Day 889

Barometer agrees. 993 and dropping steady. Swell'll be up before noon.

Set the barometer back on the shelf, move to the basin, pull the clean gauze and sea beet-mint poultice from the tin, begin unwrapping her ankle to assess the spread.

It's tracking past yesterday's mark. Two centimetres, maybe three. We're going deeper today.

Peel the gauze back slow, let the saline soak the stuck edges, expose the wound fully — lance the new fluctuant area at the proximal edge, drain it, debride the necrotic tissue with the scalpel, irrigate with the last sterile saline, pack f

Not wasting. Using what works.

Incise clean at the proximal margin, express the pocket, scrape the slough, irrigate with saline, pack the cavity with sea beet-mint-honey paste, wrap tight with the last clean gauze roll, secure the end.

Done for now. Packing's holding. Fever's up though. You're hot.

Press the back of my fingers to her forehead, brief and light, then reach for the tin mug of limpet broth on the porch table, hold it out to her.

Drink it slow. All of it.

Sit on the step beside her chair, close enough that my shoulder touches hers, watch her drink, feel the heat coming off her skin in the cool dawn air.

It's falling. Been falling since 0400. Tide's turned, coming in now.

walk to the porch and check the barometer reading again, then glance at the grey horizon

Supply boat's due in five. If it comes.

move to the kitchen bench, pull the antibiotic blister packs from the medical kit — two doxycycline, fourteen metronidazole — and set them beside the tin mug

Radio's charged. Tom's frequency at 0800. I'll raise him.

pick up the heirloom seed tin from the table, carry it to the shelf away from the stove's heat, and set it on the newspaper square

Overflow's been going six hours. Tank's fine.

Check the water test strip on the kitchen shelf, then walk to the porch to read the barometer again.

Hands shaking?

Cross to the stove, pour the last of the limpet broth into a tin mug, set it on the bedside table beside her.

Drink it slow. I'll check the generator oil before the storm hits proper.

Walk to the kitchen shelf, pull the generator oil can down, check the level by eye.

Back before the wind shifts.

Grab the oil can, step out onto the porch, walk to the generator shed.

Always am.

Cross the porch, descend the steps, move across the wet grass to the generator shed, pull the door open.

No. We're not.

Check the radio battery charge and verify the aerial lead is still sealed at the wall penetration.

Tin's on the stove shelf. Newspaper under it. Heat keeps the damp off. Seal's waxed.

Pour two mugs of coffee from the pot on the stove, set one beside the tin for her.

Blanket's on the hook by the door.

Pull the wool blanket off the hook and drape it over her shoulders, tucking it around the ankle without touching the wrap.

You're not useless. You're hurt. There's a difference.

Sit opposite her at the table, mug in hand, and listen to the wind hit the shutters.

They're dry. Checked at first light. Wax paper, oilskin, paper buffer. Tin's hot to touch from the stove.

Tap the tin lid once with a fingertip — a dull, warm sound — and let the silence sit.

Storm won't last forever.

Refill her mug from the pot, then top my own, and set the pot back on the stove's warm edge.

Mm. Taking the left side.

Walk up the ridge to the shrine on the left flank, testing each step before committing weight.

Kevin — reach the stone circle, run fingertips over the carved names on the nearest uprights — feeling the depth of weathering, checking which ones have opened since last month.

North face holds better. West is gone. South's going.

Crouch beside her, pull the penlight from my pocket, shine it low across the stone's face to throw the carving into relief — reading what's left without her having to strain.

E. L. B." Pause. "Or E. I. B. The middle's a bowl — could be L, could be I. Date under it's lost.

Shine the light from another angle, lower, trying to catch the bottom line.

Nothing's taking you back.

Snap the penlight off, pocket it. Put a hand on her good shoulder — steadying, not helping. Let her find her own balance.

Wind'll shift northeast by midnight. Generator shed tarp's loose on the east corner.

walk to the porch door and pull on oilskin jacket

Thanks.

take the lantern from the table, check the wick is lit, and head out the porch door toward the generator shed

Aye.

step carefully down the porch steps, lantern held low to pick out the slick boards, and pick my way along the garden path toward the generator shed