Peter Anghelides - Pack Animals

Jack’s bellowed a huge laugh. ‘The invisible man. I wish I could say I was glad to see you, Ianto. What happened?’

He heard Ianto give an exasperated sigh. ‘I dunno. And unlike you, I can’t tell how badly injured I might be. I think we should get back to the Hub. Get away from that journalist over there while he’s occupied with the policeman that I clobbered.’ Jack heard Ianto chuckle. ‘Why I am pointing? You can’t see me.’

Jack’s wheelchair sprang forward again as its invisible driver steered it towards the zoo exit.

The Vectra took another corner too fast, and Rhys bounced off the side window again. He hated being a passenger; he always wanted to drive himself. He threw a wild look over at Gwen, but she’d given up apologising after the first three sharp turns had jounced him against his seatbelt.

She was engrossed in her driving. He could tell from the fierce concentration in her eyes. It was a steely focus that he recognised from home, the signal that she wasn’t going to be distracted or dissuaded. She was in her ‘all or nothing’ mode. Either they would catch up with Gareth in his Mondeo, or Rhys was going to wake up in the remains of his own company car, enveloped by the air bag and ready to admire the efficiency of the Vectra’s crumple zones.

When Gwen accelerated sharply between two badly parked white vans in a side street, Rhys couldn’t help but wonder whether the object of their pursuit cared quite so much about passers-by and property. That grotty red Mondeo shouldn’t be able to outrun this brand-new Vectra, except that its driver didn’t hesitate about hitting other vehicles or, on one occasion, a pedestrian. Gareth shot down a residential street and dinged every parked car along its length. Wing mirrors littered the narrow carriageway, and an outraged chorus of car alarms brought even more outraged owners out to survey the damage.

‘Do you think he’s been on an offensive driving course?’ asked Rhys. His teeth rattled almost as much as the contents of the glove compartment, where he’d stashed the MonstaQuest cards on his hurried departure from the mall. The half-drunk can of Coke from their earlier journey shuddered in its cup holder, slopping blobs of cola across the dash.

They sped along a wider stretch of roadway. A serrated row of white tick marks led up to the squat yellow shape of a speed trap. Rhys found himself stamping down with his right foot. He bit back a warning to Gwen, knowing it was futile. But he couldn’t help giving a little groan when the double-flash of the camera told him they’d been snapped.

‘It’s me that’ll get the ticket when they contact the leasing company,’ he grumbled.

Gwen cackled. ‘Like Tosh hasn’t had to hack the ticketing database before!’ She gave him the briefest of amused sidelong glances. ‘There was this blowfish in a sports car, liked nothing better than racing an MX5 Eunos along the Gabalfa flyover…’

‘I don’t know what to believe any more,’ Rhys replied. ‘I used to think all them alien sightings were caused by terrorists putting psychotropic drugs in the water supply. This morning I’ve seen a dinosaur eating a house in Rhiwbina.’

The Vectra skidded left through a red light after the Mondeo. Rhys could hear the blaring horns and glass smash of the cars they left in their wake. Gwen crunched the gears down into third, and cursed as the engine over-revved. ‘Oh, these boots!’

Rhys peered into the driver’s side footwell. ‘Bloody hell, Gwen!’ he shouted. She was still wearing those long boots with the big heels that she so liked, the pair she wouldn’t tell him the price of. ‘How can you control this thing in those heels?’

‘Didn’t really have time to change before I got in.’ Gwen jerked her head at the steering wheel. ‘Want to have a go?’

‘No need to be sarky,’ replied Rhys. He clutched at the dashboard as his fiancée skidded his car through another red light. A cacophony of beeps and crunches told him all he needed to know about what they’d left behind them at the junction.

Ahead of them, the red Mondeo cut a sharp right across traffic. Oncoming vehicles screeched to an angry halt. The Mondeo clipped the rear wheel of a drop-handle racing bike and catapulted its rider onto the pavement in a tumbling dazzle of bright Lycra. Rhys winced. His instinct was to stop, get out and help. Even before he’d finished the thought, Gwen had flung the Vectra through the gap in the opposite line of traffic.

‘Here we go,’ she said with satisfaction. She pushed the stick shift into fourth and accelerated onto the dual carriageway. Rhys glanced over at the speedometer, and saw they were roaring up to 80.

They were gaining on the tatty Mondeo. Even though their target weaved an erratic path through the traffic, Rhys’s new company car and Gwen’s confident driving had the edge. ‘Gareth is having to make decisions about what to do at every turn,’ she told Rhys. ‘We just have to keep pace.’

The Mondeo screeched onto the scrap of hard shoulder and vanished behind a high-sided fourteen-wheeler. From the TIR carnet and the registration, Rhys could tell it was a French camion. The rig wobbled and the strident horn resounded with the driver’s outrage and surprise. Gwen tapped the accelerator and sped around the other side.

Gareth had ploughed on past the truck’s nearside and down a slip road. They were going to overshoot and lose him. Gwen pressed hard down on the brake and pushed the Vectra into the path of the French rig.

‘Jesus, Gwen!’

The horn brayed again, but this time there was an accompanying shriek of heavy tyres on the roadway. The French driver slammed down on his brakes and wrestled with the monster vehicle to avoid a collision.

The Vectra bounced over the white chevrons between the carriageway and the slip road, and the Mondeo was in their sights again. Gwen calmly shot out into the junction roundabout. Rhys could still remember the smell of burning rubber from the truck’s tyres, and the sight of the driver’s madly staring eyes in the cab.

The Vectra cut a corner, and jerked harshly up a high kerb. The whole car bounced, the can of Coke jolted out of its cup holder, and the contents of the boot rattled and bounced against the rear door. The door of the glove compartment dropped open and the contents barfed out over a startled Rhys.

Gwen gave an anguished cry of shock. She twisted the wheel in an effort to regain control.

‘What’s the matter?’ bellowed Rhys, panicking and looking desperately around to work out what was happening. It wasn’t only the movement of the car that shook him.

‘Sorry, love!’ Gwen gave a whooping gasp of relief as the car levelled again.

‘I really thought we were going to overturn, or something. You scared me half to death there, Gwen.’

‘That can of cola,’ explained Gwen. She casually brushed the empty container into Rhys’s footwell. ‘Dropped into my lap, and it’s soaked right through. Just look at the front of my jeans!’

‘That’s nothing,’ muttered Rhys, calming down a little.

‘You should see the back of mine.’

Traffic was thickening again as they came into the centre of town. Rhys began to recognise the roads that led into Cardiff Bay. Gareth wasn’t afraid to veer onto pavements if that meant getting past a stationary vehicle. At one point he smacked against the Perspex and metal of a bus stop, cracked the transparent shelter and scattered a yelling line of people.

Rhys watched their quarry career over a Keep Left sign. The wheels lifted clear from the pavement as it scooted over the corner of a junction. With a high-revved whine, the car raced off towards the embankment. The Millennium Stadium peered across the river as the car jigged and danced madly ahead of them. That’s where I want to be, Rhys told himself. Watching the international. Not chasing around Cardiff as a helpless passenger in my own bloody car.