ANDY AND BANJO WALKED until 11:00. They needed a break, but there was no cave to shelter in, no boulders within miles, no gaps to crawl under, just Joshua trees and prickly shrubs as far as the eyes could see. With the sun overhead, they’d fry to death, so Banjo rigged up an improvised shelter.
Slinging a leg of his spare pants on a branch of a tree, he tied it in place with his bootlace. He kept the other leg in place with rocks to form a forty-five-degree angle. He set a length of wood in the middle to stop it flopping down on them. ‘There you go, princess, your most cosy hoochie.’
‘How close are we?’
We’ve been walking for close to ten hours; surely, we’re nearly there? She hoped so.
‘Twelve miles to go,’ he said. ‘Assuming a straight line, of course.’
‘Will we make it?’
‘No doubt
