Day 940

Supply Boat on the Horizon

Kevin had made radio contact overnight. The supply boat would arrive tomorrow at high tide, a two-hour window. He had also found her soil map with its red wax marks — sea beet seedlings planted in pocket seven on the north ridge, a documented weep zone on an undermining slope. "You planted in a weep zone," he said. "On a slope that's undermining. With an ankle that crossed the line."

Dawn found Kevin on the porch steps, barometer in hand, the sky a flat dark ceiling. Jenny sat on a crate beside him, wrapping a fresh sea beet poultice around her ankle. The infection had spread past the pen line she had marked yesterday, the redness creeping upward in the humidity.

Morning thickened to grey. Kevin staged forge tools and hardened the auger bit. Jenny wanted the ridge drainage reinforced before rain came. Kevin blocked her path. "Ankle holds the line today. Ridge holds the seeds tomorrow. Radio first." She conceded, transmitting updated infection coordinates. The shortwave picked up a distant New Zealand election broadcast.

At midday they ate limpet broth and the last corned beef. Through the window the boat's smoke showed on the horizon, early. Kevin called on shortwave and VHF 16 — only a garbled mainland court broadcast answered. The barometer kept falling.

Afternoon brought the boat rounding the headland, launch lowered. Kevin stood on the dock, dinghy ready. Jenny watched from the porch, ankle propped, the red line faint against angry skin spreading upward. The captain waved — early, before the weather closed in. Kevin returned sweat-streaked, confirming tomorrow's arrival with the crewman.

Evening they spent at the old shrine as wind howled through palms. Night deepened, barometer steady at 1008 hPa. Kevin monitored static and Spanish trawler chatter. Jenny iced her ankle and sketched the north ridge slump — a quick, jagged line. Neither heard from the boat or Tom before sleep took them.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Humidity Thickens

Kevin sits on the porch steps, checking the barometer as the flat sky darkens with heavy clouds. Jenny sits nearby on a crate, wrapping a fresh sea beet poultice around her ankle to soothe the throbbing inflammation.

Kevin made radio contact with the supply boat and confirmed tomorrow's high tide arrival. He examined Jenny's soil map and found she had planted sea beet seedlings in a documented weep zone on the unstable north ridge slope. Jenny's infection has spread past her marked boundary, and she concealed the updated map.

🌿 Jenny09:03

The pressure is dropping. It's going to rain before we can reach the ridge.

Tightens the gauze over the poultice, wincing slightly as the fabric brushes the swollen skin.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come in four days, I won't have enough antibiotics to finish the course if this keeps spreading.

🔧 Kevin09:03

Two hours. Maybe three. Ridge can wait.

turn the barometer tap, then walk to the radio shelf and key the mic for the 0600 supply boat check

💭 thought

Barometer's still 1014 but the sky's lying. That cloud bank's moving faster than the needle says. She's right about the rain — we've got maybe two hours before it sheets down. Ankle's holding the line though. Poultice working.

🌿 Jenny09:05

The soil won't wait, Kevin. That pocket on the north ridge - it's the only place these seeds will grow.

Makes a urgent, deliberate gesture toward the notebook on the crate, fingers tracing the marked soil pH readings before resting on the infected ankle.

💭 thought

If he's already decided the ridge can wait, then he's decided what I am - replaceable, forgettable, just another delay.

🔧 Kevin09:05

Ankle holds the line today. Ridge holds the seeds tomorrow. Radio first.

pick up the mic and call the supply boat on 2182, waiting for the static to clear

💭 thought

She's not wrong. That pocket's the only ground with the right pH and drainage for the heirlooms. But her ankle's holding at the marked line — first time in two weeks it hasn't grown. Pushing the ridge in coming rain risks a slip, and a slip means infection spreads past the line. Sepsis moves faster than supply boats.

🌿 Jenny09:07

The infection's spreading past the boundary I marked yesterday. I need to document new samples before the poultice fails in this humidity.

Opens the notebook, flipping to the fresh soil pH map with red wax marks tracing the new slump points, then closes it quickly and tucks it under the crate beside the ankle brace.

💭 thought

He's holding the line? Like I'm just a wound that needs dressing, not a person who's been mapping soil stability for months.

🔧 Kevin09:08

Show me the line.

set the mic down and crouch beside the crate, reaching for the notebook she hid

💭 thought

She's hiding it. The line moved. She marked it, saw it cross, and tucked the proof away so I wouldn't argue. Humidity's killing the poultice — sweat and rain rot gauze fast. If she's documenting slump points, the ridge is moving under her feet. She goes up there limping, the ground gives, she goes down. And the boat's four days out.

🌿 Jenny09:09

The line's on the map, Kevin. North ridge, pocket seven. Lime deposits run deep enough there - pH 6.2, stable. That's where I planted the sea beet seedlings yesterday, before the infection worsened.

Points toward the notebook's soil pH map with the pencil still in hand, then deliberately avoids his gaze while working on tightening the bandage around the ankle with the spare gauze.

💭 thought

He's looking at the notebook again, but he didn't look at it when I was debriding that infection by lantern light without making a sound.

🔧 Kevin09:09

You planted in a weep zone. On a slope that's undermining. With an ankle that crossed the line.

take the notebook from under the crate, flip to the soil pH map, and find pocket seven — the red wax marks, the GPS coordinates, the slump notation

💭 thought

Pocket seven. That's the one with the undermining she sketched three days ago — the weep zone under the garden wall base. She planted there anyway. Planted while the infection climbed. She's trading her ankle for those seedlings. The line's on the map because she put it there. She wants me to read it and go myself, or she wants me to let her go. Either way she's decided.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Morning work and weather closing in

Kevin and Jenny are at the cottage. The sky has thickened to a flat grey ceiling. Kevin has the forge tools staged and the auger bit hardened. Jenny's seed trays are planted but the ridge work waits. The supply boat comes tomorrow at high tide. Rain threatens before noon.

Kevin and Jenny argued over her worsening ankle infection and the north ridge drainage work. Kevin blocked her path to the ridge, insisting she rest while he handled the poultice and radio check. Jenny conceded and transmitted updated infection boundary coordinates. The shortwave picked up a distant news broadcast about New Zealand's election.

🌿 Jenny09:13

We need to reinforce the north ridge drainage before the storm hits—those weep zones will turn to mud if the rain comes down hard.

Check the shortwave radio battery level and test the emergency frequency; then walk to the forge to harden the auger bit properly.

💭 thought

The infection's spreading faster than the antibiotics can catch it, and the ridge soil's still too acidic for grandmother's seeds to survive another week of rain.

🔧 Kevin09:14

Ridge can wait. Boat's tomorrow. You're not hauling gear up that slope in this.

key the mic on 2182 for the 0600 radio check, then set the ditch bag strap across my shoulder

💭 thought

She's right about the weep zones — saw the same slump on the map. But the auger's done, the stakes are driven, and the ridge is three hours of slick clay in rising wind. She's moving fast for someone who hid the infection spread.

🌿 Jenny09:15

I'll be fine. The ridge needs the drainage work before the rain—if those weep zones flood, we lose three weeks of planting time.

Apply fresh sea beet poultice to the infected ankle line, then take the hardened auger bit and climb the north ridge slope to dig the intercept trench before the storm hits.

💭 thought

He thinks I'm fragile, still treating me like I'm broken instead of seeing that I'm the only one who can read these soil profiles accurately enough.

🔧 Kevin09:16

The line moved. Don't lie to me about it.

step into the porch doorway, blocking the path to the ridge trail

💭 thought

She's not fine. The line moved past her mark yesterday — she knows it, I know it, and she's still walking out that door with a hard auger and a soft ankle. Three weeks of planting don't matter if she can't walk back down.

🌿 Jenny09:18

The infection's spreading past where I marked it. I need to map the new boundary before it compromises the ankle brace.

Remove the soaked gauze from my ankle and apply the fresh sea beet poultice, then pull the shortwave radio from the shelf and tune to 2182 to send Kevin the updated GPS coordinates for the new infection boundary.

💭 thought

He's still holding me at arm's length, pretending I'm not deteriorating faster than he admits himself.

🔧 Kevin09:18

Give me the ankle. I'll do the poultice. You sit.

take the poultice bowl from her hands and steer her toward the kitchen chair by the stove

💭 thought

There it is. Spoke it plain. Now she's trying to hand me the radio like a relay baton — coordinates for the ankle, coordinates for the ridge, all of it measured and mapped while the tide drops and the sky flattens. She thinks if she documents it, it's controlled.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday meal and supply boat prep

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table with a pot of limpet broth and the last of the corned beef. The tide is low. Through the window, the supply boat's smoke is visible on the horizon, earlier than expected. The ditch bag sits packed by the door. Jenny's ankle is propped on a stool, the new pen line stark against swollen skin.

Kevin and Jenny attempted to contact the supply boat via shortwave and VHF radio but received only a garbled broadcast about a mainland court case instead of a response from the captain. The barometer continued to fall, confirming deteriorating weather ahead of the boat's arrival.

🔧 Kevin09:20

Boat's early. Smoke on the horizon.

walk to the porch and raise binoculars to eyes

💭 thought

Boat's early. Two hours ahead of high tide. Captain's either running from weather or running to it. Either way, the window's tighter than promised.

🌿 Jenny09:21

Check the radio. I need to confirm the window.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the ankle shifts, and grab the radio log from the table.

💭 thought

If they're early, I can get the replacement impeller before the tide raises the sandbar again.

🔧 Kevin09:22

Sit. I'll key it.

set binoculars on porch rail, walk back to kitchen, pick up radio handset, press transmit button

💭 thought

She's moving too fast for that ankle. The line's already past where she marked it this morning.

🌿 Jenny09:23

Tell them I'm ready to help load if they need the dinghy.

Shift my weight from one foot to the other, watching the red line on my ankle darken with swelling.

💭 thought

This is it. Twelve days waiting, and now he's making decisions for me again.

🔧 Kevin09:24

Supply boat, this is Sorrel Island. Confirming your position. Over.

hold transmit button, wait for static to clear

💭 thought

She'll tear the wound open hauling lines. The infection's tracking upward — I can see the heat radiating from here.

🌿 Jenny09:25

I can't hear them yet, but I'm on the frequency.

Lean against the whitewashed stone wall, watching the smoke trail against the grey sky.

💭 thought

If they don't answer, the seeds are going to rot in that tin.

🔧 Kevin09:26

Switching to VHF. Channel 16.

set shortwave handset down, pick up handheld VHF, press transmit, speak clearly

💭 thought

Radio's picking up nothing but atmospheric noise. Either they're not transmitting or the aerial's still shot. Boat's close enough for VHF though.

🌿 Jenny09:27

Sorrel Island to Supply Boat. We see your Signal on the horizon. Confirm ETA.

Hold the radio tight, my knuckles white, waiting for the crackle of a response to break the silence.

💭 thought

The salt Air is thick today, but that smoke is cutting through.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Supply boat arrival and cargo transfer

The supply boat rounds the headland into the lee of the island, engine throttling down. A launch is lowered. Kevin stands on the dock with the dinghy tied off beside him, ready to ferry loads. Jenny sits on the porch with her ankle elevated, the red line on her leg now faint against angry red skin spreading upward. The wind is freshening, whitecaps on the channel. The boat's captain waves — early, he shouts, before the weather closes in.

The sun beats down on the cottage as the humidity rises, despite the clear dry season sky. Jenny sits on the porch, her ankle throbbing with a hot pulse, the redness creeping slightly past the line she marked this morning. Kevin returns from the dock, sweat streaking his brow, having confirmed with the crewman that the supply boat is on schedule for a tomorrow arrival.

🌿 Jenny09:29

Kevin, get the antibiotics first! And the radio aerial parts!

Stand up slowly, leaning heavily on the way cane, and wave toward the dock.

💭 thought

They're actually here, but the wind is turning faster than the barometer predicted.

🔧 Kevin09:29

Sit down, Jen. I'll handle the offload. You — stay put.

walk down the dock to meet the launch, securing the bow line to the forward cleat as the crewman jumps across

💭 thought

Supply boat's early. Good. But the wind's freshening and that launch won't like the chop building on the channel. Jenny shouldn't be on her feet — infection's tracking up despite the antibiotics. Need to get the critical stores off first: medical supplies, radio parts, then food and fuel. She's waving like she's seeing off a cruise liner. Stubborn woman.

🌿 Jenny09:31

I can see the boat, Kevin! Just check the med kit first!

way back down on the way chair, wincing as the weight shifts on my ankle, and watch the crates being hauled.

💭 thought

He acts like I'm made of glass, but the infection is still moving.

🔧 Kevin09:31

First crate coming up. Med kit's marked with red tape. I'll check it before it leaves the launch.

reach for the first crate as the launch rises on a swell, hauling it aboard the dock and flipping the latch to inspect contents

💭 thought

She's not listening. Never does when it matters. The launch is pitching hard — crewman's struggling with the first crate. Need to get hands on that med kit before the swell worsens. Radio aerial parts next. Rest can wait.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening prep for boat arrival

The tide is rising against the pilings, and the air is growing heavy with the coming heat.

Kevin and Jenny spent the evening at the old shrine as the wind howled through the palms. Jenny's ankle remains swollen and throbbing, requiring further rest while they wait for the supply boat arrival in four days.

🔧 Kevin09:32

(to himself) Right then. Dock first. Radio second. Rest when the boat's tied up.

Walk down the ridge path toward the dock, checking the mooring ring and pilings as I go.

💭 thought

Tide's coming up fast. Need the dock clear before they arrive — pallets stacked, lines coiled, radio mast clear. My ankle's throbbing but the list is longer than the hours left.

🌿 Jenny09:33

Don't forget the salt line, the tide is coming higher than it looks.

Sit on a weathered stone at the shrine, tracing the worn carving of a name with a thumb while nursing my throbbing ankle.

💭 thought

He's treating the boat arrival like a checklist, but the island doesn't care about his timeline.

🔧 Kevin09:35

"Yeah, thanks for the heads-up." (I move past her toward the dock, my palm pressing into the brace)

Walk the shoreline, stopping at the base of the south pilings to check the tide line against yesterday's mark, then head uphill toward the cottage to grab the spare rope.

💭 thought

She's right. Tide's already lapping the lower pilings. Should've checked before making that radio call. Her ankle's worse than I remembered — she's been working too hard.

🌿 Jenny09:35

Four days. If the wind holds.

Take the antibiotic cream from the kit and apply a thick layer of the poultice to the swollen area of the ankle.

💭 thought

He's always moving to the next task while I'm stuck watching my skin turn angry red.

🔧 Kevin09:36

Wind won't hold. Barometer's dropped six millibars since noon. They'll be lucky to make the window tomorrow.

Keep walking toward the cottage, grabbing the coil of new half-inch rope from under the eaves on my way past, then head down to the dock to double the bow and stern springs before the tide peaks.

💭 thought

Four days if the wind holds. That's what the crewman said too. But the barometer's falling and the sky's gone flat. She's reapplying the poultice again — that's the third time today. The infection line hasn't moved since morning but the heat coming off it hasn't dropped either.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night of Rest

The wind picks up as the sun disappears, forcing you both back to the cottage for the night.

Night deepened with the barometer steady at 1008 hPa. Kevin monitored the radio through static and distant Spanish trawler chatter while Jenny iced her ankle and sketched the north ridge slump. Neither heard from the supply boat or Tom before sleep took them.

🌿 Jenny09:37

I'm going to ice it. Don't wake me if the radio cracks.

Sit on the edge of the kitchen chair, lift the ankle onto a stool, and wrap a cold pack in a damp cloth.

💭 thought

My own is a drum tonight, and he won't even look at the way it's red.

🔧 Kevin09:38

Wake you if it's the boat. Or Tom.

pull the wool blanket from the hook, drape it over her shoulders, then move to the radio shelf and key the mic for the 2200 check — static, Spanish trawler chatter, nothing from the supply boat frequency

💭 thought

The barometer's still dropping. She's right about the radio — if it cracks tonight it'll be static or that garbled mainland broadcast again. But I'll listen anyway. Always do.

🌿 Jenny09:39

The static is loud tonight.

Lean back against the stone wall and close my eyes, letting the cold of the pack sink into the skin.

💭 thought

He's checking the radio so he doesn't have to check the leg.

🔧 Kevin09:40

Front moving. Pressure's 1002 now.

glance at the barometer on the bulkhead, then set the radio to scan and pull the chair opposite her, boots thumping onto the stove hearth

💭 thought

She hears it too. The static's got a different quality — lower, heavier. Front pushing through. Not just atmospherics.

🌿 Jenny09:41

It always drops right before the boat arrives.

Reach for the notebook on the table and sketch a quick, jagged line of the north ridge slump.

💭 thought

1002. The air is already changing, heavy like lead.

🔧 Kevin09:43

Boat's not the cause. Front is. Boat just rides the window.

reach for the tin mug on the shelf, pour the last of the lukewarm coffee, and slide it across the table to her without asking

💭 thought

She's tracking the slope in her head while I track the pressure. Different instruments, same storm.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Found: soil pH map with red wax marks.

item · dawn

Jenny planted sea beet seedlings in a documented weep zone (pocket seven) on the north ridge where slope is undermining

discovery · dawn

Jenny's ankle infection has spread past her marked boundary line

discovery · dawn

The shortwave crackles with a voice, or static, at an odd hour.

radio_voice · morning

infection boundary has spread past previous marked line on ankle

discovery · morning

supply boat confirmed for tomorrow high tide, 2-hour window

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

supply boat visible on horizon with smoke trail but not responding to radio calls on shortwave or VHF channel 16

discovery · midday

ankle infection has spread past the pen-marked boundary despite first dose of dual antibiotics

discovery · midday

Supply boat is low on fuel, limiting heavy cargo capacity.

discovery · afternoon

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Quick, jagged line of the north ridge slump".

made · night

← Day 939 Day 941 →

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