but you talked about."
Sister Margaret shuddered.
"Maybe you thought that you could get more easily out of
murdering those men... if you would guarantee that there
would be no witnesses. My friends from the sisterhood, on
the other hand, saw you walking away with me."
They looked at each other silently for a few moments.
"Even..." Sister Margaret began to speak again. "Even if
McTaggert was lying, what reason could Officer Bennis have
to hurt you? He examined the scene of the crime and said
that there is no question whether you killed those men or
not!"
"Well, of course he would say that! He doesn't want me
walking around and telling people that he had murdered
Officer Puddy."
"What? Officer Puddy isn't dead."
"Where is he then? Did you see him with your own eyes?"
"No... he went to negotiate the food transfers from the
government."
"So for all you know, he may really be dead." Eric
concluded.
"But... I..."
"No buts. Listen to me. Officer Puddy is dead. I saw Officer
Bennis shoot him with my own eyes. He managed to get away
from there, but I wouldn't give the bugger a long time to
live. He must've died two minutes after being shot."
Sister Margaret stared at Eric with unsure eyes. It was
apparent that she was beginning to believe him.
"Listen to me! You wouldn't have come here if you hadn't
believed that I was innocent! I mean, what sort of idiot
would stay alone in a room with a homicidal maniac?" Eric
saw that he was getting to her. He didn't know why it was so
important for him to persuade her. It wasn't as if it
changed anything.
"Oh my goodness." She said and let out a sigh.
"Indeed." Eric agreed.
"You do know that you have been sentenced a death penalty,
right?"
"I figured as much." Eric muttered back with a quiet despair
in his voice.
"Maybe I could help to somehow lower the sentence?"
"It wouldn't help. Officer Bennis wants me dead. McTaggert
had probably told him that I saw him shoot Officer Puddy.
Besides, you'd be taking much to big of a risk. If he hears
that you were here alone with me..."
Suddenly a voice was heard. Someone had opened the truck's
sliding door.
The truck, which was quite dark, was suddenly lit with
daylight.
"Err... has the murderous maniac hurt you or somethin'?"
Biff Tankery, the head of the "General Council" asked
thoughtfully.
"No. I'm perfectly fine. I was just leaving anyhow." She
turned to Eric and kissed his forehead. "God bless you."
"Which God?" He asked her as she emerged out of the truck.
He could hear a faint giggle.

Today was the day. Eric felt it in his bones. Today he was
going to be executed for something he hadn't done. For a
normal man, this was supposed to be the worst day of his
life. The day when he ceases to exist. But not for Eric. No,
for all that he was concerned, he had already ceased to
exist. Instead, came insanity. It was quite a nice
substitute. It struck him two days before. The only reason
people stay sane is because they want to be excepted by
society and thus, stay alive and not be killed by an angry
mob or an insulted pedestrian. So why stay sane if he was
about to die anyway? And besides, there weren't any
pedestrians around. He was, after all, in a traffic-jam.
So he started muttering without reason, just to see how it
feels like. Quickly fond of it, he began to think of the
most peculiar thoughts he had and focus on them. Soon, he
wasn't aspiring to be insane. He was insane.
So when Eric walked, blindfolded, to what was apparently
going to be the place of his execution, he was not thinking
of his death which was, figuratively speaking, waiting
around the corner, but he was instead thinking about what
groceries to buy for his persian master. A hand stopped him,
and he began muttering the list which his master gave him.
"Caviar, Cheeze, Pez ©, Oreos ©, Sprite ©, Cellotape, tooth
picks, underwe..."
Suddenly, he felt like someone was coming closer to him. A
part of him wanted to finish the groceries list, because if
he wouldn't the master wouldn't give him his meal which
would be quite upsetting. But another part of him, which now
fought for control, wanted to tell whoever was standing
before him the truth. It wasn't he who did it. It was
Officer Bennis. Officer Bennis killed Officer Puddy. Officer
Bennis killed the bodyguards. It was all Officer Bennis.
What came out of this inner struggle was an ill-conceived
sentence.
"Cheese... Officer Bennis... shot... shot... Bennis did
it... Bennis Officer Bennis' underwear... Officer Puddy
dead... Bennis.... Bodyguards... festively plummed..."
Suddenly, the man who Eric felt was standing nearby, leaned
towards him and whispered "I'm sorry" in his ear. The voice.
It was Officer Bennis. He had just told Officer Bennis that
he had seen him shoot Officer Puddy. He should've stayed
insane. It would have been much healthier for him.
"Wha..." Eric tried to talk, but it was too late.
He had now lost his mind... literally.

Part Five

They knew. They had to know. Charles was sure of it. 'The
Dudes' had to have heard Eric say something about him
shooting Puddy. About him killing Puddy. His first
instinct was to do to 'The Dudes', what he had done to Eric
Cohen. But he couldn't. He wasn't able to kill another
person. Not unless he could help it. This time he had to
be sure that 'The Dudes' actually knew that he had killed
Puddy before doing anything to them. This time, he wouldn't
take the life of an innocent human being. He already made
that mistake. He wasn't about to do it again.

It was what had happened in the "Food Distribution Ceremony"
the day after the execution that convinced Charles that 'The
Dudes' knew about what he did. The "Food Distribution
Ceremony" was called that way, because of it's resemblance
to a religious ceremony. The Zone Supervisor would come over
to Charles and the three (now four, counting McTaggert)
"General Council" members who sat near the food trucks, and
pledge allegiance to them. Puddy was the one who had devised
this ceremony, and probably laughed hysterically to himself
when he saw that the probably laughing in his like-hell when
he saw that Zone Supervisors agreed on performing it.
Even though Charles found this ceremony highly-idiotic, he
had to keep participating in it, especially now that he
didn't want people thinking that Puddy's disappearance was
anything less than temporary.
This ceremony was repeated at every distribution point, and
it took a whole day to cover the entire traffic-jam, if you
added the payment of taxes and the small talk to the length
of the ceremony.
It was during the ceremony of Zone "B", when the new Zone
Super who replaced Eric Cohen presented his Zone's taxes,
that Charles first noticed 'The Dudes' staring at him in a
peculiar way. He disregarded it at first, saying to himself
that they had probably been staring at a fly which had
landed on his forehead, but as they progressed through the
Zones, and 'The Dudes' continued their staring, Charles
realized that this wasn't normal "Dude" behavior. 'The
Dudes' knew something, something that they knew Charles
didn't want them to know. And as far as Charles could tell
there had only been one thing of this sort...
Puddy's murder.

KNOCK, KNOCK.
Charles was dreaming of his wife and children, when a loud
knock on his door had awaken him up.
"Wha?" He opened his eyes and saw Phil who was looking
uncharacteristically serious.
Charles opened his window.
"What the HELL do you want in an hour like this?" Charles
demanded angrily.
"I need to have a talk with you. But not here, somewhere
private. Meet me outside my truck in twenty minutes."
And before Charles could say anything, he had walked away
hurriedly.

Now Charles was frantic.
'Shit, shit, shit.' He thought to himself. 'What the HELL am
I supposed to do now?"
There was no doubt about it now. 'The Dudes' knew
everything. They knew Charles killed Puddy. Eric had told
them. That mumbling psychopath. He should have volunteered
to guard Eric himself, that way he would've stopped him from
talking. Too late to worry about that, though.
It was clear what 'The Dudes' wanted. They wanted to extort
him. Otherwise, they would've told everyone about him
killing Puddy by now.
And it was now clear what he had to do. 'The Dudes' were,
indeed, aware to the fact that Charles didn't want anyone to
know about what he had done, but what they hadn't realized
was that Charles wasn't going to risk them knowing about
it too.
He killed Eric Cohen, and now he was going to kill 'The
Dudes' as well.

Part Six

Phil left Charles' car in a rush.
He felt pretty good with himself. Come to think about it, he
was even proud. Before he left, Biff had instructed Phil to
be mysterious yet assertive. Phil wasn't sure what the word
"assertive" meant, but he was sure that what he had just
done pretty much fitted that category.
So Phil continued to walk silently towards his truck. He
kept going over and over what he was going to say when
Charles comes. "Charles, we know something that you don't
want us to know, so now you tell me what you're willing to
give us so we'll keep our mouths shut." That, or something
of the sort.
When he arrived at the scheduled meeting-place, the outside
of his truck, Phil began waiting. He felt very nervous. He
had never done anything of this sort before, The closest
thing he had ever done to extortion was threaten his
college-roommate, that if he wouldn't give him two hundred
dollars he would publish in the college newspapers pictures
of him making love to his homosexual-lover. The roommate
paid Phil, but he decided to publish the pictures anyway.
His roommate killed himself the following day.
'Shame,' Phil thought to himself while remembering that
incident. 'I still had those pictures of him peeing on the
headmaster's desk. I could've easily earned an extra two
hundred. Maybe I should've reversed the order of my actions.
That way, he would've killed himself only after I earned
my pay. Ah, never mind. I lost all the money in bets
anyway.'
Ten minutes had passed and Charles hadn't yet appeared.
'Maybe he already knows what we want and he's preparing to
offer it right away.' Phil thought hopefully.
Suddenly, his truck began to move towards him. Phil looked
at it, puzzled. "Why is my truck moving towards me?' He
pondered.
Unfortunately, the few seconds he wasted pondering were
exactly the seconds he needed to run away.
Thus, he came to a resolution that would be his final
thought for all eternity.
'Damn. I knew I shouldn't have left the brakes unlocked.'

Part Seven

Charles Jumped off Phil's moving truck.
'They'll probably think that Phil forgot to lock his brakes
or something of the sort.' Charles assured himself.
He didn't have time to sit and cry about what he had just
done, though that was exactly what he wanted to do. He still
had two more of 'The Dudes' to kill, and he had to do it
before they found out about Phil's... unfortunate demise.

Part Eight

"Hmmm..." Mack said with a genuine intrigue when he found a
surprisingly large piece of gum in his ear while picking
it.
"Waiting for Phil?" Mack suddenly heard Charles' voice
coming from behind him.
"Wha?" He asked surprised.
"I'm sorry to inform you that he won't be coming anytime
soon." Mack turned around back still couldn't see Charles
who was embraced by the darkness around him.
'Oh shit,' Mack thought, realizing that Charles had probably
meant that Phil was dead. 'Dammit. I shouldn't have listened
to that idiot Biff's plan. Now he's gonna kill me.'
"Just tell me this..." Charles' voice was shaking. "How the
hell were you able to comprehen a word that Eric Cohen said
in his mumbling-state?"
"We didn't. All we heard him say was stuff like 'Yes master,
hitting good, apple bad.' all the time."
"Then how did you find out about me killing Puddy?" Charles
asked Mack.
"You... you killed Puddy?" He asked, full of doubt.
"Oh, don't go playing games with me. Of course you knew that
I killed Puddy! What else would I be hiding?"
Mack lowered his eyes to the ground.
"We didn't exactly know what you were hiding. We knew you
were hiding something, and we thought that that was
enough."
He lifted his glance and could now see Charles' face.
It was full of terror.
"So... what I just did now was to admit to you about killing
both Puddy and Phil?"
"Pretty much... yeah." Mack failed to realize that this was
a rhetorical question.
There was a silence for a few seconds, and Mack could see
that Charles was wiping a few tears.
'What a sissy,' He thought to himself.
Before Mack could brake the silence, he noticed that Charles
was pointing a gun at him.
"Are you going to shoot me?" He asked Charles full of
fright.
"Yes," Charles answered. "Sorry."
Charles pulled the trigger.
As the bullet slowly traveled towards Mack's head, he
couldn't help but think his final thought.
'I hate that stupid Biff idiot.'

Part Nine

Charles looked at the smoking gun barrel, and continued to
cry. He had taken the gun he used to shoot Puddy and Eric
Cohen from the Officer's squad car.
'Those morons. Those fucking morons. Why didn't I think
about the possibility that instead of them knowing the
truth, they were just behaving like their same old idiotic
selves? Why, goddammit? WHY?!?'
He was about to let his gun slip to the ground, when his
eyes suddenly met Biff's eyes, who were full of terror.
"OH... OH MY GOD! You SONOVABITCH!  You... you shot him!"
Biff screamed and began to run away as fast as he seemingly
could.
'Shit, I could have avoided killing me if he hadn't seen me
now.'
And thus, Charles ran quickly after Biff, who was for now at
least, the last survivor of 'The Dudes'.

Part Ten

Biff had always considered himself quite smart. When he was
young he was marked in his city's newspaper as the youngster
who had the most chances to succeed in his life. He was
offered scholarships in Harvard, Oxford and Yale, and he was
even offered a job as a high-level scientist and astronaut
in NASA.
But he chose to be a truck driver.
Not because he didn't think he would be able to cope with
the pressure, but because he really didn't want to.
When his parents found out that he refused the Harvard,
Oxford and Yale scholarships and reportedly 'Gave the
finger' to the NASA representatives, they kicked him out of
his house, and he began living in his truck. He had been
living like that for the past five years, so being forced to
live in the traffic jam, stuck in his truck, didn't come as
much of a shock to him.
Actually, he entered the traffic jam intentionally. He had
an extremely large delivery of food to make, and it was a
very long way. He needed some rest, so he chose the
"North-East" highway. And indeed, he now had all the chance
to rest that he needed. That is, except for when he was
performing tasks as the head of the "General Council".
He wasn't stupid, you see. He knew that the "General
Council" had nothing but fictitious powers and it actually
amused him when a powerful man like McTaggert offered to
join it. But he kept playing Charles' and Puddy's game
because, the way he figured it, as long as he didn't lose
anything by being a member in it, and as long as his friends
didn't complain, why the freakin' hell not?
He knew from the beginning that trying to extort Charles on
the basis of the fact that they knew he had done something
but not what was quite silly, but he wasn't able to
persuade his friends out of the idea. So he offered to
expand the idea. He tried to figure out how he and his
friends could best profit from Charles' supposed foul act.
He devised the instructions that he gave to Phil, which
weren't all that complicated to comprehend, and he knew that
if everything goes as planned, and Phil doesn't screw up
anything, they'd be sitting on a 'gold mine' of this or that
sort.
Everything, apparently, had not gone as planned, which was
demonstrated by Charles shooting Mack, after a dialogue in
which he admitted on killing both Phil and Puddy.
"OH... OH MY GOD! You SONOVABITCH!  You... you shot him!"
Biff knew that letting Charles be aware of his presence
would probably result in his own death, but that wasn't what
was occupying his mind at that moment. He had just seen his
friend, a dumb friend mind you but a friend nonetheless,
shot. How was he supposed to react? Pull out a champagne
bottle and offer Charles some?
'Shit,' He thought to himself when his mind finally realized
his mistake.
It took him a few more moments to realize that the best and
most reasonable thing to do now was to run.
So he did just that. He ran like a madman. Better be a
madman than a dead man, which was what he was going to be if
Charles reached him.
He could feel Charles behind him. He heard his groaning and
grunting, and wished that that ugly dickhead would just
collapse.  
They ran for what seemed like a quarter of eternity times
four. Most of the running took place upon the roofs of the
cars, a fact that had most likely woken up half of the
drivers in the traffic jam.
Soon enough, Biff came to realize that running wouldn't help
him, because sooner or later Charles would either reach him
or get a good enough aim to shoot him while running. All he
needed, after all, was one good shot. He quickly tried to
find alternate solutions that would save his life. He
finally reached the conclusion that his only current
available option was to try and attract his fellow driver's
attention. After all, Charles wouldn't shoot him in front of
everyone's eyes, right? Because that would be rather
pointless now, wouldn't it?
So Biff began to scream hysterically and wave his hands
accordingly.
He had done so for about five minutes, when people finally
went out of their cars to see what all the racket was
about.
Now, feeling much more confident, Biff began to slow down
his running pace. This, apparently, was a mistake, because
five deconds after he had done so, Biff felt a gunshot
pierce his leg.
He collapsed, lying on the roof of a well-kept '91 red
Porsche.
He looked towards Charles and saw that he was approaching
him. Charles had apparently either failed to notice the
crowd that watched him, or chose to disregard it.
Biff knew why Charles was coming towards him. He was about
to finish the job. He was about to kill him too. Biff had
lost the will to fight. It was too much of a hassle anyhow.
Even if he hadn't, he still couldn't do anything about it
what with his damaged leg and all.
While Charles was slowing down and pointing his gun towards
Biff's head, he begun to reminisce his wasted life.
Accordingly, the last thought in his head, just as Charles
pulled the trigger, was 'Maybe I should've taken the job at
NASA after all. Chicks love astronauts.'

Part Eleven

As Charles pulled the trigger to finish off Biff, he felt an
eerie sensation of satisfaction. A feeling of closure. All
of 'The Dudes' are dead. Now, not a soul knows about him
killing Puddy. Not a soul.
It took Charles a few seconds of thought to realize that
that didn't really matter. He had just shot Biff in the head
in front of numerous drivers. He had just committed the act
of murder, and this time, he had no chance of killing all of
the witnesses. He had no chance of eluding capture. No
chance of survival. Even if he managed to swat his pursuers
now by shooting at them, they would only catch him later.
After all, there is a limit to the bullets in a gun
clipping. And so, Charles was beginning to think of
surrendering.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on which
perspective you favor, just as Charles was about to lay down
his gun and thus declare his surrender, three cars exploded
as a result of a bomb thrown from a pretty threatening
Apachi helicopter, which was flouting right above them in
the sky.

Part Twelve

It isn't often that a human being hears nearby explosions,
and feels calm. Not that it was a precedent, though. Many
characters, in life and in literature alike, were known to
enjoy the noise of a well-planned explosion. But these were
usually villains enjoying the sound of their enemy's painful
death. Those were pyromaniacs whom enjoyed seeing things get
blown up.
Dennis McTaggert, was neither. He was, straight and forward,
a businessman. And as one, he knew when something might help
him.
And this was such a case.
He didn't feel bad for the poor, defenseless drivers who
were being slowly massacred with every bomb that fell on
their heads. No. They died because they had to die. That was
their part in the world. One should always be ready to
accept his part in life, however harsh it may seem at the
time. McTaggert knew that he wasn't being very objective,
since his part in the world included continuing to live
the day tomorrow, and their's didn't.
And part of him fulfilling that particular detail in his
destiny, was him getting to his goal, after spending the
night in the bed of an attractive female driver who was,
most likely, dead by now.
He wasn't stressed, though, or full of anxiety. He knew that
it would take the military time to get to him, given their
policy of 'Cleaning-up' everything in an area before moving
on to the next. And 'Cleaning-up' took time. A considerable
amount of time, that gave McTaggert all the free-movement he
needed.
He walked slowly, enjoying the sounds of the explosions,
people crying out their loved-one's name, people crying out
in pain, people crying in protest, and people who were
simply crying without any particular reason.
He didn't smile because he found there people's deaths
amusing, or laughable in any way. He smiled, because he knew
that he wasn't going to end up like that, sitting in a
pool of his own blood, reminiscing nostalgically on a lost
life, that was closer and closer to ending with every heart
beat which caused more blood to leak out of his body.
At least, he thought that that wasn't what was going to
happen to him, until he felt the coldness of a gun sticking
into his head.
"Going somewhere citizen?" A familiar voice asked. It took
McTaggert a few seconds to realize the impossible.
It was Officer Puddy's voice.
"It... it can't be. Charles killed you."
"Did he now? Did you ever see a dead man walking about and
sticking guns to other people's heads?"
McTaggert thought about it. He never had any proof that
Officer Puddy was dead. Just the desperate cries of that
unfortunate man whim charles conveniently disposed of.
"I was, so it appears, misinformed. It's quite nice to see
you again, Officer Puddy." McTaggert managed to change his
face expression from complete and utter terror into an
expression of happiness and relief.
"McTaggert, I've been living in a lavatory for a week, so
I've had to endure enough crap to last me a life time.
Literally."
McTaggert felt, at this point, quite helpless. If
manipulation didn't help there, nothing would.
"What do you want from me?" McTaggert asked, collousually
irritated.
"An explanation." Officer Puddy answered.
"An explanation for what?"
"Let's start at the beginning."
"Define beginning."
"Come on McTaggert. I don't think you're in any position
to..."
As Puddy was talking, an explosion which seemed more close
than would be expected, went off.
"I think," McTaggert noted. "That what's best now, is not
for me to tell you 'Everything', but for us to get the hell
out of here, because otherwise me telling you wouldn't mean
anything to anyone. You know, as being dead and all."
Officer Puddy looked at McTaggert considering the matter.
"Let's go." He finally snarled.

Part Thirteen

The surprising explosions and propeller sounds of the Apachi
helicopters obviously caused the people around him to forget
the minor fact that Charles had just shot a man to his
death.
Although he was quite grateful to his unknown saviors from
the sky, he realized that if he stayed there too long, he
would suffer the same fate as his victim, and his
would-be-redeemers would quickly become his executioners.
Charles had heard the expression 'Run like hell' many times
before, but only now did he truly understand its full
meaning.
He ran, like hell, and kept on running until he reached what
appeared to be, in his opinion, a safe enough distance from
the helicopters. Being that he had never before been much of
an athlete, Charles felt that before he could continue his
flight, he needed some rest.
He looked around to see if he could recognize the area in
which he was in, and was astonished when he saw the white
Subaro Justy with the "Shit Happens" sticker on it. It
belonged to the deceased Eric Cohen. He examined it when he
was supposedly 'looking for evidence' while investigating
the bodyguards' death.
He tried his luck. He went for the door, which was to his
fortune, unlocked. He entered the car with the intention of
resting and planning his course of actions. After all,
nothing else could go wrong after all the things that
already had, right? Especially not in a dead man's car.
Seriously, what could go wrong in a dead man's car?  

Part Fourteen

Sister Margaret didn't attend Eric's execution. Not only was
she, before getting stuck in that dreadful traffic jam, a
strong opposer to the death-penelty, she had also grown to
develop feelings of friendship towards the poor man. She had
felt stupid for accusing him in a crime which he so
apparently had not committed. All you had to do was look
into his eyes to know that he was innocent.
After the day of Eric's execution, Sister Margaret hadn't
left her sisterhood's territory, which was given to them by
the late Officer Puddy, even once. She did leave the area
eventually, after overhearing her fellow sisters talking
about doing an intervention, and try to persuade her to 'Get
back to her senses'. When she left her sisterhood's area,
she immediately went towards Eric's car. The place where he
tried to seduce her into doing deeds that did not fit a
nun's way of life. Actually, the things he wanted to do did
not fit any sensible catholic woman, but no one gave much
thought to traditions those days. Especially not in this
mind-despairing traffic-jam. To herself she admitted that
she was tempted to let herself succumb to her earthly lusts,
but managed to suppress those urges by prayer and
meditation. The day in Eric's car was a real test of faith,
and she was proud that she proved to herself that her mind's
will was stronger than that of her body's.
As she was thinking this, a sound of a sudden explosion was
sounded from afar. Sister Margaret looked around to find the
source of the sound and to her horror, she saw a group of
black helicopters bombing innocent passer-by.
Although her first reaction, like every human being, was to
run like hell, practical thinking overtook her. How does she
know that there aren't any helicopters, which were attacking
in the spot she would run to? The best thing she could do
then was to wait where she was and see how this situation
plays out. Realizing that a panic might erupt following
those bombings, Sister Margaret decided to find some sort of
place to hide. She quickly resolved that the best place to
hide was right in front of her: Eric's car.
She remembered that last time she was there Eric didn't
leave it locked, so she hoped that this would be the case
again. And indeed, it was.
Sister Margaret entered the car, and waited for the expected
mob, feeling quite safe inside. She waited for five minutes
and, surprisingly, no one came.
This wasn't necessarily a good thing. It might have also
been a sign that thae helicopters were killing so fast that
there weren't any people to run away, being dead and all.
But Sister Margaret didn't worry herself about this. She
entrusted her life in the hands of The Lord. If it was her
time to die, so be it. If it wasn't then the Almight would
find a way to save her. So she stayed inside the car, and
waited for something.
That something came much faster than she had expected.
It was about ten minutes after she had entered Eric's car,
when someone suddenly opened the door next to the
passenger's side of the front seat. She herself didn't
notice anyone coming, because she was preoccupied staring at
the road in front of her, to see if anyone was coming, or if
the helicopters were getting any closer.
It took her a few moments to realize who was now sitting
beside her and staring at her puzzled.
"So the criminal does return to the scene." She said to
Officer Bennis who in return gave her an even more puzzled
look.
"Who are you? What do you mean?" Officer Bennis asked.
"My name is Sister Margaret, and I was a friend of Eric
Cohen. And you know very well what I meant." She answered
sharply.
"How did you know?"
"Eric told me what had happened before he went mad. Mad
because he wasn't capable of coping with your charges, and
with his expected punishment. A punishment which, as I was
told, you preformed in quite a... grotesc manner."
Officer Bennis looked at her with a face full of guilt. It
seemed as if he understood that it wouldn't do him any good
to deny these accusations, so his resolution, apparently,
was to keep quiet. But Sister Margaret wasn't about to allow
him to do this.
"What happened? Cat caught you tongue? You are most likely
going to die in the next few hours, so the least you can do
is confess your sins."
Charles looked at her now with a different look. He suddenly
tried to look innocent.
"What sins?"
"You killing Officer Puddy and those Poor bodyguards for
heaven sakes!"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Don't you?"
"Listen... Sister... you don't want me to confess my sins to
you."
"And why is that?"
"Trust me, you don't."
"Try me."
Charles stared at her, apparently considering the matter.
"Okay. I killed Puddy to save my own life. I didn't kill the
bodyguards, that was Puddy's doing. I let McTaggert get rid
of the body without me saying anything about it. I lied to
the drivers and made up fake evidence to support the claim
that Eric Cohen was the one that killed the bodyguards. I
killed two men to cover up these killings and another to
cover up the last killing. I eluded capture and my righteous
sentence when these helicopters attacked."
He pulled out a gun.
"And now, I am going to kill you."
Both the works of this evil man, and the fact that he was
about to kill her horrified Sister Margaret. But her luck
shone on her that day apparently, because a few seconds
after him pulling out the gun, he run off and left her in
the car, with many questions and but a few answers.
It was truly frightful to see how far a man was willing to
go in order to save his own name, his own life.
Truly frightful.
Sister Margaret stayed in that car. She confronted true
evil, and was now going to die. She had no doubt in her mind
now, that she was going to heaven, and this... man... was
going straight to hell.

Part Fifteen

Charles placed his gun beside Sister Margaret's head.
He was about to pull the trigger, abut then a sudden thought
stopped him.
'What are you doing?!'
As if talking to someone else, Charles answered his own
thought.
'She must die.'
'Why???'
'Because she is the only one who knows I killed Puddy.'
'What does that matter? Especially now that you blew up
Biff's face in front of all those drivers?'
'But they are dead! The helicopters killed them!'
'No all of them! You are still alive, aren't you? Some must
have escaped as well.'
'So what am I supposed to do? Simply let her go?'
'YES!!!'
'but I can't!'
'Why'
'Because... because...'
"ARGHHHHHH!!!" Charles cried out. He stared at Sister
Margaret bewildered. "What am I doing???"
With that, he burst out of the car and began to run. He
didn't know where. Anywhere. He wasn't looking forward. He
just dropped his view to the ground, and ran.

Part Sixteen

"You know something funny?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me, aren't you?"
"Indeed I am. What's funny is, that you are so obsessed with
hating me, and you can't even find a reason why."
"I don't find anything funny in that."
As Puddy and McTaggert ran together, Puddy felt a peculiar
urge to blow McTaggert's brains out. And, indeed, without
any clear motive. He hated him, he just didn't know why.
This wasn't an ideal situation, as far as he could say
anything about it. The ideal situation, in his perspective
was him standing on top of McTaggert's bloody corpse,
smoking a cigar, and knowing what, in God's name, was going
on.
Approximately an hour ago, a bunch of Apachi helicopters
attacked the "North-East" highway for, as far as he could
tell, no apparent reason. Approximately two weeks ago,
Charles, his only friend in this hell-hole, shot him and
much nearly killed him for, again, no apparent reason.
Approximately four weeks ago, McTaggert attacked two members
of the 'General Council' for,  what a surprise, no apparent
reason. And even though Puddy tried to disregard it, he had
a strong gut feeling that these three occurrences, and
others like them, had something, no, EVERYTHING to do with
McTaggert.
"Are we there yet?"
"Shut up McTaggert!"
McTaggert grinned oafishly and quieted down.
"I don't get it."
"What?"
"Where are you leading us to, Officer?"
"As far away from the helicopters that we can get."
"But that doesn't make much sense."
"Why is that, McTaggert?"
"Because most chances are that you're leading us straight
towards helicopters which are attacking from the other side
of the traffic-jam."
"Thank you very much for pointing that out for me sunshine,
but do you have any brighter ideas?"
McTaggert suddenly stopped walking and looked straight into
Puddy's eyes.
"Yes, in fact, I do."
With that, he changed his walking direction, back towards
where they came from. Puddy, as there was no apparent
alternative in sight, quickly followed him.

"Where are you taking us McTaggert??? You're leading us
straight into the line of fire!"
"Patience my precipitate friend."
"You're probably just hoping to get us both killed, aren't
you? You can't be judged if you're dead, can you now?"
With this, McTaggert stopped.
"Listen, apish... nitwit... if you wouldn't be holding a gun
now, I would have left you to be killed by one of those
murederous Apachis. But as it seems, you ARE holding a gun.
So you can count your blessings."
"Eat shit ass-hole." Puddy murmured.
"What?"
"I said 'Eat shit ass-hole'. Now get us to wherever it is
you're taking us."
"Oh, that'll quite difficult."
"Why is that?"
"Because we're already there."

Puddy quietly surveyed the place where they were standing.
It seemed just like any another part of the traffic-jam. No
people were there, because by now, the word about the
helicopter attack had apparently reached their ears, which
probably caused them to either run away or keep very quiet
in hop that the helicopters wouldn't attack an area which
seemed deserted. A conception which Puddy, from his
experience in the marines, knew was ludicrous. The army
NEVER spares its ammo. It always makes sure that the area is
completely cleansed, until it moves forward to their next
target. Then again, the army never attacked a group of
innocent civilians stuck in a traffic-jam before either, so
who know? Maybe policies have changed.
"What's so special about this place?"
"You'll find out in about............ ten minutes."
Just as McTaggert said this, faint sounds of the helicopters
were noticed by Puddy.
"In about ten minutes," Puddy said gloomily. "The Apachis
are going to get here, and when they do, we're pretty
dead."
"I'm counting on that."
"Us being dead?"
"No, ignorant twerp. The Apachis getting here."
Just as McTaggert finished his last sentence and Puddy was
beginning to consider if that right there was the last straw
and which body-part to shoot at if he did, they both noticed
the noise of sobbing towards them.
Puddy looked to the direction of the sobs, and to his
surprise, the source of the unexplained cries belonged to
non other than his would-be friend, would-be assassin,
Charles Bennis.
"Hello Charles." Puddy said coolly.
Charles, who seemingly didn't notice Puddy until now,
gasped.
"Pu... Pu..."
"Yes, it's Puddy, you shot him, he's alive, let's get on
with it, shall we?" McTaggert disturbed Charles' consumption
of what his eyes laid before him.
"But... but how?"
"I was found by a child whose father was a doctor.
Apparently it was a 'Spend time with your dad' day at his
school."
"But I shot you... you fell..."
"One of the things I learnt from the marines, was that if
you play dead, then unless your enemy has a truly sadistic
nature in him, he'll stop shooting at you."
"You were in the marines?"
"What is this? Happy hour at McDonald's??? Will you two
please stop acting like two high-school girlfriends catching
up on each other in a class reunion?"
Suddenly, Puddy changed his stare full of mixed feelings at
Charles, to a devious gaze at McTaggert.
"Do you know what I just realized, McTaggert?" He asked with
a voice, which seemed like a mix of amusement and insanity.
"Wh... what?" McTaggert asked with apparent stress that
originated from Puddy's new facade.
"That I don't really have a reason NOT to kill you here and
now."
McTaggert quickly returned to his inert look.
"Oh, but you do. I'm your only ticket out of here. Well, out
of here alive, that is."
"And how are we going to do that McTaggert?" Puddy asked.
"Take over an Apachi ourselves?"
"Something of the sort." McTaggert answered with a snigger.
"Can someone tell me," Charles began talking, thus breaking
his silence. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?!?!?!?"
Both McTaggert and Puddy stared at him, bewildered.
McTaggert quickly recoped, and answered.
"Being that I really hate seeing a mental breakdown, and
being that if I don't Officer Puddy here will probably shoot
me in a rage of madness, I guess I'll be the one to do
that."
Puddy was quite surprised by McTaggert's giving into his
requests, but then again, it was the only sensible thing to
do.
"You see, my friend, my company, 'McTaggert Corp.', was
working on a government contract for producing a radioactive
substance called 'Dexomatter'."
"Wait a second," Puddy interrupted. "That's the name of
the...."
"How conclusive of you," McTaggert said mockingly. "Yes,
it's the name of the radioactive matter which we have all
been infected with."
McTaggert paused for a few seconds and then continued.
"Now, from the minute that I was stuck here, I knew that I
had to get out. Thus, I began planning means of escape. I
couldn't run away on foot, because the military has placed
SWAT units on both sides of the traffic-jam, in case someone
decides to run away, thus infecting everyone in his
proximity. So what I realized, was that the only way I could
get out, was if the army were to be distracted by something
else."
"You mean that you somehow made the army attack the
traffic-jam?" Charles sounded skeptic.
"Oh, it gets even worse." McTaggert assured Charles.
"Getting the army to attack innocent civilians isn't very
easy. The army needed to have undeniable proof that the
citizens which reside in the traffic-jam indeed pose a
national risk. I had one thing going for me though,"
McTaggert pulled out his cell-phone and smiled slyly.
"Wait a second," Puddy took McTaggert's phone and examined
it. "The government had the cell-phone companies disconnect
the users in the traffic-jam in fear that they might use it
in a manner that would risk the public's safety! The only
way of contacting the outside world was by using the
police-radio!"
One of the perks of being the owner of a multi-billion
dollar corporation," McTaggert explained. "Is having PRIVATE
cell-phone companies. The charges that those darn cell-phone
companies demand are just unbearable."
Puddy craved to wipe that silly grin off McTaggert's face,
but controlled himself.
"I immediately called up my company scientists, and ordered
them to make fake reports regarding the affects 'Dexomatter'
has on the human brain."
"What kind of affects???" Puddy asked, quite pissed off.
"Oh, you know... the usual thing that makes the government
panic. The radiated person gets, at this point or another, a
tendency for aggression. The funny thing is that I didn't
really need to make an effort to prove this claim. My
unexplained attack on your friend's, Puddy's killing of my
bodyguards and Charles shooting Puddy, all these were great
examples of what was 'to come'."
McTaggert stopped for a moment. Charles seemed quite
horrified.
"Bu... but how could they know?" He asked.
"Oh, come on! Don't you think that the government would have
placed every spare satellite over our heads to see if my
scientist's claims had any basis in real life? To make sure
they were correct?"
Charles, in Puddy's eyes, seemed as if he was highly
distressed.
"But that wasn't enough. A few acts of aggression were not
enough to warrant a full scale attack. So I took matters
into my own hands. I joined that silly 'General Council' of
yours, and issued a new rule... TAXES. Gas, to be exact."
Puddy was slowly catching on.
"When the army saw that we were collecting gas, along with
the shooting of Officer Puddy here who, as long as they were
concerned, represented their interest," with this he chapped
Puddy on the back. "It was decided that the residents of
this traffic-jam posed too much of a security risk. Thus, we
were to be exterminated. They don't want someone to escape
out of here and infect all the population with the dreadful
radioactivity, now do they?'
At that moment Puddy understood the full extent of this
individual's Psychotic-egocentrism.  
"You bastard!!! All these people... THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE!!!
All of them are dying as we speak just because you find the
stay at the traffic-jam uncomfortable??? You are willing to
let so many people die just so you could leave this
place?!?!?!?!?!?"
As he said that, he pulled out his gun and prepared to
fire.
Unfortunately, McTaggert was faster, and he pulled out his
own pistol.
He shot Puddy without any hesitation.
The shot hit Puddy in the heart. He fell to his knees and
gasped for his last breath.
"You bastard." He murmered and then fell to the ground,
dead.

Part Seventeen

"Why did you kill him?!" Charles cried out.
"Self defense." McTaggert answered with a wide grin.
Just as he said this, the Apachis begun to shoot nearby
where they stood.
A single Apachi very discretely approached them. It shot
around them but not at them directly, though they were
certainly in his eye-of-sight.
"That's our ride.  We will be immediately put into
quarantine suits. They'll bring us to my city offices, where
the antidote is waiting for us."
"There's an antidote?!?! Then why didn't you simply give it
to everyone at the traffic-jam?!"
"Are you mad??? Do you know how much that thing costs??? You
should at least be happy that I am taking you with me."
"Why ARE you taking me with you?"
"Well, you did save my life twice. I do owe you, don't I?"
"Yeah," Charles said with a depressed sigh. "I guess you
do."

Charles Bennis kissed his perfect wife and his perfect
children goodbye. He left his perfect home and walked across
his garden, towards his perfect car, in order to drive to
his perfect job.
As he reached his perfect offices, he closed its perfect
door, and sat down on his perfect chair. He opened his
perfect cabinet, pulled out his perfect gun, and placed it
in his perfect mouth. As he pulled its perfect trigger, he
could feel a tear dropping from his perfect eye.

He had a perfect life and now he shot himself in the head.
Go figure.