The pair wrapped up a simple breakfast over a modest fire. The three previous days sent temperatures soaring with the day ahead promising to be even hotter. Neither Yara nor Jona had much of an appetite. The last three days had baked it out of them. It was a quiet morning spread out over the wide playa. A warm wind carried a dry heat across the Plains. They were embarking on day three of a five day ride to a buyer in--

Jona’s entire upper body lurched forward before he vomited onto the ground between his open legs. 

“Whah-- are you--”

Another throatful of coughed up vomit joined the rest already on the ground with several wet splats. 

Jona’s senses turned painfully inward. He suddenly became aware of every sensation in his screaming body. He drew his trembling hand to his face and noticed his vision had tripled already. 

“What the--” 

“Black gear bag from my bike.” 

She quickly appeared at his side, holding the desired bag. The tremor in his hands only grew stronger as he hastened to rifle through the bag. Shaking hands in search of any-- seriously, any-- canister of Venom he could get a hold of. One after the other, all three of his emergency backup canisters came up empty. 

Jona managed to climb to his feet, still holding the bag in his shaking hands. He didn’t understand how he was out already, how he was already getting slammed with withdrawal. It would be fine, he could deal with this, It wasn’t over yet. 

He turned to where the bikes were parked, took half a step, and came crashing down to the hard embrace of the dirt. A cloud of dust swirled, having been kicked up in the morning light. Yara hooked her arms around Jona’s and dragged him up against the bikes, so at least this way, he was upright. He looked horrible. Hardly able to keep his eyes open, hands jittering uncontrollably, skin completely stripped of any traces of color or life. 

“Hey,” he breathed heavily, as if he didn’t already have her every attention by that point. “Can I borrow some antivenom?” 

“Whah-- no, you know I don’t have any! Jona--” 

He threw his head to the side and proceeded to dry-heave. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the stringy spit from the corners of his mouth where it had collected. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.” he panted. 

“Jona, you’re sick.” 

“Yeah, I am. I really am.” 

“Are you gonna die?” she asked with genuine concern. 

“If only.” A sheath of icy daggers pierced his tender flesh. Before returning to dry-heaving, Jona moaned, “Ohh I always forget how bad this is,”. Then, more dry- heaving. 

It had been hours since breakfast, and the situation only deteriorated as the suns and temperature climbed further skyward. Jona spiked a fever soon after accompanied by chills. To him, it felt as though his body was tearing itself apart in a manic search for the Venom it so desperately craved. Yara put up the wind-shield to block the direct sunlight from Jona while he lay on his side across his bedroll. She knew they weren’t going anywhere any time soon. Growing up in Tabitha, the desert kitten had been subject to witness countless people sick from withdrawal, and Venom was always the worst. It was likely symptoms of withdrawal could last upwards of a week, all the while, the body tearing itself apart. 

At least he finally stopped throwing up. 

He was a long ways away from anything close to out of the woods. 

But he had stopped throwing up, and that was something. 

Yara sat on the ground beside the man on the bedroll. The sheer discomfort of the situation rendered him unable to sleep, and sleeping would have been so nice, but the coat of needles he wore as another layer of skin forbade him. He was nearly incoherent except for the off-putting moments of stinging clarity where he panted heavily, eyes closed tightly, hurling an exhausted yell into the wind- swept sands. Those were the worst. When he regained enough semblance to register the physical ache he couldn’t seem to escape. Yara recalled a similar sort of pitched moan from the alleyways near the port back home. Although she knew the sound as the Sailor’s Cry-- sailors were the ones who first brought Venom to Tabitha’s port. Their cries could be heard from across the city as the drug’s popularity with the locals erupted. 

At one point in the day-- she couldn’t say which because the events had already blurred and shifted away like so much wind across a dry playa-- but at some point, Yara tried giving Jona water. Which-- to her credit-- wasn’t a bad idea. Jona hadn’t had any fluids since that morning before any of this started. He needed fluids after a day of throwing up under the suns. Yara cradled his head carefully in her hand. She gently pointed his chin towards his chest so he could swallow the ladleful of water she dribbled into his mouth. Water would sometimes hit dry patches in the back of his throat, causing him to cough or gag more than once. Yara was sure to pace the water so as to not overwhelm Jona’s already fairly overwhelmed system. Towards the end of the second ladleful, a flicker of recognition floated to the surface of Jona’s bloodshot eyes. 

“Kid, the--” he rolled his head to the side, throwing up every drop of water Yara spent the last half hour giving him. That was the closest thing the two had to a conversation for days.