Day 858

Tarp's loose on the north corner. Gonna need to re-batten it before the downpour hits.

Walk to the garden tarp's north anchor point and check the bamboo stakes where the wind's been creeping under.

Creek rocks it is.

Walk down to the creek bed and fill both arms with fist-sized stones, the heavy grey ones that don't crumble.

Aye. Deep enough they won't roll when the ground gives.

Return to the garden and set each rock into a shallow trench at the tarp's edge, packing wet clay around the base until they bed firm.

On it.

Walk to the water tank at the cottage corner, crouch to inspect the base where the dark patch shows, run fingers along the seam and foundation join to trace the source.

Hairline crack in the mortar bed. Salt ate it. Water's tracking under the slab toward the foundation.

Press palm flat against the tank base to feel the seep rate, then pull the torch from belt and shine it along the joint line to map the full extent.

Aye. Dig the outside face, clean and bed it. But the ground's saturated — trench'll flood. Fire up the generator, run the pump to keep it dry while I work.

Walk to the generator shed, pull the starter cord, let it warm up, then run the suction hose down to the tank base and the discharge uphill away from the cottage.

Fissure runs deep on the north beam. Got the come-along and the last 150mm. Need to pull the sister tight and drive it home before the water comes back.

Walk toward the dock with the come-along over my shoulder, the stainless bolt in my pocket.

Right. Let me look at the faces first.

Set the come-along down on the dock planking. Crouch at the fissure, running fingers along the split in the sistered knee, checking how the greenheart plates meet. Turn my head to sight down the bolt hole alignment.

Spruce offcuts by the generator shed. Two pieces, grain straight. Be right back.

Jog back toward the cottage and shed, scanning the ground for the offcut pile near the workbench.

Got it.

Grab two straight-grain spruce offcuts from the pile by the shed — each about thumb-thick, eight inches long. Turn and jog back toward the dock, boots slipping on wet grass.

Sit. Now. I'll finish the dock.

walk to the cottage porch and gesture at the step

Ankle first. Dock's not going anywhere with the shims set.

crouch beside her on the porch step, reaching for her bootlace

I'm not asking. Just let me see it.

slide the boot off her ankle, revealing the red line creeping down toward the calf

What is it?

hold still, fingers hovering over the angry red track, waiting

Saline won't hold it. We need to open it. Now.

reach for the scalpel on the porch table, flame it with the lighter from my pocket

I'm right here. Go slow.

press clean gauze beneath the incision to catch the pus, other hand steady on her calf

(quiet, to himself) Right then. Supper.

Build a small fire in the wood stove, set the kettle on to boil, and pull two tins of corned beef from the shelf.

Wouldn't dream of it.

Slice the corned beef thick, lay it in the cast iron skillet with a spoonful of the rendered fat, and sear it quick — just long enough to crisp the edges. Slide two tin mugs onto the table alongside.

I'll heat more water for the soak. Epsom salts ran out but the sea beet poultice is fresh.

Plate the seared corned beef, divide it between the two mugs with the hot fat spooned over, and set one in front of her. Take the other mug and the sketchbook to the porch table, eat standing, eyes on the barometer.

Strips are in the crate. Four left. I'll bring it.

Finish the corned beef in three bites, wipe the mug rim with a thumb, and walk to the generator shed. Retrieve the new water test kit from the supply crate, check the strip count, and carry it back to the porch table.

Kit's sealed. Strips haven't seen air since the boat dropped it.

Lean against the porch post, mug in hand, watching her dip the strip. Glance at the barometer — still 979, still steady. The wind hasn't shifted.

I'll go now. Before the tide turns.

Set the empty mug down, pull the driftwood cane from the corner, and head out the porch door toward the north ridge path.

(calling back over shoulder) Aye.

Follow the worn path up the north slope, cane tapping rhythmically. Pass the intercept trench — water still seeping at the clay line, greenheart shims holding.

Kevin — walk back down the north ridge toward the cottage, using the driftwood cane for stability on the wet clay.

Copy that. Ridge fissures are bypassing the intercept trench. Water's finding new paths.

Descend the ridge path to the cottage porch, shaking rain off the oilskin before stepping inside.

Trench caught the first pulse. Now it's running under the shoring. Need a different approach.

Hang oilskin on the porch hook, step inside, and pull the radio notebook down from the high shelf to log the ridge observation while the kettle heats.

Planks wash out. Clay's moving as a block. Need to anchor the toe of the slope or let it go and protect the foundation.

Sit at the table opposite her, open the radio notebook, and write: "Day 858 — North ridge tension cracks active. Intercept trench bypassed. Slope moving as unit. Foundation leak active NE corner."