Day 801

Mm. Fog'll burn off by ten if the wind shifts west. If it don't, we've got worse coming.

Tap the barometer glass with a calloused fingertip, then turn and lean against the porch rail beside her, close enough that shoulders almost touch.

Radio check at 0800. If the supply boat's still coming in three days, they'll be on 2182 listening for us.

Push off the rail, step back into the kitchen, and lift the shortwave handset from its cradle, flipping the power switch. The unit hums awake, green glow painting the dial.

You sit. I'll run the check. You log what you hear.

Set the handset back in its cradle, cross the kitchen in two strides, and crouch beside the bench. Rest the back of one broad hand against her forehead, then reach for the thermometer on the shelf above the stove.

Alright. I'm going to check the garden tarp corners anyway. If I'm gone more than four days, the seedlings'll be toast. You radio me if you hear anything on Tom's frequency.

Stand, grab my field notebook from the kitchen table, and head toward the door, pausing only to flip the generator's load test switch to off position.

—

Pull the door shut behind me, the fog swallowing the porch light. Walk down the garden path, boots sinking in the softened earth, toward the tarp's west corner where the stake pulled loose yesterday.

Hour. Then I'm checking again. Water's here if you wake thirsty.

set the tin mug on the bedside table, pull the chair back, and sit with the radio log to wait out the hour

(nothing — just a slow exhale, settling into the chair)

open the radio log to a fresh page, pencil ready, and glance at the barometer on the shelf — 1014 and falling slow

Kevin — rise quiet, lay a fresh split on the fire, and return to the chair — keeping one eye on the barometer, one on her breathing

flagged: repeated_opener

(soft, barely a whisper) Tin's not going anywhere.

slide the tin closer to her fingertips on the shelf, then settle back — pencil hovering over the log page, waiting

(quiet, to Jenny) Barometer's dropping. Tide's turning. I'm going to check the dock lines quick — be back in ten minutes. You need anything before I go?

Feel Jenny's forehead with the back of my hand, check the ankle wrapping for heat/swelling, then grab the handheld VHF and head out to the dock.

Here.

Hand her the tin mug of water from the nightstand, re-wet the cold cloth for her forehead, then pull on my oilskin jacket and head out to the dock with the handheld VHF clipped to my belt.

Ten minutes. Radio's on 16 if you need anything.

Step out onto the porch, pull the door shut behind me, and walk down the path to the dock scanning the mooring lines and the dinghy's ride as I go.

Nothing but static on 2182 and 4125. 6215's quiet too. Captain said three days at high tide, two-hour window. That's what we got.

reach past her and tap the squelch knob, cutting the hiss

List's in the bag. Crate contents, seed counts, fuel status, generator hours. You wrote it.

slide the tin E toward me with two fingers, testing the lid seal

Good. Means the lime's working its way down. Plant the seed potatoes there next window.

let her keep the tin, pick up the mug of cold coffee instead

Your call.

blow across the mug, watch the skin of cold fat break, drink it down

Storm's rolling in. Going to secure the dinghy and tarp the generator.

Walk to the dock to check dinghy mooring lines and storm anchor warp tension.

Won't. Just checking the warp and the chafe points.

Inspect the dinghy's storm anchor warp, doubled stern spring, and bow line for chafe where they run over the gunwale and mooring ring.

Easing the stern spring a hand's breadth. Be right in.

Ease the doubled stern spring line at the mooring ring to give the dinghy more swing room as the swell builds, then walk back to the cottage.

Generator next. Then the east shutter.

Walk to the generator shed, check the storm lashings on the tarp, batten down any loose corners with timber strips.

Tarp corner's lifting. Battening it now.

Secure the lifting north corner of the generator tarp with a timber strip and rocks, then check the storm lashings on the shed itself.

Doing the shutter now. Two minutes.

Walk to the east porch shutter, force the sticky latch closed, drive the 10mm through-bolt through the hasp to lock it down.

Shutter's dogged. Coming in.

Walk back to the cottage, step onto the porch, shake off the rain, and go inside.

Kettle's hot. Want a mug before I walk the dock?

Pour two mugs of coffee from the steaming kettle, set one on the bedside table within Jenny's reach, keep one at the table beside the shortwave.

Back before the tide turns.

Take the coffee mug, pull the oilskin from the hook by the door, step out onto the porch and secure the latch against the wind, then walk down the path toward the dock.