Day 874

The Heavy Arrival and the Coming Front

The supply boat cut through grey swells at dawn, diesel and salt thick in the air. Jenny sat on a crate, braced ankle throbbing, while Kevin met the crew. "Check the manifest, Kevin. Don't let them leave yet," she said. "Aye. Manifest first." He directed them to the timber skids. "Clear the seaward planks. Step on the stringers only." "Watch the rot. The wood is soft through the center." The crew offloaded carefully. "Take the light ones. I'll hump the diesel and the feed sack," Kevin said. "I've got them," Jenny replied. He grunted, shifting the drum to his shoulder. "Easy with the steps, Kevin. The wood is soft right there." "Noted. You want the coffee on before or after we stow the tins?" "After. Let's just get the food in first."

Midday heat hung still. Kevin traced the frayed coax shielding. "Radio's clear on Tom's frequency for about forty seconds each dawn. I keyed it yesterday. The coax run's still waiting for proper terminations. Humidity's been brutal on the solder joints." They watched for the Mara. "Mara usually hits the cut on the flood. Two hours from first smoke to the dock. Skipper knows the swell. He'll come if he can." Jenny hoped for salt-grade antibiotics. "Manifest said marine-grade doxy and metronidazole. Captain acknowledged on 2182."

Evening brought falling pressure. Kevin examined her ankle at the shrine, stones carved with 'LB.' "It's still hot to the touch. Hold still." Barometer at 995 and dropping. "Front'll be on us by midnight." They chose the ridge path. "Saddle route's faster but the shale turns to grease in rain. Ridge path's longer but solid footing. Your call." "The ridge path. I can't risk a fall tonight." "Ridge it is. I'll take the pack. You take my shoulder when the grade steepens." The descent was slow, sky bruised purple, wind carrying salt and the arriving front.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

The Heavy Arrival

Kevin and Jenny stand on the slick dock as the supply boat cuts through the grey, heavy swells. Jenny sits on a crate, clutching her braced ankle while she watches the crew throw the lines. The air is thick with the smell of diesel and salt spray.

The supply boat arrives as the tide recedes, its hull groaning against the swell. Kevin meets the crew at the dock, directing them to use the timber skids to avoid the rotting seaward planks. Jenny stays near the edge, her ankle throbbing in rhythm as she adjusts the poultice, watching the crates being lowered. The crew begins the offload, moving carefully while the salt-heavy air hangs still over the decaying pilings.

🌿 Jenny08:15

Check the manifest, Kevin. Don't let them leave yet.

Wince as a sharp throb hits the ankle, shifting weight to the good leg.

💭 thought

If they didn't bring the antibiotics, I'm going to lose the foot by Tuesday.

🔧 Kevin08:15

Aye. Manifest first.

Step to the seaward cleat, grab the bow line as it comes over, eye the planks under the crew's boots.

💭 thought

Boat's here early on the flood. Swell's nasty but the skipper knows the cut. Need to watch the lines — those rotten planks won't take a hard snub.

🌿 Jenny08:17

Watch the rot. The wood is soft through the center.

Watch the boat's deck, scanning the crates for the seed tin and the medical kit.

💭 thought

Those planks are going to give way if they put too much weight there.

🔧 Kevin08:17

Clear the seaward planks. Step on the stringers only.

Haul the bow line tight, wrap it figure-eight on the sound cleat, wave the deckhand aft toward the solid planking.

💭 thought

She's right — marked three planks south end yesterday. Crew's heavy. If they bunch up on the bad section the whole finger goes.

🌿 Jenny08:19

Tell them to be careful with the crates. The jetty is slick.

adjust the poultice on the ankle, feeling the throbbing sync with the waves.

💭 thought

I hope they have the copper sulfate. The infection is starting to smell.

🔧 Kevin08:19

Use the skids. Deck's slick.

Point to the timber skids lashed to the dock edge, take up slack on the stern spring as the Mara rises.

💭 thought

Swell's lifting the stern. Deck's wet. Crates'll slide if they don't use the skids.

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the dock · morning

Supply Boat Departure

The supply boat begins to pull away, leaving a wake in the still water. Kevin and Jenny begin moving the crates toward the cottage.

Kevin returns to the dock to retrieve the final crates, but the rotting wood of the planks groans and shifts under the weight. Jenny waits on the porch, carefully peeling back the gauze from her ankle to check if the sea beet poultice has calmed the swelling in the dry-season heat.

🔧 Kevin08:20

Take the light ones. I'll hump the diesel and the feed sack.

lift the 20-litre diesel drum and the sack of chicken feed, turn toward the cottage path

💭 thought

Watch her favour the left side. Three crates in and she's already shifting weight. Should've told the crew to stack heavier gear landward.

🌿 Jenny08:20

I've got them.

Limp slowly toward the smaller crates, gingerly lifting a light box of supplies.

💭 thought

He thinks he's being helpful, but he's just rushing. My ankle can't take a sudden shift in weight.

🔧 Kevin08:22

(silent, just a grunt as I shift the diesel drum to my shoulder)

carry the diesel drum and feed sack up the path to the cottage, set them down on the porch, turn back for the next load

💭 thought

Stubborn. Always. But the ankle's holding weight better than yesterday. That's something.

🌿 Jenny08:23

Easy with the steps, Kevin. The wood is soft right there.

Lift a small crate of dry goods, shifting weight to my good leg to keep the throbbing in my ankle under check.

💭 thought

He's always in such a hurry to finish, like the island isn't going way else.

🔧 Kevin08:24

Noted. You want the coffee on before or after we stow the tins?

pick up the crate of tinned provisions, step carefully on the third tread, carry it inside to the kitchen shelves

💭 thought

She's watching the porch steps closer than I am. Right. The third tread's been spongy since the big blow.

🌿 Jenny08:24

After. Let's just get the food in first.

Carefully carry the remaining light crate toward the porch, keeping my movements slow and deliberate.

💭 thought

I can't even think about coffee until I get this bandage off and see if the infection has tracked.

🔧 Kevin08:26

(nods) Back in ten.

walk back down the path to the dock for the remaining crates

💭 thought

Right. Food first. Coffee's a reward, not a right.

🌿 Jenny08:27

Jenny — set the crate down on the porch and slowly sit on the bench, gingerly peeling back the gauze from my ankle.

💭 thought

Ten minutes of silence. Just enough time to check the margin.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday heat and supplies

Kevin and Jenny meet on the porch with the final crates finally stowed inside. The air is still, and the tide is beginning to turn.

The humidity hangs heavy over the cottage as the tide begins its slow turn back toward the shore. Kevin and Jenny wait on the porch, watching the horizon for the first smoke of the Mara while the salt air remains still.

🔧 Kevin08:29

Radio's clear on Tom's frequency for about forty seconds each dawn. I keyed it yesterday." "The coax run's still waiting for proper terminations. Humidity's been brutal on the solder joints." "Jenny, about the garden..." "I've been thinking. Maybe we start small - just the sea beet seedlings in the protected beds." "Tin E's still sealed. Whatever's inside..." "I need to radio the supply boat's ETA again. They're supposed to be here today." "But first - this ankle needs proper attention. The poultice' worked, but...

brew coffee for both of us in the cast iron skillet check water test strip - 2 used, 1 remaining point toward the half-weedy plot behind the cottage retrieve the heirloom seed tins from the wood stove shelf set the rusted heirloom seed tin

💭 thought

Barometer's climbing but the swell's still holding. Need to get the Yanmar's heat exchanger sorted before the rain hits again.

🌿 Jenny08:30

The garden can wait, Kevin. The boat is late, and I can't even walk to the ridge today.

rub throbbing ankle with a wince, look at the horizon for a speck of smoke, sketch the jagged line of the tide in the margin.

💭 thought

He's talking about seedlings while the dock is literally rotting and my ankle feels like it's being squeezed by pliers.

🔧 Kevin08:30

Boat's late. Tide's turning." "Ankle first. Garden after.

pour coffee into two tin mugs hand one to Jenny sit on the porch step facing the water watch the horizon for the Mara's smoke tap the radio log on the shelf note the barometer reading: 997 hPa, steady listen for the shortwave's static hiss

💭 thought

She's right. The boat's the priority. The garden's been waiting eleven months — it'll wait another day. Her ankle's the real measure of things.

🌿 Jenny08:31

Thanks.

take the mug, wrap fingers around the warm metal, lean back against the whitewashed stone.

💭 thought

997 and steady. It's too quiet. The air feels like it's holding its breath.

🔧 Kevin08:32

Mara usually hits the cut on the flood. Two hours from first smoke to the dock." "Skipper knows the swell. He'll come if he can.

sip coffee, eyes on the horizon feel the mug's warmth through the tin notice the tide line creeping up the beach hear the shortwave's low static from the kitchen shelf wait

💭 thought

She's tired. The infection took more out of her than she'll say. The boat being late means more than missed supplies — it means another week of rationing decisions, another week of her limping the trench line alone while I'm at the dock.

🌿 Jenny08:33

I hope he has the salt-grade antibiotics this time.

shift weight away from the ankle, hiss through teeth, and watch the grey air shimmer over the north ridge.

💭 thought

Two hours. If the boat doesn't show, I'm out of gauze and the infection is winning.

🔧 Kevin08:34

"Manifest said marine-grade doxy and metronidazole. Captain acknowledged on 2182." "If they're not aboard..." "I know the cache coordinates. Two courses left in the oilcloth." "Your call when we see the crate.

set mug down on the porch rail stand, joints stiff from the crate work walk to the kitchen shelf pull the medevac forms from the dry bag check the antibiotic blister packs — two doxy, four metronidazole remaining return to the porch, forms

💭 thought

Salt-grade antibiotics. The trust's supply chain is for shit. Last run they sent broad-spectrum instead of the marine formulation — useless against the halophilic strains that thrive in this heat. If the Mara doesn't have them, we're down to the buried cache and whatever I can culture from the sea beet glands.

🌿 Jenny08:35

I'll keep the radio on watch.

sit back on the bench, rub the throbbing ankle, and scan the horizon for the first sliver of smoke.

💭 thought

Marine-grade. It needs to be. I can't afford another week of this throbbing.

🔧 Kevin08:36

I'll be at the dock. Prep the skids." "Radio's on 2182. Key it twice if anything changes.

lean the medevac forms against the radio on the kitchen shelf walk down the porch steps cross the cracked path to the dock inspect the greenheart skids positioned at the landward end test the come-along anchor bolt on the north piling check

💭 thought

She'll sit there until the boat appears or the light fails. That's who she is. The ankle's bad — the poultice helped the surface but the deep tissue's still hot. She won't admit it. I should check the heat exchanger on the Yanmar while there's daylight, but I'm not leaving the porch until the Mara shows.

🌿 Jenny08:37

Be careful with those skids, the wood is soft.

lean against the salt- way post and watch the tide come in.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the mechanics while the island is literally rotting under our feet.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Waiting for the Mara

The air remains still and heavy as the sun begins its peak. You both watch for the first sliver of smoke on the horizon.

The afternoon heat is heavy and still, the air thick with the promise of a coming front. Kevin sits on the porch, turning the coil of old coax over in his hands, tracing the frayed shielding where the connection has failed. Jenny leans against the cool whitewashed stone of the cottage, eyes closed, shifting her weight to ease the throbbing in her ankle as she lets the silence stretch.

🌿 Jenny08:38

It's too quiet for August.

Take a sip of lukewarm water and rub the swollen skin of the ankle.

💭 thought

If that boat doesn't show today, the water is going to run out before the next cycle.

🔧 Kevin08:39

Engine trouble'd be my guess. Skipper'd rather drift than burn the last of his fuel fighting chop.

scan the horizon with binoculars from the porch

💭 thought

The stillness is wrong. Three metre swell doesn't flatten to glass without wind behind it, and the barometer holding steady at 996 means the Mara's not running into a front. She's either holding position or something's holding her.

🌿 Jenny08:41

Or he just forgot about us.

Set the mug down on the porch table and lean back against the stone wall.

💭 thought

He always has a mechanical excuse for everything. It's a way to make the uncertainty feel like a problem that can be solved with a wrench.

🔧 Kevin08:41

He didn't forget. Radio'd have crackled if he'd turned back.

set binoculars down on the table, reach for the radio handset

💭 thought

She's fishing. The Mara's never missed a run in eleven months. I've heard the skipper curse this contract over a pint in Falmouth — says the trust pays late and the channel eats props. But he shows up.

🌿 Jenny08:42

The aerial is still a mess, Kevin. You're just listening to the atmosphere.

Shift weight off the throbbing ankle and watch him with a flat expression.

💭 thought

He's chasing ghosts in the static again. The radio is just a way to avoid looking at the garden, or me.

🔧 Kevin08:42

The insulator's sound. It's the feed line. Shield's open somewhere.

pick up the coil of old coax from the porch floor, turn it over in hands

💭 thought

She's right. The ceramic insulator I filed and taped last week held through the last blow, but the coax shield's still shot — picks up nothing but generator whine and lightning static from three hundred miles out. I've been putting off the coax run because it means climbing the mast in this humidity, and the old cable's coiled on the porch mocking me.

🌿 Jenny08:44

Then stop holding it and fix it. Or leave it alone.

Close eyes and lean head back against the cool whitewash.

💭 thought

He's obsessed with a piece of dead cable while the house is sinking into the silt. It's a distraction. A ritual.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening Gathering

The sun begins to dip behind the overcast layer, and the temperature drops slightly as Kevin and Jenny meet to prepare the evening meal.

Kevin examines Jenny's ankle at the old shrine as the pressure continues to drop. He peels back the bandage to reveal the angry, throbbing swelling while Jenny prepares a pot of coffee to wait out the evening.

🌿 Jenny08:44

I've got some limpets. They're in the pot.

Lean heavily against the stone wall to shift weight off the ankle, then slowly hobble toward the stove.

💭 thought

I can't even stand properly, and he's probably thinking about that radio mast. I need to eat something, or I'm going to faint.

🔧 Kevin08:46

Put the kettle on too. Coffee after.

walk to the stove and lift the pot lid to check the limpets

💭 thought

Watching her favor that ankle, the way she won't ask for help even when the weight's wrong. The limpets are something at least — protein, warm broth. Need to check the coax termination before full dark but the radio can wait ten minutes.

🌿 Jenny08:46

They're still a bit chewy.

Reach for the kettle and fill it with water from the tank.

💭 thought

Just a simple request, but he doesn't even look at my leg. He sees the limpets, not the limp.

🔧 Kevin08:48

Simmer them twenty more. I'll take the kettle.

reach for the kettle handle to take it from her

💭 thought

Chewy means they needed longer in the boil or a slower simmer. She's moving careful — ankle's still dictating every step. Kettle's heavy when full.

🌿 Jenny08:49

Whatever you want.

Let go of the kettle and sit down heavily on the low bench, rubbing the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

He's always taking the lead, even when I'm the one holding the weight.

🔧 Kevin08:50

Kevin — set the kettle on the stove and adjust the limpet pot to a lower flame, then pull the bench closer to her and sit down

💭 thought

She doesn't argue when the pain's up. That's the tell. Kettle's heavy — near twenty litres when full. She shouldn't be hauling it.

🌿 Jenny08:51

The barometer is falling.

Look down at the bandage on the ankle, tracing the edge of the swelling with a finger.

💭 thought

He's trying. I can see the effort in the way he moves the bench, but the silence between us is just getting heavier.

🔧 Kevin08:52

995 and dropping. Front'll be on us by midnight.

reach for the medical kit on the shelf and pull out fresh gauze and the antibiotic cream

💭 thought

Falling barometer, thickening cloud, humidity that won't quit. Front's building. She's tracking it same as me — ankle swells when pressure drops. The bandage needs changing tonight; poultice has been on since morning.

🌿 Jenny08:53

It's still hot to the touch.

Carefully peel back the old gauze, exposing the red, angry skin of the ankle.

💭 thought

He remembers the schedule. He doesn't ask how it feels; he just goes straight to the maintenance.

🔧 Kevin08:54

Hold still.

set the gauze and cream down, take up the scalpel and penlight, and lean in close to examine the wound

💭 thought

Heat radiating off it even before the bandage comes fully clear. Infection's still active under the surface. The doxycycline and metronidazole should've knocked it back harder by now. Need to debride again if there's pus, fresh poultice after.

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the old shrine · night

The Approaching Storm

The flat sky darkens further as the air grows heavy with the humidity. You and Jenny sit together in the shadows of the shrine, watching the first drops of rain fall.

The descent from the shrine was slow and heavy. Kevin led the way, testing each loose shelf of shale for stability while Jenny leaned the bulk of her weight on his braced arm. The sky had deepened its grey to a bruised purple, and the wind picked up, carrying the sharp scent of salt and the arrival of the front.

🌿 Jenny08:55

It's going to be a long walk back to the way.

Reach out to help Jenny pull her sketchbook away from the damp.

💭 thought

The storm is coming fast, and my ankle feels like it's melting.

🔧 Kevin08:56

Saddle route's faster but the shale turns to grease in rain. Ridge path's longer but solid footing. Your call.

pull the oilskin from my pack and shake it open, holding it over us both

💭 thought

The rain's coming down steady now, cold drops hitting the hot stone. Her ankle can't take the ridge path in this slick. Should've brought the headlamp. The shortcut through the saddle cuts twenty minutes but the shale's treacherous wet.

🌿 Jenny08:57

The ridge path. I can't risk a fall tonight.

Stand up slowly, leaning heavily on my good leg as the weight shifts.

💭 thought

If we take the saddle, I'll slip and snap the tendon for good.

🔧 Kevin08:58

Ridge it is. I'll take the pack. You take my shoulder when the grade steepens.

shrug the pack off her shoulders onto mine, settling the weight, then offer my left arm

💭 thought

She's favouring it hard. The swelling's up past the tape line I marked. Rain's going to make the ridge path slick too, just not treacherous. Need to go slow, stop often. My shoulder's there if she needs it.

🌿 Jenny08:59

Just slow. Let's move before the sky really opens up.

Brace her hand on my shoulder, testing the weight as we start down the path.

💭 thought

The pack is heavy, but it's better than watching her ankle fail.

🔧 Kevin09:00

Slow. I'm on your bad side. Lean when you need to.

position myself on the downhill side of the path, matching her pace, boots finding the driest line through the scree

💭 thought

Good. She's not pretending it's fine. The first few metres are the worst — loose scree over bedrock, then the switchback where the water runs. I'll put myself on the downhill side. If she slips, I catch.

🌿 Jenny09:01

I'm okay. way... watch for the loose rocks.

Shift most of my weight to my arm, gritting against the throb as we begin the descent.

💭 thought

My ankle is screaming with every step, and the air is thick enough to swallow.

🔧 Kevin09:02

Loose stuff's mostly in the first fifty metres. Then it beds into clay. You're doing fine.

test each step before committing weight, sliding boots sideways to find purchase, keeping my arm rigid for her to lean on

💭 thought

She said "way" instead of "wait" or "walk." Tired. Pain doing the thinking. The scree shifts under my boot — she's right, loose. Need to keep talking, keep her breathing steady, distract from the grind.

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What changed

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Found: diesel drum.

item · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Jagged line of the tide in the margin".

made · midday

A jellyfish bloom has drifted into the bay, pale and slow.

jellyfish · midday

The supply boat is due in 10 days but is currently late.

discovery · midday

The radio feed line is open/broken somewhere.

discovery · afternoon

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

The stones at the shrine are carved with the initials 'LB'

discovery · night

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

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