The wind whipped at me, pressing against me like a hand against my chest. The tail lights of the silver car in front grew steadily larger – two glowing red eyes in the faint January daylight, rushing up to meet us. ‘Slow down,’ Billy cried. I didn’t. Instead I shifted my weight and nudged the handlebars. The bike edged sideways and we shot past the silver car, close enough to touch it. The driver’s eyes were still wide and staring as we roared by him. Behind us the police siren screeched louder as they also hurried to overtake the other car. This was madness. I’d never even sat on a motorbike before today, and now I was riding one in a high-speed police chase. What was I thinking? Billy’s voice crackled in my ear. ‘We’ll go to jail for this.’ ‘Maybe not,’ I replied. ‘We might die first.’ There was a pause, before Billy spoke again. ‘That doesn’t make me feel better.’ ‘How are we doing?’ I asked. Even through the helmet intercom I was having to raise my voice to make it heard above the roaring of the engine and the wailing of the siren.
