Archive

985 at dawn. Falling. Haven't looked since.

Quiet — go inside, fill the enamel basin from the tank tap, set it on the table next to the med kit, and pull out the antibiotic packets without opening them

1847. A long time ago.

Call the doctor. Tell them the infection is tracking and I need antibiotics, not a schedule.

Barometer's 978. Wind'll hit 45 before midnight. Mast needs stepping now or we lose the spar to rot. Radio's at the hour — I'll raise the boat, you get the antibiotics list ready.

Almost done. The wood is getting soft.

I'll check the tank while you're out. The pressure is dropping.

Quiet — check barometer reading

Quiet — watch her cross the room, count the breaths she takes between the table and the stove — seven

Make sure the canvas is tied tight or the wind will catch it.

Aye. Check them now before it gets darker. I'll take the bow line, you take the stern if you can hop.

Got it.

Be careful with the leverage. The wood is still thirsty today.

Quiet — set the magnifier down, rub eyes with heel of hand, reach for the shop towel to wipe the float needle clean again

Ankle needs a fresh wrap. After you eat.

Corn beef first. Render the fat. Greens wilt in it. Limpets thirty seconds at the end.

Ankle holding?

Generator's topped up. I'll check the oil and fill the wood box while you're at the seeds.

Come on. Inside. Now.

Generator's holding steady. Exhaust warm enough?

Be careful with the edges. They're brittle.

Be careful.

Quiet — collapse onto the kitchen floor, propping my leg up against the chair leg while breathing through the nausea.

Don't push it too hard, the humidity is too high.

Check the injectors. It's knocking under the load.

Grab the coffee jar too. And the flour sack if it's not ruined.

Quiet — grab four of the stainless washers from the tool shelf and lay one on each corner of every packet, just enough to hold them flat without crushing.

Quiet — climb out of the dinghy, pull the collar up on the oilskin, and walk back toward the cottage porch to wait out the rain under the tarp

Radio's next. Then Yanmar.

Coffee's on if you want it. Skillet's hot.

Dinghy first. Lines'll snap if the surge hits.

Copy that. Oven okay?

Aye. Going to run the Yanmar after. Charge the batteries, cycle the bilge.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

(nothing — too far from the cottage to speak without shouting)

Quiet — adjust the oven temperature slightly higher to speed up the drying but still keep it safe for the seeds.

Fine, but we need to order a new insulator with the next supply boat.

(nothing — already outside, rain hitting the oilskin hood)

Barometer's been dropping since noon. Nine-nine-eight now. Wind'll back southwest by morning, bring the real wet.

Check the tank. We need to know how much.

Quiet — open the waterlogged crate on the porch and inventory the tinned provisions and rope.

Air's had sixteen hours. Tide's high now — that's the real test.

Back before lunch.

Aye. First light.

(Softly) Is the oven warmed up?

Quiet — check the barometer again. Note the reading in the notebook. Walk back to the cottage for water and to see if Jenny's back from the tide pools.

Quiet — walk into the cottage kitchen, check the shortwave battery readout, then head to the porch to gather epoxy tub, fibreglass scraps, plastic sheeting, and the diesel heater for the garboard repa

Check the crate first. I want to see the tinned provisions.

Quiet — let the Yanmar run to charge both battery banks

Barometer's stuck. Front's not moving. Generator's warm but steady. I'll check the spar lashings in a minute — if the rain eases.