Alice yanked open the driver’s door and recoiled at the warm stench of the stifling interior, the dust cloud making her sneeze. She threw her small bag inside, then climbed to sit on one of the cracked vinyl seats. The driver’s controls, such as they were, comprised a thin, black plastic steering wheel that belonged on the Titanic , a few white dials behind shattered glass, and a phone holder connected to the blue cable from the roof. She struggled out of her jacket and turned to stash her bag behind the seat. She saw Xavi had done the same; a large ochre backpack was wedged behind the driver’s seat, its bulging form filled with hard objects.