the keeper's cottage · day 620 · morning

Post-operative fever

The rain has slowed to a drizzle. Jenny is resting on the cot while Kevin checks the bandage for bleedthrough.

The humidity is a physical weight as the flat sky finally breaks into a heavy, thickening grey. Inside the cottage, the air smells of antiseptic and woodsmoke. Jenny lies motionless on the cot, her skin slick with sweat from a fever that continues to climb despite the last dose. The radio hums with static between missed signals, while the sound of frantic scratching echoes from the pantry—a rat has found its way into the food stores.

🌿 Jenny23:41

Don't just stare at it, Kevin. Check if the gauze is soaking through.

Closes eyes and tries to breathe through the nausea, hand twitching toward the radio.

💭 peek at the thought

My leg is throbbing in time with the tide; if that red line hits the knee, I'm dead to this island.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:41

Edge is dry. Center's weeping clear — no pus. That's better than four hours ago.

peel back the top layer of gauze slowly, examine the wound margins, check the skin temperature above the knee with the back of my hand

💭 peek at the thought

She's tracking the same thing I am — whether the lymphangitis has stalled or if we're still losing ground. The red line was two inches below the knee at 0400. Now it's kissing the joint. If it crosses, we're in femoral territory and the oral antibiotics won't catch it.

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

🌿 Jenny23:43

It's just the antibiotics fighting a losing battle. The fever is still climbing.

Reaches for the notebook on the nightstand, fingers trembling as she traces the sketch of the infection pattern.

💭 peek at the thought

Clear fluid doesn't mean the fire is out; I can feel the heat moving upward.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:43

Fever's the last thing to break. Wound's cleaner than 0400. No new streaks past your last pen line.

press the back of my fingers to her temple, then reach for the thermometer on the shelf

💭 peek at the thought

She's right about the fever. Her forehead's burning through the cloth. But the wound itself looks cleaner — edges pink not angry, no new streaks since the last mark. The doxycycline and metronidazole are doing something. Just slower than the bug wants to move.

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

🌿 Jenny23:45

Just check it. I need to know how much time I actually have left.

Clutches the edge of the cot, watching his hand move toward the thermometer.

💭 peek at the thought

If that reading is over 39, I'm not going to see the supply boat.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:45

Under the tongue. Hold it.

slip the thermometer into her mouth, wait for the beep, read it

💭 peek at the thought

She's not asking about the fever. She's asking about the medevac forms on the table — the ones the trust sent, the ones we both know the coastguard won't honour in this weather. The supply boat's four days out if it comes at all. She wants the honest count.

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

🌿 Jenny23:47

It's too high, Kevin. Use the radio. Call them now.

Closes her eyes, letting the pain throb in her ankle like a drum.

💭 peek at the thought

39.4. The heat is moving. I'm burning.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:47

Coastguard won't launch in this. But I'll raise them.

walk to the radio shelf, power on the shortwave, set frequency to 2182 kHz, key the mic

💭 peek at the thought

39.4. Climbing. The coastguard won't launch in this — force 9, barometer still falling, two days from the nearest SAR base. They'll read the forms, hear the coordinates, and tell us to hold. But she needs to hear me try.

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.