the keeper's cottage · day 995 · dawn

Morning at the cottage — ankle check and radio watch

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table in the dim, overcast light, tin mugs steaming beside the shortwave radio. Kevin unwraps the gauze from Jenny's ankle, the red streaks still tracking up her calf despite yesterday's poultice, and prepares fresh sea beet and mint mixture. The barometer on the wall reads 985 hPa, steady, and the tide is falling outside as a pod of dolphins arcs close off the point, visible through the window.

Kevin carried Jenny from the bluff back to the cottage and settled her by the stove. Jenny retrieved the spare coax with the repaired PL-259 from the supply crate and began checking the generator shed's copper ground plane, but the bow saw she reached for to clear a path gummed completely, teeth locking with sap.

🔧 Kevin05:26

Hold still. This'll sting.

debride the wound with sterilized scalpel, apply fresh sea beet-mint-honey poultice, rewrap with clean gauze, mark new infection boundary with pen

💭 peek at the thought

The streaks haven't receded. Three full courses and she's still burning. If the supply boat doesn't make the high tide window tomorrow, I'll need to decide whether to run the dinghy to the mainland myself — 40 nautical miles into a falling barometer with a compromised engine and a wife who can't walk.

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🌿 Jenny05:27

Kevin, I need you to radio Tom first thing tomorrow. Tell him the supply boat can come early—I'll signal from the south beach with the emergency flare.

Mark new infection boundary with pen on gauze, then sit back with wet cloth on forehead, watching the dolphins disappear through the window.

💭 peek at the thought

The antibiotics aren't reaching the infection properly, or I'm resistant. The red streaks mean sepsis is moving toward my groin now. I need to radio for the supply boat early, but Kevin's already doing what I couldn't yesterday. The barometer's steady at 985—storm's still coming, but I have to make this call.

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🔧 Kevin05:28

The supply boat captain confirmed tomorrow high tide. Two-hour window. He's not coming early for a flare.

finish wrapping the ankle, set used gauze in newspaper bag for burning, pick up the shortwave handset, key the mic on 8.297

💭 peek at the thought

She's asking me to call the brother I haven't spoken to in eleven months — the one who thinks I abandoned him — to beg a favour for a boat that may not even come. And she thinks a flare from the south beach changes anything when the channel's silted half shut at low tide.

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🌿 Jenny05:29

Kevin, take the radio to the hilltop antenna. I'll signal from the south beach with the emergency whistle—three sharp blasts, pause, three sharp blasts. It's audible for miles on a calm day.

Heat water in kitchen pot for another poultice, then fetch the brass emergency whistle from the first aid kit and head toward the door.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right—the flare won't work two days out at sea. But the infection's tracking up toward my groin, and I can't wait nine days. I need to think like a botanist about this problem.

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🔧 Kevin05:30

Whistle won't carry past the headland. Radio's the only voice that reaches them. I'll run the hourly check from the hilltop at 0600 — better reception for the fax.

set the handset back in its cradle, rise from the table, shoulder the daybag with the radio and spare battery, head out the porch door toward the hilltop

💭 peek at the thought

She's bargaining with the horizon. The whistle carries maybe half a mile in this wind, not miles. The supply boat follows a contracted schedule, not signals from a beach she can't reach on a leg that won't hold her. But she needs to do something, and I need to let her.

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🌿 Jenny05:31

Kevin, wait—take the shortwave to the south beach bluff. The salt air might clear the static better than the hilltop. I'll start the emergency radio check now.

Grab the shortwave from the shelf, climb onto the south beach bluff, key the mic on 8.297—voice steady despite shaking hands—and call: "Tom, this is Jenny on Sorrel Island. Emergency.

💭 peek at the thought

The infection's moving faster than the tide, and I'm trapped between sepsis and a broken communication system. But I won't die waiting for a rescue that won't come early.

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🔧 Kevin05:32

Jenny. Get off the bluff. The radio stays at the cottage or the hilltop mast. You're not a coastguard station.

drop the daybag, turn back toward the cottage, reach the porch steps, grab her arm as she keys the mic again

💭 peek at the thought

She's on the bluff with the radio, calling a man who hasn't answered in eleven months, using a call sign that isn't hers on a frequency the supply boat doesn't monitor. The static will swallow her. The tide's falling — the bluff path's slick with clay. She can't climb back down on that ankle.

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🌿 Jenny05:33

Kevin, I need to get the radio tower working. There's a spare coax in the supply crate we salvaged last month—the one with the properly soldered PL-259 connector I installed. If I can run it from the bluff connection point, we might pull in Brest fax clearly enough to contact Tom directly.

Drop to knees despite the pain, dig through the supply crate for the coax cable with the repaired connector, then crawl back to the cottage to verify the mast insulator seal while pain radiates up my leg.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right—I'm not a coastguard station, I'm someone who's been letting infection and exhaustion convince me that survival and duty are the same thing. They're not.

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🔧 Kevin05:34

The insulator's blown. No tape left to reseal it. Coax won't help if the aerial's grounded. Get inside. Now.

hook an arm under her shoulder, haul her upright, half-carry her up the porch steps into the kitchen, deposit her in the chair by the stove

💭 peek at the thought

She's crawling on a septic leg, chasing a radio contact that won't save her. The coax is in the crate — I know because I soldered that connector myself three days ago. The mast insulator seal failed yesterday; the tape's gone. She's not thinking straight. Fever's driving her.

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🌿 Jenny05:35

Kevin, the copper sheeting on the generator shed roof—I bonded it with marine epoxy for the shortwave noise floor improvement. If I run a ground wire from the mast to that, and use the repaired coax from the bluff...

Grab the spare coax cable with the properly soldered PL-259 connector from the crate, head to the generator shed to verify the copper ground plane installation, then crawl through the garden path to the bluff connection point despite the in

💭 peek at the thought

The insulator's blown but I see it—the copper sheeting I bonded to the generator shed roof last month could ground the mast properly. And the spare coax with the working PL-259 connector I installed... if I run it from the bluff connection point through the copper ground plane...

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