CHALLENGE

Alright, up to 2000 words on a car chase scene... you'll notice I've come nowhere close to that owing to time. But I wanted to continue on with my cast of characters from last week... Check out the others at terribleminds.

WAR OF THE TECHNO-SPIES, PART 2

The convertible picked up speed as it barrelled around the corner. The rear wheels fishtailed, careening into the next lane. They got traction and the car shot forward. I clung to Stealth as the motorcycle weaved in and out of the braking traffic.

“Watch out!” An SUV was making a bold attempt to change into our lane. My words were carried away on a rush of air. Stealth braked. The bike skidded as it decelerated too fast. Before it lost balance, she swerved onto the sidewalk and we sped up.

People jumped out of the way. Lucky for us it was late enough that the sidewalks were pretty clear. Stealth turned her head, shouting at me. I shook my head.

“What?”

She motioned at the yellow convertible. James was nearing the M25. If he got on, we might not stand a chance of catching up unless this bike could speed up. She yelled again. I strained to hear her.

“Can you turn it off?” I nodded. A car was just another piece of tech.

“But I have to touch it!” I didn’t think we’d be able to get that close.

Horns blared. Stealth whipped around and narrowly missed a taxi. She seemed to take my words as a personal challenge.

A roundabout approached. James had to slow down and wait for a gap in the circular traffic. I thought we might have a chance to catch him up. Stealth had other plans.

She swerved into the oncoming lane. A car veered out of our way, its driver shouting obcenities. I don’t think either of us cared enough to try and hear them. I realised what she intended to do.

“Oh no…” I moaned, clinging to her waist. The motorcycle shot straight into the intersection. Cars slammed their brakes. The honking intensified until it resounded through the air. James was halfway around the O-shape as we bisected it, heading for him. He couldn’t do anything to avoid us. Traffic was backing up as people tried to avoid Stealth.

James pulled off down a separate exit, away from the M25, racing to avoid us. We neared his car. Stealth had been right about one thing: yellow wasn’t the most discrete colour choice.

“Hang on!” We bounced over the dividers as Stealth maintained her collision course. James saw an opportunity to send us off-road. He swung into our path, hoping to hit the front wheel of the bike and knock us off. I cringed, preparing for the impact. But Stealth had seen his move coming; in fact, she must have planned on it.

She turned the bike at the last second. We were perpendicular to his bumper.

“Go!”

I reached out and touched the car, feeling the jolt travel through me and into the cold metal. The engine stalled. James lost control of the car. It continued its spin, turning until we could both see the look of hatred on his face.

His car spun into a ditch, smoke shooting up from the engine as it stopped. Stealth slid to a halt, turning the bike so we were facing James. She dropped the kickstand and sat back.

“Your move, asshole.” She muttered.