Opinion: Death Race 2008, by Neil Stokes.

They're trying to kill me," she whispered, as if scared that 'they' might overhear. My sister, over in Barcelona on a business trip, hugged my arm, not as a gesture of affection but so that she had somewhere to hide if one of 'them' made an appearance. In fact at that moment, with the word 'paranoid' still on my lips, one of 'them', in this case a scooter ridden by a young woman, bumped onto the pavement and headed straight for us. I froze, my sister cowered and the scooter veered off to the right at the last moment and parked on the edge of the pavement facing the road. My sister straightened and triumphantly exclaimed: "See? I told you they were out to get me." (Full story in printed edition).