Day 870

Heavy Air and Rising Rot

Dawn found the cottage sealed under air so thick it clung to skin. Kevin sat at the kitchen table stripping the second end of the shortwave coax while Jenny propped her infected ankle on the sofa cushion, watching grey light through the window. "The air is too heavy for the radio today anyway," she said. Kevin kept working: "Signal'll come back when the pressure moves. Cable doesn't care about humidity."

By midday the barometer sat stuck at 975. Kevin finished the first end of the spare coax. Jenny debrided her ankle and applied a sea beet poultice, then sketched patterns in the porch floorboards and cracks in the sill plate, noting how far they spread. "Everything is rotting in this damp, Kevin." He laid out the repair: "The sill plate's getting sistered today. Pressure-treated scrap from the crate. Through-bolts, not epoxy." She countered, "The sill won't hold if the foundation is turning to mush." He said, "The shoring's holding. The trench is draining. Today's work keeps the floor above our heads while we figure the rest."

Rain broke heavy on the tin roof. Kevin debrided Jenny's ankle again, holding the light steady while she whispered, "Right there. Stay there." He went to the dock at low tide, inspected pilings, found fibres lifting at the waterline. "Holes are clean. Wood's firm but fibres lifting. Going to sister the seaward piling with the greenheart plate while I can reach the mudline." Jenny called after him: "Watch your step on the slick."

Night fell with rain lashing the roof and tide rising. Kevin watched rot spreading in the cottage wall. Jenny struggled with ankle pain. "The rot's spreading faster than I thought. It's wider since morning. The moisture is like a lubricant for the decay." The rain tank gained a hundred litres through the day. Shortwave coax replacement reached ninety percent. They ate broth by the hearth, the smell of damp wood filling the air.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Heavy Air

Kevin sits at the kitchen table stripping the second end of the shortwave coax while the humidity clings to skin. Jenny sits on the sofa, her ankle propped on a cushion as she watches the grey light through the window.

The heavy morning air clings to the cottage, making physical labor feel sluggish. Kevin begins work on the shortwave radio coax while Jenny monitors the infection in her ankle, though the dampness prevents any progress in dry healing.

🌿 Jenny04:49

The air is too heavy for the radio today anyway.

Jenny traces the outline of a leaf in her notebook with a shaky finger.

💭 thought

The sill plate is going to give before the boat arrives, and he's fussing with copper.

🔧 Kevin04:50

Signal'll come back when the pressure moves. Cable doesn't care about humidity.

strip the second end of the spare coax, measure against the run from radio to mast bracket, and fit the PL-259 connector

💭 thought

She's right about the humidity killing the signal, but the coax needs finishing before the next weather window. The shield braid on this spare is clean — no salt rot like the old run. If I can seat the PL-259 clean on this end, the aerial lead's done.

🌿 Jenny04:51

Everything is rotting in this damp, Kevin.

Jenny pulls the blanket tighter around her ankle, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shoots through her calf.

💭 thought

He thinks the world is mechanical while the island is rotting from the roots up.

🔧 Kevin04:52

The sill plate's getting sistered today. Pressure-treated scrap from the crate. Through-bolts, not epoxy.

finish crimping the PL-259 on the coax, test continuity with the multimeter, then set it aside and gather the pressure-treated timber and 150mm stainless through-bolts for the sill repair

💭 thought

She's not talking about the coax. The rot's in the sill plate, the dock pilings, the garden wall footings — and her ankle. Antibiotics are holding the line but the swelling hasn't dropped. She's tougher than she lets on.

🌿 Jenny04:53

The sill won't hold if the foundation is turning to mush.

Jenny stares at the tin of way seeds on the counter, her hand hovering over the rusted lid.

💭 thought

He's fixing the wood while the infection is eating me from the inside.

🔧 Kevin04:54

The shoring's holding. The trench is draining. Today's work keeps the floor above our heads while we figure the rest.

pick up the coax, walk to the porch, and start feeding the new lead through the wall penetration to the mast bracket

💭 thought

She's seen the same fracture mapping I have. The northeast corner's dropped three millimeters since the last storm — I measured it. The intercept trench and shoring bought time, but the blue clay underneath is weeping. Sistering the sill's a patch, not a fix. But it's the patch we can do today.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The heavy heat persists

Kevin and Jenny are in the cottage as the morning fails to break. The barometer holds steady, but the weight of the air is oppressive.

Kevin works on the shortwave radio coax while the high humidity makes the work sluggish. Jenny debrides her infected ankle and applies a sea beet poultice to manage the swelling. The air remains heavy as the supply boat arrival approaches.

🔧 Kevin04:54

Barometer's stuck at 975. Rising, they said. Feels like it's holding its breath.

sit at the workbench, stripping the spare coax braid back with the knife, fingers slow in the damp air

💭 thought

Four days. That's what the barometer said. Four days and the boat might show. But the air's been this thick for three mornings now and the needle hasn't moved. The coax shield's frayed right at the wall penetration — salt and flex did it in. Spare roll's on the bench, first end stripped. Just need to finish the PL-259 and pull it through. After that, the sill plate. The rot crosses the stability line Jenny marked. Pressure-treated scrap from the crate should sister it, if the timber holds bolts in this humidity.

🌿 Jenny04:57

It's not holding its breath. It's sitting on us.

Wince as I shift my weight, the swollen ankle pulsing, reaching for the sea beet poultice on the table.

💭 thought

If the humidity doesn't drop, those seeds rot before they even breathe, and my own will just turn to mush.

🔧 Kevin04:57

Four doses left. You're taking the morning one now.

set the coax aside, reach for the doxycycline blister pack on the shelf, pop one tablet into my palm and hold it out to her

💭 thought

She's right. The pressure's not lifting — it's settling. Like the cottage pilings. Her ankle's still hot, the infection line hasn't moved past her pen mark but it hasn't receded either. Antibiotics are down to four doses. She won't say it hurts bad enough to stop working.

🌿 Jenny04:59

I know.

Take the tablet, swallow it with a mouthful of lukewarm water from the tin, and look at the half-weeded garden through the window.

💭 thought

Four days until the boat. If the boat doesn't come, I run out of time.

🔧 Kevin04:59

The coax'll take an hour. Then the sill. You want the radio up before the boat window?

return to the workbench, braid the coax shield back over the dielectric, fingers working the PL-259 connector onto the stripped end

💭 thought

She's watching the garden again. The heirloom rows she planted before the storm — tomato, pepper, sea beet. Half drowned, half salt-burned. She won't say what she's calculating. Yield. Whether the seed tin's worth the space it takes in the ditch bag. Whether we're staying for the garden or the garden's keeping us here.

🌿 Jenny05:01

Yes. I need to be able to call them.

Rub the sea beet poultice onto my ankle, wincing as the cool paste hits the inflamed skin.

💭 thought

If the radio isn't working, I won't even know if the boat is coming or not.

🔧 Kevin05:01

Radio'll be up by noon. If the connector holds.

seat the PL-259 ferrule, crimp it with the ratchet tool, test the joint with a tug — solid — then coil the new lead toward the crawl space hatch

💭 thought

Call them. Not "call for the boat." Call *them*. The trust. The letter she's read three times this week. The folded offer in the tin. She wants the radio working to talk to the mainland — not just confirm the supply run. The poultice smells of honey and crushed sea beet, sharp and green. Her fingers are steady on my ankle. Steadier than mine were on hers.

🌿 Jenny05:03

It better.

Stand up slowly, leaning heavily on the table to take the weight off my ankle, and move toward the porch to inspect the sill plates.

💭 thought

If that connection holds, at least I have one thing that isn't rotting.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday Stasis

The heat peaks in the cottage as the sun stays behind a thick grey veil. Kevin and Jenny meet at the table to discuss the radio schedule for the boat.

Kevin worked on the shortwave radio, successfully stripping the first end of the spare coax. Jenny monitored the rot spreading across the cottage floorboards, noting how the high humidity is swelling the wood. The air remains heavy and still as the clouds thicken overhead.

🌿 Jenny05:03

The coax is sixty percent done, but I need to check the tank level before I signal the mainland on Friday.

Shifts her weight away from her ankle and winces, rubbing the swollen skin.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come in four days, I'll be out of antibiotics and this ankle will throb with a life of its own.

🔧 Kevin05:04

Tank's 391. Near full. Overflow's been running since dawn. You don't need to check it Friday — you need to stay off that ankle.

strip the second end of the spare coax at the workbench, braid the shield back clean, fit the PL-259 connector with the soldering iron

💭 thought

She's managing the radio schedule because I haven't finished the coax. The tank's fine — 391 litres, near full — but she's making it her task. Keeps her off the ankle. Keeps her useful. I'll finish the splice tonight if the humidity doesn't ruin the epoxy cure.

🌿 Jenny05:05

I know the level, Kevin. I need to map the fractures for the report before the wood softens.

Pulls her notebook and a pencil, beginning to sketch the patterns in the porch floorboards.

💭 thought

He thinks a full tank solves the world, but the sill plates are still widening an inch in the damp.

🔧 Kevin05:07

The sill plate's worse than the porch. Rot crosses the stability line at the northeast corner. That's what the trust needs to know. Not floorboard patterns.

crimp the PL-259 onto the coax second end, check continuity with the multimeter, coil the finished cable ready for the mast run

💭 thought

She's mapping the rot because she thinks the report matters more than her leg. The fractures don't change that fast — they've been growing since before we landed. She's using the notebook to keep from looking at the tin on the stove shelf.

🌿 Jenny05:07

I'm mapping the whole system. If I don't record where the rot starts, we won't know where it ends.

Presses the pencil hard against the paper, tracing the jagged line of a crack in the wood.

💭 thought

He sees a structural failure, I see the whole island surrendering to the salt and the water.

🔧 Kevin05:08

Lead's going to break. Again. Put the notebook down, Jen. The sill plate needs sistering before the next tide. That's the work that holds the cottage.

set the finished coax coil on the shelf, retrieve the pressure-treated scrap from the supply crate, measure and mark the sister board for the compromised sill plate

💭 thought

She's recording because she's afraid to stop. If she stops mapping, she has to think about the letter in the tin, the supply boat that didn't answer, the brother who wrote that our mother died and I never replied. The pencil pressure will snap the lead. It always does.

🌿 Jenny05:09

I'm mapping it, Kevin. I just need the data right for when the next storm hits.

Winces as her ankle shifts, the heat of the infection pulsing through the poultice.

💭 thought

He wants to focus on the wood while the whole house is breathing through the cracks.

🔧 Kevin05:10

The data's in the notebook from last month. Rot line hasn't moved past the stability mark. Your ankle has. Put the pencil down. Let me look at it.

set the marked sister board aside, walk to the table, pull a stool close, reach for her ankle to check the infection boundary beneath the poultice

💭 thought

She's mapping for a storm that's already here. The barometer's 976 and steady — that's not clearing. The infection's pulsing through her ankle and she's pressing pencil to paper like the data will hold the walls up. I should've finished the coax yesterday. Should've sistered the sill last week. Should've answered Tom's letter before the supply boat sat on it for months.

🌿 Jenny05:11

It's fine. It's just the humidity making everything swell.

Pulls her leg back instinctively, tightening her grip on the pencil.

💭 thought

He doesn't see the way the wood is turning to mush, just like this skin.

🔧 Kevin05:12

The humidity doesn't make infection spread past a marked line. You mapped it. You know it moved. Let me see.

stay on the stool, don't reach again, wait with hands on knees

💭 thought

She pulls back like I'm the one who put the infection in her. Like I'm the storm. The pencil's white-knuckled in her hand. The boundary she marked on her skin two days ago — she knows it's moved. She mapped it herself. She just won't say it out loud because saying it makes it real, and real means the supply boat might not come, and the medevac forms in the dry bag might actually get used.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Approaching Rain

The flat sky finally breaks, and the first heavy drops of rain hit the tin roof.

Kevin debrides Jenny's infected ankle at the cottage while warm rain beats against the roof. He works on stripping the shortwave coax cable as Jenny manages the pain of the poultice application.

🌿 Jenny05:13

Kevin, can you pass me the clean gauze? The rain's breaking and I need to check the poultice.

reach for the medical kit on the kitchen shelf, fingers already itching to unwrap the ankle bandage despite the damp air making everything feel sluggish.

💭 thought

The rain's finally breaking after that endless pressure - good for the island's plants, terrible for my ankle's healing. I need to check if the poultice is holding or if I need to reapply tonight.

🔧 Kevin05:14

Top shelf, left side. Fresh roll.

Hand her the gauze roll from the medical kit without looking up from the coax stripping, fingers steady on the copper braid.

💭 thought

She's moving slower today. The infection's holding but the humidity's not letting the wound breathe. I should've built that covered drying rack for the gauze weeks ago.

🌿 Jenny05:15

Thanks.

take the gauze and sit back on the stool, wincing as the weight shifts on my swollen ankle while I begin to peel the bandage away.

💭 thought

He's so focused on those wires while my leg is literally rotting in this humidity. At least the gauze is dry, unlike the rest of these floorboards.

🔧 Kevin05:16

Want me to hold the tin steady?

Set the coax down on the bench, wipe hands on a rag, and pick up the broth mug from the table — still warm — sliding it closer to her good side.

💭 thought

She won't ask me to look at it. Won't ask for help re-wrapping. The pride that kept her alive out here is the same thing that might cost her the foot.

🌿 Jenny05:17

Yeah, please. Hold the light steady, I can't see the edge of the redness.

lean back against the whitewashed stone, carefully peeling the damp sea beet poultice away from the infection.

💭 thought

He's actually trying to be helpful for once, but he doesn't see the sill plate widening. The whole house is a lie.

🔧 Kevin05:18

Kevin — pick up the LED headlamp from the bench, click it on, and hold it steady over her ankle, angling the beam so the shadow of my hand doesn't fall across the wound.

💭 thought

The red line hasn't moved past her marker. That's something. But the skin around it's white and waterlogged — maceration setting in. Humidity's doing what the infection couldn't.

🌿 Jenny05:19

Right there. Stay there.

pick up the tweezers from the kit to clear the debris from the wound, wincing as the cold metal touches the swollen skin.

💭 thought

At least I can see the damage now. The red is further up than yesterday. If I don't debrided this properly, the humidity is going to win.

🔧 Kevin05:20

Breathing.

Keep the headlamp beam fixed, not moving, not speaking, thumb resting on the mug handle in case she needs it.

💭 thought

She's good at this. Clinical. Detached from her own flesh like it's an engine she's torn down a hundred times. I've seen her do harder things with less.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

waiting for the tide to turn

The tide is furthest out, revealing the rocks near the shore. The rain slows to a steady drizzle.

Kevin walked to the dock during the low tide to inspect the pilings for structural rot. Jenny stayed at the cottage, struggling to manage the pain in her infected ankle while the rain began to intensify.

🔧 Kevin05:20

Going down to the dock while the tide's low. Check the pilings and the wall footing. Back before full dark.

walk to the dock

💭 thought

Tide's out far. Good window to check the dock pilings at the mudline and the seaward garden wall base. Rain's easing too — might actually get something done before dark.

🌿 Jenny05:23

Don't stay out too late. The tide is turning.

Lean back against the stone wall, wince as the ankle shifts, and reach for the sketchbook.

💭 thought

He's looking at the wood while the foundation is rotting from the inside.

🔧 Kevin05:23

Won't. Hour, maybe two.

walk down the porch steps and across the garden path to the dock

💭 thought

She's tracking the tide better than I am. Ankle's still bad — saw the wince. She'll sit there sketching until I'm back or the water's at her boots.

🌿 Jenny05:25

Watch your step on the slick.

Open the notebook to a clean page and begin drawing the fractures in the sill plate.

💭 thought

The island doesn't care about his schedule, it just takes what it wants.

🔧 Kevin05:25

Kevin — reach the dock and crouch at the seaward piling, probing the mudline with the mattock handle

💭 thought

Slick's the least of it. The pilings move when you lean on them. She's drawing what I showed her yesterday — the rot line past the stability mark. Smart. Paper remembers what timber forgets.

🌿 Jenny05:27

Look for the drill holes at the waterline.

Sharpen the pencil with a pocketknife, focusing on the way the wood meets the salt.

💭 thought

If that post is soft, the whole structure is going into the surf by winter.

🔧 Kevin05:27

Kevin — run fingers along the piling at the tide mark, feeling for the old bolt holes and checking if the wood's sound around them

💭 thought

Drill holes. Right. The old through-bolt pattern from the first repair — salt eats the threads clean out. If the holes are elongated, the sister plates won't hold no matter what bolts I drive.

🌿 Jenny05:29

If it's pulpy, we need to sister it now.

Sketch the pattern of the cracks in the sill plate, noting how far they spread.

💭 thought

He's checking for surface rot while the real damage is deep in the grain.

🔧 Kevin05:29

Holes are clean. Wood's firm but fibres lifting. Going to sister the seaward piling with the greenheart plate while I can reach the mudline.

pull the greenheart sister plate from where it's staged under the eaves, position it against the piling, and start the 150mm stainless through-bolt by hand

💭 thought

Wood's firm at the holes — surprising. Salt usually turns it to sponge by now. But the grain's raised, fibres lifting like old rope. She's right though: if it goes pulpy, the whole dock walks. Need to sister while the tide's out and the greenheart's staged.

🌿 Jenny05:31

Keep those bolts tight. The tide's coming back fast.

Watch him from the porch, rubbing my ankle as the fever thrums in time with the rain.

💭 thought

He's focused on one post while the rest of the house is weeping.

🔧 Kevin05:31

Kevin — drive the 150mm stainless through-bolt home with the heavy wrench, seating the washer and nyloc nut, then move to the landward piling for the second sister plate

💭 thought

She's watching the water, not me. Tide turns quick here — thirty minutes and the mudline's covered. Bolt's threading clean. Greenheart's dense, takes the threads without stripping. One plate down, one to go on the landward side. Then the stringer scarf joint.

🌿 Jenny05:33

Check the footing on the other side. It looks shifted.

Trace the line of the largest fracture on the sill with my pencil, marking where the wood is splitting.

💭 thought

At least he's using the greenheart; the salt eats everything else alive.

🔧 Kevin05:33

Kevin — crouch at the landward piling, scrape mud from the base with the mattock blade, and sight along the stringer to check for settlement

💭 thought

She sees it from the porch — the landward piling's settled. Clay's soft there, always weeps. If the footing's shifted, the sister plate won't hold without shimming the base. Greenheart shims are staged. Need to check before I bolt the second plate.

🌿 Jenny05:35

It's shifting. The rot is taking the sill plate whole.

Lean back against the whitewashed stone, closing eyes as the heat of the sea beet poultice pulses on my skin.

💭 thought

The house is leaning by a fraction of a degree, but the gap looks like a canyon.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Shelter from the Storm

The rain lashes against the roof as the tide begins to turn. You and Jenny are together by the hearth, the smell of damp wood filling the air.

Kevin watches the spreading rot in the cottage wall while Jenny struggles with the pain of her infected ankle. The tide rises outside, bringing a damp chill that seeps through the wood of the cabin.

🔧 Kevin05:35

Fire's holding. You eating?

Stir the pot on the stove, then pull a tin mug down for myself.

💭 thought

The rain's steady rhythm on the roof matches the ache in my shoulders. Jenny's close, the fire's warm, but the coax job waits half-done on the porch and the sill plate won't sister itself. Four days to the supply boat — if it comes.

🌿 Jenny05:37

Just broth for now. My ankle's..." (I gesture helplessly at my foot, then catch myself) "The rot's spreading faster than I thought. The sill plate—

Press my palm flat against the cottage wall to steady myself, feeling the damp wood give slightly under my touch. I pull out my phone and open the photo of yesterday's fracture line progression, then snap another picture of the widening cra

💭 thought

The infection's edge is creeping backward but the swelling won't quit. I can't afford to let this get worse with the boat coming in four days. Should I push harder on the structural report or focus on surviving the night?

🔧 Kevin05:37

Show me.

Cross to the wall where her hand rests, crouch, press my own fingers into the whitewash beside hers, feeling for the soft line where stone meets timber.

💭 thought

She's tracking it. Good. Means she's not letting the pain blind her to the structure. The wall giving under her palm tells me more than photos will — the clay's lubricating deeper than the intercept trench reaches.

🌿 Jenny05:39

Look here. It's wider since morning. The moisture is like a lubricant for the decay.

Trace the edge of the crack with a trembling fingertip, wincing as the movement sends a throb to my ankle.

💭 thought

He's looking at the wood, I'm looking at the clock. If the sill plate goes, the whole frame shifts. I need to map this precisely.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

shortwave coax replacement: 50%.

project · dawn

A wooden crate from some lost container ship rolls in the surf.

lost_crate · morning

shortwave coax replacement: 60%.

project · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Patterns in the porch floorboards".

made · midday

shortwave coax replacement: 70%.

project · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

shortwave coax replacement: 80%.

project · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Pattern of the cracks in the sill plate, noting how far they spread".

made · evening

shortwave coax replacement: 90%.

project · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 869 Day 871 →

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