A jeep. Stationary. Steaming. The hood is popped. The wheels are half submerged in the white sand.
The sun burns. An enormous bottle of water lies empty on its side.
Dirk is stood by the jeep at one end of two long planks of wood. Each haphazardly dropped onto the ground. He has a towel draped over his head and an unlit cigar in his teeth.
He’s looking at Isla, who is on her knees, doubled over at the other end of the planks. She coughs. Dry heaves. Finally vomits up some yellow liquid.
She breathes. Gags. Vomits again. Coughs some more.
DIRK You know what your problem is? Not enough protein.
He waits for a reaction.
Isla coughs and gags without looking at him. He watches her as she slumps into a sitting position and stares out in the opposite direction.