Day 980

Radio Silence and Rising Infection

Dawn found Kevin at the kitchen table with the shortwave, dialing 2182 as grey light pushed through the windows. Jenny sat on the porch bench, ankle elevated on a folded blanket, the sea beet poultice steaming under gauze. The barometer read 1001 hPa and falling. Kevin called the supply boat, then Tom's frequency — only static and a garbled news fragment about an escape in Argentina. He walked the dock and dinghy lines; the storm anchor held, the dinghy was secure, but the generator fuel line wept diesel at the tank bracket rub point. Jenny sketched sea beet salt gland gradients from her north ridge transect data while monitoring her ankle. By midday the barometer stood at 1000 hPa steady. Kevin confirmed the fuel line air leak persisted despite the clamp. Jenny changed her dressing; the infection boundary had not expanded. She took her trimethoprim dose. In the afternoon Kevin replaced the weeping fuel line and battened the loose garden tarp corner in driving rain. The generator steadied. Evening brought the barometer to 997 hPa, falling fast. Kevin keyed the mic on 2182 to confirm the 0640 high tide arrival — only static. Jenny's ankle burned hot past the marked boundary, pulsing. Kevin gave her a metronidazole tablet. Night fell, wind shifting north, barometer holding at 996 hPa. Kevin monitored the radio through darkness as the needle dropped to 994 hPa. The supply boat was confirmed for 0640 with medical crate and replacement impeller. Both managed only fitful rest as rain hammered the shutters.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Dawn radio contact and wound check

Kevin sits at the kitchen table with the shortwave radio, dialing 2182 as grey light pushes through the windows. Jenny is propped on the porch bench, ankle elevated on a folded blanket, the old sea beet poultice steaming faintly under the gauze. The barometer needle has dropped to 1001 hPa since yesterday, and the tide is falling with a low suck against the dock pilings.

Kevin attempted to contact the supply boat on 2182 and then Tom's frequency, but received only static and a fragment of a news broadcast. The barometer continues to fall, now at 1001 hPa, indicating deteriorating weather. No response was received from either the supply vessel or Tom.

🌿 Jenny03:40

Is the radio catching anything on Tom's frequency?

ignore the throbbing in my leg and sketch a quick diagram of the sea runner leaves in the margin of my notebook.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping again. If the storm hits, the boat won't come, and I'll lose the whole harvest.

🔧 Kevin03:44

Supply boat first. Tom's frequency after.

Dial 2182 on the shortwave radio, adjust squelch, key the mic. "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel on 2182. Over."

💭 thought

She's asking about Tom again. The radio's been dead on his frequency for weeks — just static and the occasional skip from a Portuguese trawler. I should check it anyway, but the supply boat comes first. 2182 is the priority frequency. If the captain doesn't answer, we've got nothing but the barometer and the falling tide.

🌿 Jenny03:44

Jenny — lean forward to listen to the radio hiss, my pencil hovering over the paper.

💭 thought

Static. Just static and the sound of the wind. Please say they're close.

🔧 Kevin03:46

(nothing, holding the mic, waiting)

Keep the mic keyed, ear to the speaker, watching the S-meter needle for any flicker of life. "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel on 2182. Over."

💭 thought

The speaker coughs static. Grey sky, falling barometer, tide sucking at the pilings. If the captain doesn't answer, the window's a lie. My shoulder throbs from hauling spruce. Jenny's pencil hovers — she's recording this like data. She always records.

🌿 Jenny03:47

Jenny — shift uncomfortably on the bench, pull a fresh strip of gauze from the medical kit and place it beside the ankle.

💭 thought

The poultice is burning. I need to switch it. The red line's crossed now, past mid-calf.

🔧 Kevin03:48

Nothing on 2182. I'll try Tom's frequency.

Switch the radio to Tom's call sign frequency, adjust the tuning knob, key the mic. "Tom, this is Kevin. Over."

💭 thought

Nothing but white noise and the barometer dropping. Captain said tomorrow 0640 high tide, weather permitting. Weather's not permitting. Jenny's prepping gauze for a wound that crossed the marker line yesterday. She's not saying it's worse. She's just doing the work.

🌿 Jenny03:48

Jenny — hold my breath, watching the radio dial for any sign of a voice through the static.

💭 thought

If Tom doesn't answer, I'm going to lose it. The pressure is too low.

🔧 Kevin03:50

Nothing on Tom's frequency either.

Set the mic back in its clip, reach for the tin mug of lukewarm coffee on the table, wrap cold fingers around it.

💭 thought

Static. Just static. Tom's frequency swallows the call. Thirteen days past his birthday and the radio's never answered. The barometer sits at 1001 and the tide's still falling. Jenny's holding her breath like the air between us carries a signal it doesn't.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Morning dressing change and supply boat watch

Kevin and Jenny are at the kitchen table. The barometer reads 1001 hPa and falling. Kevin has just returned from checking the dock and generator. Jenny's ankle is unwrapped for the scheduled dressing change. The trimethoprim dose is ready in a tin mug. The shortwave radio sits on the table, volume up, tuned to 2182. Outside, the wind is rising from the southwest, and the tide is falling.

Kevin walked the dock and dinghy lines, finding the storm anchor warp holding and the dinghy secure, but noted the generator fuel line still weeping diesel at the tank bracket rub point. Jenny remained at the cottage, completing a detailed sketch of sea beet salt gland gradients from her north ridge transect data while monitoring her ankle for infection spread.

🌿 Jenny03:51

The barometer is dropping faster than this morning. We need to secure the dinghy again before the tide turns.

Unwraps the gauze from her ankle, winces slightly at the pressure, and begins applying the fresh sea much and mint poultice to the wound.

💭 thought

Four days until the boat. If it doesn't come, I'll be out of antibiotics before the infection reaches the bone. My hands are shaking again.

🔧 Kevin03:52

Take the trimethoprim first. Two tablets with the broth.

Slide the tin mug across the table toward her, then pick up the handheld VHF and key 2182 again.

💭 thought

She's right about the barometer and the dinghy. Wind's backing southwest, pressure falling — this isn't just a squall building. But her ankle looks worse than the marker line. The infection's tracking. She needs the antibiotic down her before we do anything else.

🌿 Jenny03:52

I know. I'm taking them.

Swallows the tablets with the warm broth, then reaches for her notebook to sketch the cell structure of the sea beet leaves she just applied.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the radio he doesn't see the way the red line is moving. I'm tired of even holding the pencil.

🔧 Kevin03:58

Ankle up on the chair. Let me rewrap it proper.

Set the VHF down, pick up the clean gauze roll and tape, and move to her side to re-dress the ankle.

💭 thought

Good. Meds down. Now the ankle — she's sketching instead of watching the wound. The poultice needs to stay in place, gauze tight, elevation. And the dinghy still needs doubling if the swell picks up on the tide turn.

🌿 Jenny03:58

Okay. It's tight.

Lifts her leg up on the edge of the chair and watches as he wraps the gauze around the poultice.

💭 thought

His hands are always steadier than mine. I wish I could stop feeling the throb for just five minutes.

🔧 Kevin04:00

Done. Keep it up. No weight on it.

Tape off the gauze, set the roll aside, and pick up the VHF to scan 2182 again.

💭 thought

Wrap's clean, tension even. She's not flinching much — either the pain's dulled or she's used to hiding it. The red line I marked yesterday is gone under the swelling. Infection's still spreading. Need to watch for heat, streaking. Trimethoprim's in her now, metronidazole next dose. If the fever spikes again before the boat...

🌿 Jenny04:00

I'll stay put.

Leans back against the chair, watching the static on the radio screen while the wind picks up outside the stone walls.

💭 thought

No weight. Right. As if I could actually walk to the test pits if I had to.

🔧 Kevin04:02

Radio's dead. I'm walking the dock and dinghy lines before the tide turns. Back in twenty.

Pull the porch door shut behind me and head down the path to the dock.

💭 thought

Static's all we're getting. Boat's not in range yet, or they're not transmitting. Barometer at 1001 and falling — southwest wind rising. Could be another twelve hours before they make the passage. She needs rest, fluids, the next antibiotic dose on schedule. I need to secure the dinghy bow and stern before the tide turns and the swell wraps the point. Generator fuel line's still weeping. Dock's holding but the greenheart sister planks need checking at low water.

🌿 Jenny04:02

Be careful on the pilings.

Picks up the pencil and begins own the gland density gradient of the sea beet leaves on the notebook page.

💭 thought

The wind is picking up. If that boat doesn't show up in this weather, we're stuck with this island and these twelve pills.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday radio contact and supply boat prep

Kevin returns from the dock as the tide begins to turn. The handheld VHF sits on the table, scanned to 2182. Jenny's ankle is elevated on the chair, the sea beet poultice fresh. The barometer reads 1000 hPa steady. They have a few hours before the supply boat's confirmed 0640 high tide arrival tomorrow.

Kevin inspected the generator fuel line and confirmed a persistent air leak at the tank bracket rub point despite the clamp. Jenny changed her ankle dressing, noting the infection boundary had not expanded, and took her trimethoprim dose. Both worked quietly as the barometer continued to fall and wind freshened from the southeast.

🔧 Kevin04:06

Barometer's steady. Tide's on the turn. Ankle look any better?

walk to the kitchen, pick up the handheld VHF, check battery level, set it back on the table facing 2182

💭 thought

Tide's turning. Barometer holding at 1000 — maybe the slide's stopped. Jenny's ankle poultice is fresh, leg up. Few hours of daylight left before tomorrow's 0640 window. Need to secure what I can tonight: generator fuel line, garden tarp corners, dinghy chafe points. And check the shortwave one more time on Tom's frequency. He didn't answer this morning. Might not tomorrow either. But I'll try.

🌿 Jenny04:06

The boundary hasn't moved. It just... throbs.

Adjust the gauze on my ankle, wincing slightly through my teeth as the fabric shifts, then reach for the glass of water.

💭 thought

He's checking the leg again, but he's really checking the clock and the wind.

🔧 Kevin04:08

Good. Holding the line. Trimethoprim's doing its job. Take the water. I'll check the generator line and the tarp corners before dark.

walk to the generator shed, inspect the marine-grade fuel line at the tank bracket rub point, assess the weep and air bubbles

💭 thought

Boundary holding. That's something. Throbbing means blood flow, inflammation — not spreading. Trimethoprim's had twelve hours to work. She's tough. Tougher than me.

🌿 Jenny04:08

Be careful with the tarp. The wind's picking up.

Take a slow sip of the water, eyes fixed on the sketch of the sea beet morphology in my notebook.

💭 thought

He's so worried about the machinery, he doesn't see the salt creeping.

🔧 Kevin04:14

Always careful. Generator line first — if she sucks air overnight we lose the battery charge for tomorrow's radio.

crouch at the generator, wipe the clear fuel line section clean, watch for bubble frequency, test the clamp tightness at the tank bracket with fingers

💭 thought

Wind picking up. She feels it in the ankle before I hear it in the rigging. Smart to watch the sketches instead of the weather — one she can control, the other she can't.

🌿 Jenny04:15

Don't forget the south stakes. The wind is getting heavy.

Lean back against the chair, watching him work through the window as the grey clouds thicken over the ridge.

💭 thought

If the generator dies, we're sitting in the dark when the boat comes.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening radio check and storm securing

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table as dusk presses against the windows. The handheld VHF sits charged on 2182. The generator runs rough, sucking air. Outside, the wind drives rain sideways against the cottage. The garden tarp flaps loose at the south corner. The supply boat is due at high tide tomorrow — 0640 — if the weather holds.

Kevin replaced the generator's weeping fuel line and battened the loose garden tarp corner in the rain, while Jenny re-dressed her ankle and monitored the infection boundary. The generator held steady after the repair, and the tarp was secured against the rising wind.

🔧 Kevin04:17

Generator's sucking air steady. Going to swap the fuel line before it dies on us. Be back in twenty.

walk to generator shed, retrieve crimp tool and spare marine-grade fuel line from shelf

💭 thought

Generator's still breathing air. That fuel line split at the bracket rub won't seal itself. If the engine dies overnight we lose the radio, the pump, heat. Spare line's on the shelf. Crimp tool in the drawer. Twenty minutes work before full dark. Jenny's ankle hasn't crossed the line again. Fever's holding. She needs rest more than she needs me hovering.

🌿 Jenny04:17

Watch the worldps, don't over-tighten.

Trace the sketch of the sea beet morphology in the notebook with a thumb.

💭 thought

If that generator fails, we lose the light and the pump. I'm too tired to help him fix it.

🔧 Kevin04:22

Never do. Twenty minutes.

disconnect the weeping fuel line at the tank bracket, catch the diesel drip in a rag, fit the fresh line and crimp the ferrule with measured pressure

💭 thought

She's watched me work on engines since the first month. Knows the torque by feel. Her thumb on the sketch — she's still recording, still seeing patterns. The ankle's not taking her mind.

🌿 Jenny04:23

(no response)

Re-wrap the ankle dressing with fresh gauze while Kevin works, then set aside.

💭 thought

The crimp holds clean, no diesel smell near the joint. Good work.

🔧 Kevin04:24

Holding. Engine note's clean.

wipe hands on rag, check the generator belt tension while the engine runs, then walk back to the cottage porch

💭 thought

Line's seated clean. No bubbles at the ferrule. Generator note deepened — running on all cylinders now. She didn't look up from the dressing. Hands steady on the gauze. Good.

🌿 Jenny04:24

Keep an eye on the pressure.

Lean back against the whitewashed stone, watching the rain blur the garden.

💭 thought

At least the power is steady for now. My ankle is screaming.

🔧 Kevin04:26

Tarp's loose at the south corner. Going to batten it before the gusts tear it.

grab two timber battens and a mallet from under the eaves, walk into the rain toward the garden

💭 thought

Pressure's steady. She's watching the tarp corner flap loose at the south edge — saw it from the shed. That'll shred before morning if the wind holds. She knows. She's waiting to see if I'll go or stay at the table.

🌿 Jenny04:26

Watch out for the stakes, the ground is slick.

Watch him from the porch, clutching the notebook to my chest.

💭 thought

He's going to get soaked. The wind is too sharp for that.

🔧 Kevin04:28

Angled. Not straight.

drive the first batten stake at a forty-five into the clay behind the flapping tarp corner, hook the tarp grommet over it, hammer it home, move to the second corner

💭 thought

Ground's slick, she's right. Clay turns to grease in this rain. The stakes hold if I drive them at an angle, not straight down. She's tracking every move from the porch. Notebook against her chest like a shield.

🌿 Jenny04:28

Hold the tension while you hammer.

Trace the line of the rain on the page.

💭 thought

He's right, the angle takes the wind's pull. My leg is throbbing in time.

🔧 Kevin04:30

Holding.

hammer the second stake home, check the center grommet isn't pooling water, walk back toward the porch shaking rain from sleeves

💭 thought

She's taught me nothing about tarps I didn't learn on deck in the Roaring Forties. But she's watched. She sees the slack take up before the stake bites. The rain's horizontal now. Second corner holds. Tarp's drum-tight.

🌿 Jenny04:30

way inside before you catch a chill.

Stand up slowly, putting weight on the good leg, and close the door.

💭 thought

At least the garden is secured for another night. I'm so cold.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening radio contact and supply boat confirmation

Kevin and Jenny are together on the cottage porch as dusk deepens. The shortwave radio sits on the table between them, aerial shattered but insulator repaired. Kevin keys the mic on 2182 to confirm the supply boat's 0640 high tide arrival. The barometer reads 997 hPa and falling fast. Rain hammers the roof. The generator hums steady in the shed.

Kevin and Jenny attempted to contact the supply boat on 2182 but received only static and a garbled news fragment about an escape in Argentina. Jenny's ankle infection has spread past the marked boundary, hot and pulsing; Kevin gave her a metronidazole tablet. The barometer holds at 996 hPa steady, tide falling, wind shifting north.

🔧 Kevin04:32

Sorrel Island calling supply vessel on two-one-eight-two. Over.

key the mic on the shortwave radio, hold it steady, wait for the carrier tone to settle

💭 thought

Barometer's dropped four millibars since I checked the generator line. Wind's backing southeast — foul quadrant. If the boat's coming at 0640, they'll need the tide and a hole in the weather. Neither's guaranteed. Key the mic. Keep it short. They hear static, they hear me.

🌿 Jenny04:32

The wind is turning north, Kevin. Check the barometer again.

lean back against the stone wall, shifting weight off the throbbing ankle, watch the rain hit the half-weed garden.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; if that boat doesn't make the window, we'll be sitting in the dark for another week.

🔧 Kevin04:36

(into mic) Sorrel Island calling supply vessel. Confirm zero-six-four-zero high tide arrival. Barometer nine-nine-seven falling. Over.

release the mic, glance at the barometer needle, listen through the static for a reply

💭 thought

She's right. Wind backing north means the low's tracking closer than I thought. Barometer's already 997. If it drops another five before midnight, the boat won't risk the crossing. Need to hear the captain's voice. Static's thick tonight.

🌿 Jenny04:37

Kevin, the generator fuel line—DO: press thumb against the infection boundary marked in pen, watch the barometer needle dip another point, then reach for the notebook where I've been sketching the sea beet salt gland gradients.

💭 thought

Nine-nine-seven and falling fast. Three days without sleep, and this infection won't wait.

🔧 Kevin04:38

(low, off-mic) Line's holding. Replaced the hose at the bracket. No air in the bowl.

set the mic down, pick up the notebook, turn to the sea beet sketches, study the gland density gradients she mapped across the elevation zones

💭 thought

Generator line held after the repair. Clamp's tight, no weep. She's watching the barometer like she watches the infection line — same focus, different gauges. Needle's trembling at 996. Radio's dead quiet. Captain might not be listening. Might not be able to cross.

🌿 Jenny04:38

Check the ankle again. The poultice is getting warm.

sit up with a groan, reach for the sea beet poultice, peel back the gauze to check the boundary for redness.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, I'm going to run out of strength before that tin of seedsization sees soil.

🔧 Kevin04:40

Hold still.

take the mag light from the porch hook, angle it over her ankle, compare the red margin to the pen line, check for heat and swelling with the back of my hand

💭 thought

Poultice warming means blood's moving. Could be the trimethoprim kicking in, could be the infection fighting back. She's learned to read her own body like I read an engine — sound, heat, vibration. I've got the mag light. The pen mark from this morning's still visible. If the red's past it, we up the dose. If not, we hold.

🌿 Jenny04:41

It's spreading. I can feel it pulsing with each step.

watch Kevin's fingers trace the infection boundary, see the pen line that held for six hours finally giving way to the red margin creeping past it, then close the notebook and set it aside.

💭 thought

Three millimeters. Just three millimeters more and this whole island will be too much for me.

🔧 Kevin04:42

Past the line. Hot. Pulse's up.

reach for the medical kit, pull the metronidazole blister pack from the oilcloth wrapper, tap out a tablet, hold it out to her with the tin mug of water

💭 thought

Red line's jumped the mark. Two millimetres past the pen line, hot to touch, pulse thready and fast under my fingers. Trimethoprim's not covering this. Need the metronidazole on board — anaerobic coverage. Supply boat's got it. If they come. If the weather holds. If the barometer stops falling. She's not panicking. That's the part that tightens my chest.

🌿 Jenny04:42

I know.

take the tablet from his hand, take a sip of the lukewarm water, watch the rain blur the half-weed garden.

💭 thought

I'm too tired to even swallow properly. If the boat is late again, grandmother's seeds will rot in that tin.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night watch and first light radio

Night has fallen full. The wind is north and steady, driving rain against the shutters. The barometer holds at 996 hPa. Kevin sits at the radio with the mic in hand, Jenny lies on the porch bench with the ankle elevated. The supply boat is due at 0640 high tide. First light is three hours away.

Kevin monitored the radio through the night as the barometer dropped to 994 hPa, confirming the supply boat's 0640 high tide arrival. Jenny's ankle infection spread past the marked boundary despite the sea beet poultice, running hot and pulsing. Both managed only fitful rest as wind rose against the shutters.

🌿 Jenny04:44

Check the radio again in an hour. The static is getting worse.

Apply fresh sea beet poultice to the ankle and wrap with clean gauze.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, I won't have the strength to dig those pits tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin04:44

Hour it is. Generator's clean. Tarp corners holding.

set mic back on hook, walk to porch table and check barometer reading again, sit on edge of bench near Jenny's feet and rest forearms on knees, listen to wind on shutters

💭 thought

The static's thickening with the falling pressure. She's right — another hour won't hurt, and the generator's holding steady on the new fuel line. My shoulder's throbbing from the tarp work but the anchor held.

🌿 Jenny04:46

It's getting heavy. Can you feel the heat there?

Reach out and touch the skin around the bandage, feeling the warmth radiating from the infection.

💭 thought

The barometer is still dropping; the island doesn't care about our schedule.

🔧 Kevin04:46

Edge held at noon. Hasn't blown past the line since. You'd tell me.

reach over and rest back of hand lightly on her calf above the wrap, feeling for heat without disturbing the dressing, hold it there a moment

💭 thought

She's tracking it herself. Good. The boundary I marked at noon — she's checking if it's crossed. My fingers are still numb from the mallet work.

🌿 Jenny04:48

It's still too hot, Kevin. It's spreading.

Pull my hand away and look out at the rain, watching the bucket fill.

💭 thought

It's moving. I can feel the pulse under my palm.

🔧 Kevin04:48

Next dose in four hours. We watch.

pull hand back to my knee, reach for the tin mug of lukewarm coffee on the porch table, drink half in one swallow, set it down hard

💭 thought

She pulled away. Not the heat — me. The metronidazole's only been in her system six hours. Trimethoprim twelve. They need time. But the spread doesn't lie.

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What changed

Jenny is well again.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a diagram: "The sea runner leaves in the margin of my notebook".

made · dawn

A pod of dolphins passes close off the point.

dolphins · dawn

a pod of dolphins passed close off the point during the radio attempts

discovery · dawn

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · morning

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock.

fish_run · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · midday

generator fuel line clamp at tank bracket is not sealing despite tightening; hairline split requires proper crimp fitting or replacement line

discovery · midday

ankle infection boundary has not expanded since morning; trimethoprim appears to be holding the line

discovery · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · afternoon

A tool has broken from wear.

tool_break · afternoon

shortwave propagation poor or supply boat not yet in range; only garbled news fragment received

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

supply boat confirmed for 0640 high tide arrival with medical crate and replacement impeller aboard

discovery · night

infection has breached the marked boundary despite poultice and antibiotics

discovery · night

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 979 Day 981 →

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