He didn’t understand her. He’d always imagined that girls must have been sickly, unreliable creatures that spent a lot of time screaming and crying. But Callum hadn’t seen Bo cry once and he couldn’t help but trust her. Now, as he pushed at the coals with a stick, he felt something kindling deep inside, a beacon of hope rising from the wreckage of his old life. Bo drew a map in the dry desert soil and using the GPS in the Daisy-May and the notes that Callum’s dads had left in the security box, she mapped out a route across the continent to the city on the far east coast. ‘The Daisy-May runs on cactus juice,’ she said. ‘She has a mini-still built into her so we can feed her and make some fuel. But I don’t know if she will get us all the way across the country. She’s more of a show pony than a workhorse. We need to find succulents for her every day and we’ll have to take her slow and steady. She’ll burn out if we push her too hard.’ Callum looked down at the map in the dust.
