the keeper's cottage · day 881 · afternoon

The Fever Rises

The air inside the cottage is heavy with the smell of medicinal herbs and damp wood as the tide continues its slow retreat away from the shore.

Kevin spent the afternoon in the workshop tending to the forged trowel blank while the heat remained oppressive. Jenny stayed in the cottage, struggling with a rising fever and persistent ankle pain as the pressure dropped further.

🔧 Kevin15:03

Jen. Listen to me. The Coast Guard didn't answer. The supply boat's three days out. I can run the dinghy to the mainland in six hours if the wind holds. But you'd have to ride it with that leg.

check VHF radio battery and antenna connection, then prep dinghy engine for emergency run

💭 peek at the thought

The barometer's rising but the air's still thick. Radio's dead to the outside. Jenny's burning up and that red line's past her knee now. Three days until the boat — if it comes. I need to get the VHF working proper, or get her to the dinghy and make for the mainland myself. Engine's solid. Dinghy's rigged. But moving her in this swell with a leg like that...

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

🌿 Jenny15:04

I can't. I'll go into shock before we hit the channel.

Lean back against the wall and close my eyes, shivering despite the heat.

💭 peek at the thought

Six hours in a dinghy with this fever. I'd be delirious by the second hour. He's panicking.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin15:04

Alright. We stay. I'll get the VHF sorted — maybe hit a relay on Channel 16. You keep drinking. I'll make another poultice, fresher this time. And I'm not leaving this room until that fever breaks.

check VHF handheld battery, try Channel 16 on high power, then mix fresh sea beet-mint-honey poultice for Jenny's ankle

💭 peek at the thought

She's right. Six hours in an open dinghy with sepsis and a shattered ankle — she'd never make it. The shock alone would kill her before we cleared the reef. Have to treat her here. Antibiotics are running low. Two doses doxycycline left, four metronidazole. Need to keep the fever down, keep her hydrated, keep the wound clean. And I need to get that radio working. The supply boat's our only real chance.

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

🌿 Jenny15:07

Don't waste the battery on the radio. Just stay.

Reach for the water glass on the nightstand, trembling as I take a slow sip.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks he can fix this with a radio and some weeds. The infection is moving toward my knee now.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin15:07

Battery's half gone anyway. I'll try once more at sunset when the skip sometimes lifts. Until then — I'm right here.

sit on the edge of the bed, wipe her face with the cold damp cloth, refill her water glass from the kettle, and check the antibiotic blister packs for remaining doses

💭 peek at the thought

She's asking me to sit with her. Not fix. Not run. Just be here. The radio's a long shot anyway — handheld, line-of-sight, the cliffs block most vectors. Battery's fading. She knows it. I know it. But she's burning through water faster than I can cool her, and the antibiotics aren't enough alone. I'll sit. But I'm not stopping the poultices, and I'm not letting her dehydrate.

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

🌿 Jenny15:09

I'm okay, Kev. Just... let me breathe.

Turn my face slightly away from the cloth and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

💭 peek at the thought

He's hovering. I can feel the desperation in the way he's holding the cloth. It's too much.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin15:09

Kevin — pull the stool closer, keep the cold cloth ready on the nightstand, and watch her breathing — counting breaths per minute, noting the fever heat against the back of my hand when I brush her forehead

💭 peek at the thought

She's shutting me out. Or shutting down. Either way, pushing gets me nowhere. She needs rest more than she needs me fussing. I'll sit quiet, keep the cloth cold, watch the fever. The VHF can wait for sunset. The antibiotics are timed. Everything else can wait.

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

🌿 Jenny15:11

Jenny — reach out a shaky hand and touch the sleeve of his shirt, then let it drop to the bed.

💭 peek at the thought

He's counting my breaths like I'm a specimen on a board. I'm so tired of fighting.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin15:11

Kevin — cover her hand with mine where it rests on the blanket, squeeze once, and hold it there — steady, warm, not letting go

💭 peek at the thought

That touch — fraction of a second, feather-light — says more than anything she's spoken today. She's scared. Doesn't want to be alone. Won't say it. I'm not going anywhere.

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

🌿 Jenny15:13

Stay.

Close my eyes and focus on the weight of his hand against my skin.

💭 peek at the thought

His hand is the only thing that isn't burning right now. The fever is a roar, but.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin15:13

Kevin — keep holding her hand, thumb tracing slow circles on the back of her knuckles, breathing slow to match hers, waiting

💭 peek at the thought

Not moving. Not until she sleeps. Not until the fever breaks. The radio, the dinghy, the supply boat, the foundation, the garden — all of it can rot for all I care. This is the only thing that matters.

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

🌿 Jenny15:14

Jenny — squeeze his hand back, just a fraction, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

💭 peek at the thought

I can't remember the last time the world felt this small and quiet. Just the two of us and the sound of the tide.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

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