When a Volkswagen Beetle turns into a murderous coupe due to road rage, chaos and death erupt on the highway. Only the offer of friendship from an abandoned dog and her puppies contain the power to reform the evil Beetle.

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It was still dark when I left my house one cold, dark October morning. The morning rush hour was cramped with angry frustrated workers. They competed to arrive at their job sites in record time. They changed lanes without signaling, tailgated those in front of them and merged without yielding. 

I headed toward The Plainledge Animal Shelter with an abandoned Bernese Mountain dog I found in an empty parking lot with her four puppies. Mama dog rested fitfully in the back seat of my car next to a box full of her babies. She sensed the outside commotion, whining and crying softly. 

Road rage filled the travelers’ emptiness with loathsome, vengeful feelings. Their cars swerved, screeched and honked as their anger escalated. The vehicles sensed their drivers’ raging thoughts course through their metal, engines and tires. A dreadful stink invaded the road from overworked, clogged exhaust systems. 

Luna was already late for work. She quickly grabbed her briefcase and her coffee tumbler. Her boss detested tardiness and docked her pay more than once. She was anxious and angry as she frantically crouched into her yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She merged onto the main highway without yielding to oncoming traffic. Route 33 is a busy four- lane road with a 55-mph speed limit. Luna drove her Volkswagen as if she was a Formula One racecar driver. She weaved from one lane to the next, barely avoiding the other cars.    

Her vanity plate spelled, “Spite.” She often acted in a vengeful manner, seeking justice for those who offended her. She found the term apropos and moderately humorous. She frequently cursed at the other drivers, flashed her full-beam headlights and displayed offensive gestures, usually with her middle finger.

The little yellow Beetle felt her tires shred as Luna savagely alternated between lanes on the potholed highway. Yellow’s tires, like unclad feet, painfully singed at each frantic motion. Her headlights, as wide as dilated pupils, worked overtime scanning the rapidly moving pavement. Luna’s tight grip on the steering wheel exasperated Yellow’s building migraine. 

Luna’s phone buzzed in her pocketbook. The tone indicated her boss was calling. She rummaged in her bag with her right hand, searching for the damned phone. She glanced down irritably, spotted the illuminated phone and grabbed it. Her car swerved to the left, scrapping its side on the cement median. The tumbler fell on her lap, the lid flipped off and the hot coffee burned her lap. 

Luna was enraged. She opened the passenger window and hurled the cup out the window, hitting the jalopy in front of me. I slowed my speed, carefully considering the Mama dog and the puppies. 

The jalopy driver cranked down his window emitting a tirade of ungodly profanity while side-scraping the Volkswagen’s right side. Yellow felt the pain soar through her frame like broken ribs. She was frightened and alarmed, but also angry with Luna.     

Little Yellow needed to slow down, to take a rest. She attempted to communicate with Luna. She illuminated her “check engine” light and blew a gust of smoke from her tail pipe. Luna decided to accelerate before the car broke down completely, rather than offering her vehicle the opportunity to cool down at the nearest gas station.   

Yellow was unable to contain her own anger. Her wheels trembled. Fury infiltrated her tires, inflating them to five times their original size. The coupe expanded in proportion to the tires. The grill developed a full set of razor-sharp teeth. Her once bright headlights extinguished, swirling into black hostile pools of unlimited depth.  Hate and fury consumed Yellow. She rapidly increased her speed, spiraling fiercely like a sinister whirlpool. Her door flung open in the storm and Luna was tossed to the curb.

Little Yellow attacked the other cars, crunching them to scrap metal with her newfound fangs. She spared the drivers no leniency. She tore one man’s body in half as she swallowed the door along with his left side. A primal scream escaped his mouth for a brief second before his heart vacated its ribcage. Kaeleigh, the passenger, heard her lover’s bones crunch and watched in horror as he was vertically severed. His head bent unnaturally, resting on his shoulder. His mouth agape in silent terror.

Kaeleigh jumped out the window. An oncoming vehicle struck her with no regard. She soared upward, returning like a boomerang, landing underneath Yellow’s windshield wipers. The 10-foot wipers sprouted  scalpel-sharp blades. One held Kaeleigh securely in position while the other rotated, taking its time to slice through her torso. She watched her intestines seep from her abdomen. Her hands found her entrails and made a last-ditch effort to return them to their original location. The gooey guts squished between her fingers like gelatinous gunk.

The wipers continued their onslaught, slashing through Kaeleigh’s wrists, amputating both hands. She died plastered to the glass listening to the wiper’s macabre metronome.

I pulled to the shoulder to avoid the Volkswagen’s rampage. I watched as it madly headed in my direction. I swiftly lifted the box of puppies, gingerly placing them on the ground.  I coaxed Mama from the car, guiding her toward the box. I sat close to them, stroking Mama gently, speaking calmly.

Yellow’s black sinister eyes glanced in our direction.  I shielded the box and wrapped my arms around Mama’s neck. A tall, lanky man and a short bald man exited their vehicles shouting violently at each other; their fists held high, ready for a physical altercation.

Yellow dismissed us and headed toward the men. Her tires screeched on the pavement shooting dust and rock pellets in our direction. They struck my body like an angry woodpecker. Nonetheless, I continued to protect my furry friends.

Cars raced to exit the thoroughfare, creating a pileup. I watched in dismay as a Dodge Ram Big Horn stomped on a Grand Caravan. A diamond shaped “Children on Board” sign adhered to the van’s bumper. Three frightened children sat in their car seats crying while their mother pleaded for the Dodge to stop its frenzied advance. The Ram’s wheels dented the caravan’s roof, compressing the metal like a baling press. The pressure pulverized the children as their mother spent her last seconds listening to them scream her name. 

Yellow trampled vehicles in her wake as she raced down the highway. Windows shattered, metal crunched and tires popped. An arm reached out from a stalled sedan and beckoned frantically for physical or spiritual assistance. I watched as Yellow chomped on the hopeful appendage, severing it from its elbow. Blood gushed from the stump like an intermittent lawn sprinkler. The driver’s spine-chilling screams diminished as she lost consciousness, succumbing to her injury. 

The two men continued to exchanged obscenities and punches. Yellow spit out a chunk of finger and forged ahead. She bashed forcefully between the duo sending them airborne. 

Mr. Tall and Lanky whacked his head brutally on a truck on his return. The impact shattered the window. The driver, Jackie, froze in horror as the man and the shards hurled in her direction. His body careened through her window like a rocket propelling into space. Jackie’s body was launched into the passenger seat. Her right arm lodged between the seat and the door. Her face was riddled with chunks of glass. The pain in her left eye was agonizing. She managed to free her arm, felt the debris stuck in her eye and pulled. The sharp edges sliced through her eyeball as she yanked it free. Vitreous gel trickled down her check, deflating her eye like a popped balloon. 

Jackie lost control of her composure. She kicked her legs wildly. They smashed into the glove box and the center console causing a colorful collection of welts and bruises. She carelessly banged her head into the seat. Blood oozed from her eyes and nose.  Her remaining bit of sanity flowed from her with the eye slime.  She shrieked until she fainted. 

Mr. Short and Bald broke his neck landing viciously on the pavement. He gazed at the descending moon, unable to move. He attempted to yell for help, but no sound emerged. He moved his eyes from side to side, praying soundlessly for someone to come to his aid. He heard the Beetle chuckle; a low raspy sound like brake pads grinding on the rotor metal.

Yellow revved her engine. She applied her brakes while she stepped on the gas pedal, causing a transmission burnout. Her wheels spun excitedly, creating four coffin-sized holes in the asphalt. The Beetle menacingly inched forward, clutched Mr. Short Bald’s feet with her teeth and slammed her transmission into reverse. She dragged him backward and dumped him into his ready-made casket. She kicked up debris as she zoomed forward, burying Short-Bald alive. He felt the rubble pelt his eyes as he lie paralyzed and helpless in his forsaken tomb. 

The hungry puppies woke up mewling for their mother. Mama tipped the box and stretched out so she could nurse the litter. The Beetle’s roaring engine reminded me of my dangerous predicament. I sat in front of the dogs blocking Yellow’s view. The smallest puppy finished  feeding first and moved away from Mama. Full and groggy, she lost her balance, fell and rolled toward Yellow. The angry car decelerated, approached slowly, curiously. She blinked her headlights, following the little dog’s every move. Small pup wagged her tail and pressed her head against Yellow’s wheel, offering a friendly head-butt.  

I detected a slight grin in the cars grill, although she rolled backward, distancing herself. The puppy refused to retreat. She followed Yellow and barked the loudest hello she could muster. 

Yellow’s demeanor softened. Her sharp teeth recoiled, disappearing into the grill.  A bright glow emerged from her dark headlights. Mama sensed the transformation. She nudged the other three puppies with her nose. They merrily joined their littermate forging a friendship with the odd metal creature. Mama stayed close to her babies, cautiously watching the giant car. She delicately placed her paw on Yellow’s hood while the puppies gathered around.

The Beetle’s engine calmed, idled. She watched the sociable dogs. She remembered loving memories of her and Luna exploring the landscapes. She loved the wind blowing though her windows, the feeling of a full tank of gas and clean oil in her engine. 

She felt her anger dissolve with her proportions. Her frame decreased to its original size. She winked her bright headlights at Mama and opened her door, inviting them in for a ride. Mama picked them up by the scruff of their necks and deposited them in the back seat, one at a time.  She jumped in, claiming the passenger seat. 

The restored Beetle met me on the shoulder and allowed me to take the driver’s role. We drove around leisurely, enjoying our newfound camaraderie. 

I decided to keep Mama and the puppies. Luna agreed to sell me The Volkswagen at a very reasonable price. Little Yellow was happy to offer us leisurely drives through the less-crowded roads. We made conscious efforts to keep our distance from toxic, angry people, rush hour traffic and lunatic drivers. We lead an uneventful life until one morning, a car approached from behind.  It flew passed on our right. The driver cursed from the open window and beeped the horn threateningly. I felt Yellow shudder and shake… 

By Debra Zaech

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/debra.zaech/