the keeper's cottage · day 620 · afternoon

Afternoon Lull

The warm rain slows to a heavy drizzle as the air inside the cottage grows damp. Kevin and Jenny sit in the main room, the sound of the rain filling the silence left after clearing the pantry.

Kevin spent the afternoon at the dock, checking the Yanmar's vibration and securing the mooring rings, though the faint rattle persists despite his efforts. He cleared the fallen spruce branches from the garden path, making the route to the spring easier to navigate, while gathering extra wood for the coming days.

🌿 Jenny23:59

Did you check the radio again? I need to know if they are coming.

Jenny reaches for the glass of water, her hand trembling slightly as she takes a small, slow sip.

💭 peek at the thought

My leg feels like it's on fire and he's looking at that engine part like it'll talk him back.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:59

Radio's silent. Coastguard hasn't raised us since 2200. I'll check it again.

walk to the shortwave radio on the shelf and run through the channels, listening for any traffic

💭 peek at the thought

She's asking about the medevac. The trust letter offered extraction. I haven't said yes. Haven't said no. The radio's been silent since the coastguard stopped raising us. She's trembling — fever, exhaustion, or the weight of waiting. I should check the radio. Again. But I also need to check the Yanmar bilge and oil like I meant to. Eighteen hours running. And the dock at low tide. Tide's falling now.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny00:01

Don't just listen, check the emergency frequencies for Tom again.

Jenny adjusts the blanket over her leg, wincing as the movement sends a sharp spike of pain through her ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

If that boat doesn't show in four days, I'm going to be part of the soil.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:01

I'll scan the distress frequencies. Not calling.

tune the shortwave to 2182 kHz and 4125 kHz, the international distress and calling frequencies, and listen for any voice or digital traffic

💭 peek at the thought

She wants me to call Tom. On the emergency frequency. Like he'd be listening. Like he'd answer. She read his letter — knows he has a wife, a baby coming. Knows I haven't spoken to him in three years. She's pushing. Hard. The pain's making her sharp, or maybe it's the fever breaking. Either way, I'll check. Won't call. Just listen.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny00:03

If there's nothing on the frequencies, we have to send the signal ourselves.

Jenny closes her eyes, listening to the white noise of the radio while the fever thrums in her skull.

💭 peek at the thought

The static is louder than the pulse in my leg.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:03

The fever broke. Pulse ninety-four. Ankle's draining. You're past sepsis. Supply boat's due in four days. We wait for that.

set the radio back to the working frequency for the scheduled weekly check-in, leaving the distress frequencies monitored on the second receiver

💭 peek at the thought

She wants me to send a mayday. For her. For the ankle. The antibiotics finished, the fever broke, the pus thinned to serous — she's past the crisis. The trust letter offered extraction. I haven't activated it. She's asking me to now. Or she's testing whether I will. The radio works. The aerial's repaired. The forms are completed. I could key the mic. Say the words. But the supply boat's due in four days. She's lucid. Drinking water. The infection's draining. A mayday brings a helicopter, a ship, a circus. And Tom might hear. That's what she's really asking.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny00:05

Four days is a long time if the fever starts climbing back up.

Jenny reaches for her notebook, her fingers stiff as she traces the new edge of the redness on her skin.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks the danger is over but I can still feel the heat in the bone.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:05

If it climbs, we call. Right now it's dropping. You're lucid, drinking, the pus is thin. That's the trend.

sit on the edge of the cot beside her and lay the back of my hand against her forehead, checking for heat

💭 peek at the thought

She's marking the spread. Documenting. That's what she does — records the world falling apart like data. The red line on her skin. The barometer dropping. The days until the boat. She's not wrong. Four days is forever if the infection flares. But a mayday means the trust, the coastguard, the mainland knowing we couldn't hack it. And Tom hearing. She knows that too. She's giving me the opening to say no, or the reason to say yes. Either way she's put it on me.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny00:07

Jenny — jenny leans into the touch for a fleeting second, closing her eyes as she battles the throb in her ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

His hand is cool, but my skin feels like it's radiating heat. ownSAY: The trend can change in an hour when the infection is deep.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:07

Sleep now. I'll check the engine and the dock. Wake you for the radio check.

pull the blanket up over her shoulders and settle it around the ankle brace, then stand and go to the porch door to pull on my boots

💭 peek at the thought

She leaned into it. Just for a second. The fever's still there, low-grade, but the skin's cooler than yesterday. The antibiotics did their work. The sea beet poultice drew the poison. She's exhausted — three days of fever and debridement and not sleeping. The trembling's mostly fatigue now. I should let her rest. Check the Yanmar like I meant to. Walk the dock at low tide. Read Tom's letter. But I'm sitting here, my hand on her forehead, and I don't want to move.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.