“Let’s go on the Dodgems Dad,” said my son, quickly pulling me across from the circus tent to the queue opposite. They were just starting to load riders for the next cycle, so we paid and got into our cars.

“That’s cool son, they don’t have that stupid ‘No Bumping’ rule sign up like most funfairs do — I mean, these are called Bumper Cars for a reason! I’ll race you around the arena for three laps; winner gets a large ice cream sundae!”

When the music started and the cars became energised we lined up our cars next to each other and my son counted down: “Three, two, one, go!” Except the little bugger went on ‘one’, before I could even touch the accelerator!

I managed to catch up almost right away though, as when he took the first corner his car got rammed by another into the perimeter barrier. As I passed him I called out, “That sundae’s mine, cheat!”

But the sundae and the race went out of my mind as soon as I took the next corner — in front of my car, coming out of nowhere, stood a frightened girl in her late teens, naked as the day she was born. I swerved to avoid her on reflex, and went straight into the barrier just like my son had.

Now stationary, and rubbing my neck after the whiplash, I looked around to see the girl dodging between all the cars, running to get to the other side of the arena. But as she tried to climb over the perimeter barrier she was hit with a baseball bat to the chest and, winded, fell over back into the arena.

The beefy man who hit her looked military, but was in plain clothes. I now noticed three more guys with bats posted at each corner of the arena had stood up to look at the action, and realised the girl was supposed to be trapped in here with us.

I shouted to my son, “Another rebel girl! New plan son, let’s see who can run her down first!”

The girl had staggered to her feet and was running again, but by now most of the riders had seen her and wanted to join in the fun. They deliberately drove at her and she had several close calls.

As she sprinted along the perimeter of the arena to avoid a family in three cars chasing her in parallel, my son took the initiative, positioning his car in the middle of the arena and aiming it at the barrier. With the girl glancing behind her at her pursuers he pushed hard on the accelerator, sweeping her into the barrier.

As her legs were crushed by the car she screamed and the back of her head hit the barrier. She fell dazed over the car as my son reversed.

Of course, the rubber bumpers on these cars can’t do too much damage by design, and as she recovered she began to crawl away, the back of her head wet with blood.

But the cars now had the advantage, and started playing football with her, pushing her over again and again, not giving her enough time to stand between shots.

This frenzy went on for several minutes as we all took it in turns to knock her down and laugh at her misfortune. Eventually she became exhausted and just lay down crying with her hands to her head.

“Shall we take this up a notch?” I asked the man in the next car.

“Yeah, let’s finish her,” he replied.

I reversed a little way, pushed the accelerator hard, and leaned as far back in the car as I could. As expected this was enough to help the car wheels ride over the girl’s legs, and I stopped immediately, trapping her legs under the car. She wailed in pain as blood began to pool under my car, and the other riders took it in turns to smash their cars into her head and body.

When the music stopped, signalling the end of the ride, I and many of the other riders took out our phones to record the aftermath. I hoped my wife had recorded the action from outside the arena too.

My son and I high-fived, and as we made our way out of the arena, the cleaners made their way in with buckets and mops.