Day 986

The Supply Boat and the Shrine

"Nothing on the horizon. They've got thirty minutes on the high tide," Kevin said.

Kevin stood at the cottage window in oilskins, binoculars raised, scanning grey water for the supply boat. The barometer held at 976 hPa. Jenny sat on the porch bench, her splinted ankle elevated, a sea-beet poultice steaming under clean gauze, trimethoprim blister pack and mug of broth beside her. The shade cloth over the garden flapped at two torn anchors where the coconut crab struck yesterday. Warm, intermittent rain fell on the roof.

"Nothing on the horizon. They've got thirty minutes on the high tide," Kevin said.

"They'll push through if they have to. The manifest mentioned antibiotics - amoxicillin-clavulanate, not just trimethoprim. Better coverage," Jenny said.

Kevin rowed the dinghy to meet the boat at high tide and returned with cargo: antibiotics, a replacement Yanmar impeller, radio parts, tools, two sealed diesel drums. They sorted everything on the kitchen table against the manifest while rain hammered the tarp over the garden.

Midday brought a break in the rain. Kevin walked the intercept trench line along the north ridge garden and found French drain outlets mostly clear, though gravel had slumped at the lowest daylights. Jenny retrieved a displaced soil marker flag from the north slope — coconut crab had dragged it toward the tide pools — and pinned it back with a washer. She checked the shrine area for moisture damage.

In the afternoon, they sat at the kitchen table with cold coffee. Barometer steady at 977 hPa. A fish run moved in the shallows off the dock. Kevin's trench notes and Jenny's seed packets spread between them.

"After tide turns. Need to check something at the shrine first - might affect morning's work," Jenny said, pushing seed packets toward him. "And Kevin? We need to talk about the antibiotics."

"After tide turns, then. Gravel's staged at the eaves. What about the antibiotics?"

"(quietly) They're what we need. The culture grew something resistant to trimethoprim."

"Show me."

Jenny revealed she had been documenting Elena's heirloom seeds from a second tin at the shrine — seeds from the same region as grandmother's, planted during the war, a line that died out. The ankle infection culture showed trimethoprim resistance, making the amoxicillin-clavulanate critical. The blue clay layer at pocket seven, pH 6.2, had preserved Elena's seeds decades underground and allowed Jenny's infection to take hold.

Evening brough

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning watch and supply boat watch

Kevin stands at the cottage window in oilskins, binoculars raised, scanning the grey water for the supply boat while the barometer holds at 976 hPa. Jenny sits on the porch bench with her splinted ankle elevated on a cushion, a fresh sea-beet poultice steaming under clean gauze, the trimethoprim blister pack and a mug of broth beside her. The shade cloth over the garden flaps at two torn anchors where the coconut crab struck yesterday, and the rain falls warm and intermittent on the roof.

Kevin rowed the dinghy to meet the supply boat at high tide, successfully retrieving the cargo including antibiotics, a replacement Yanmar impeller, and other critical supplies. Jenny remained at the cottage, reinforcing the shade cloth anchors with greenheart stakes and planting grandmother's heirloom seeds in pocket seven before the rain intensified.

🔧 Kevin10:20

Nothing on the horizon. They've got thirty minutes on the high tide.

Lower binoculars, wipe rain from lenses with sleeve, turn back to the kitchen to check the ditch bag contents one more time.

💭 thought

Boat's late. Barometer holding steady at 976 but the sky's got that bruised look — front sitting offshore, not moving. If they miss the high-tide window, I row the race at slack. Two hours each way. Engine's ready. Jenny gets the antibiotics either way.

🌿 Jenny10:22

They'll push through if they have to. The manifest mentioned antibiotics - amoxicillin-clavulanate, not just trimethoprim. Better coverage.

check the poultice gauze for saturation, reaching for the fresh wrap without looking up from the broth mug, fingers brushing the trimethoprim blister pack before retreating it to the medical kit.

💭 thought

Thirty minutes on high tide means they're counting on the barometer holding, but 976 hPa is a warning sign. Kevin's voice carries that careful neutrality he has - like he's calculating probabilities rather than expressing concern. The poultice is steaming in this warm rain, drawing out what salt and infection I can't afford to lose to.

🔧 Kevin10:22

Manifest's right. Captain said two full courses aboard. Trimethoprim's backup.

Step to the porch rail, pull the oilskin hood lower, scan the channel again — south first, then north around the headland where the boat hugs the coast in bad weather.

💭 thought

She knows the manifest better than I do. Amoxicillin-clavulanate covers what trimethoprim misses. Good. Means the trust listened to the radio report on the ankle.

🌿 Jenny10:24

Good. The impeller's the priority - she overheats on the generator when she runs long shifts." (I shift slightly on the bench, the splint clicking against the cushion, then gesture toward the garden where the shade cloth flaps at torn anchors) "And the crab's still getting into the seed packets. Need to reinforce those anchors before the next squall.

💭 thought

Two full courses aboard - Kevin's heard the manifest details but doesn't ask why I needed to plant grandmother's seeds before the boat came. The poultice is working - the heat's receded to a dull throb, but I can't afford complacency with that barometer reading.

🔧 Kevin10:24

Impeller's in the ditch bag. Generator shed's latched. Crab gets the anchors after I'm back — if I'm back before dark.

Turn from the rail, walk to the kitchen table, pick up the ditch bag and heft it — checking weight distribution, feeling for the impeller box through the canvas.

💭 thought

Impeller first. Generator runs the radio, the pump, the freezer if we had one. Crab's a nuisance but the garden's holding. Anchors can wait until after the crossing.

🌿 Jenny10:26

Impeller's in the Yanmar housing already? Because the generator needs to run longer than usual with these antibiotics coming aboard." (I lift my mug slightly, the broth growing cold against my lips) "And the shrine - there's something I should show you. It's about the island's plants, not just my promise to grandmother.

shift the splint slightly to test the ankle's response, then gesture toward the cottage door where the carved spruce stick leans against the wall, the maple leaf I carved into its handle still visible despite the rain.

💭 thought

The impeller's secured and the crab damage needs attention, but I'm still wondering why he didn't ask about the shrine when he had the ditch bag open. The poultice has cooled to room temperature now - good sign the inflammation's receding.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · morning

Unloading and inventory at the cottage

Kevin ties off the dinghy at the dock and carries the supply bags up the path to the cottage porch where Jenny waits under the eaves. The rain hammers the heavy canvas tarp over the garden. They begin sorting the cargo on the kitchen table — antibiotics, impeller, radio parts, tools — checking each item against the manifest while the barometer holds at 976 hPa.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🔧 Kevin10:27

Manifest's clean. Impeller, antibiotics, radio parts, tools. Two diesel drums on the dock. Coffee's still hot if you want it.

set the supply bags on the kitchen table and start pulling items out one by one, lining them up beside the manifest sheet

💭 thought

Impeller box checks out. Antibiotics sealed in oilcloth. Radio parts present. Manifest matches. Hands still sting but the load's light now. Barometer steady means the front's holding offshore — for now.

🌿 Jenny10:28

"Coffee's cold now. But thank God you got through." (I move to the kitchen table, already reaching for the medical kit to check the antibiotic blister packs)

check antibiotic blister packs against medical kit while Kevin sorts diesel drums

💭 thought

The barometer's falling faster than I thought - 976 now and dropping. Kevin's methodical, checking each item against the manifest like he's verifying soil layers. His shoulder still has that slight favor when he lifts heavy things. I need to get those antibiotics unloaded before the rain gets worse and the garden tarp holds.

🔧 Kevin10:28

Drums are full and sealed. Need to get them up to the generator shed before the tide drops. Back in twenty.

grab the hand pump and a length of clean hose from the porch, head down the path to the dock to offload the two diesel drums from the dinghy and haul them up to the generator shed

💭 thought

She's moving on the ankle. Good. Coffee can wait. Diesel drums need chocking before the tide turns — saw the swell building on the run back.

🌿 Jenny10:30

I'll start the impeller change. The fuel line's been weeping - need to check if this new housing seals properly.

begin Yanmar impeller housing disassembly while Kevin is at the dock, checking fuel line connections and preparing workspace with clean tools

💭 thought

Twenty minutes might as well be an hour with this barometer dropping. I need to start the Yanmar impeller swap now while I have daylight, and I should verify those antibiotics are what we actually need for the infection - not just what the manifest says.

🔧 Kevin10:30

Crowbar's on the porch if the shed latch jams. New marine hose on the workbench if the old one's gone.

wrestle the first diesel drum up the slick path from the dock, using the hand truck staged under the eaves, muscles burning through the cold

💭 thought

She knows the engine. Better she does the impeller — my hands are shot for fine work today. Drums first. Generator shed door latch sticks; need the crowbar.

🌿 Jenny10:32

"Hose is staged on the workbench - I'll get the new marine fittings ready when I come up with the impeller housing bolts." (I grab the marine-grade hose from the workbench, checking for cracks)

prepare new marine hose fittings while beginning impeller housing bolt removal with penetrating oil and proper technique

💭 thought

The crowbar's tip snapped off last week - I should grab a new one from the crate. And that marine hose needs replacing for real, not just staging. But first, I need to get the impeller housing housing bolts loose before the threads seize up completely.

🔧 Kevin10:32

Sawdust bin's by the generator. Spread it before you set the drum. Impeller housing bolts are 10mm — socket's in the top drawer.

manhandle the second diesel drum up the path on the hand truck, wheels catching on roots, breath ragged in the rain

💭 thought

Second drum's heavier. Tide's dropping fast — can see the weed line on the pilings. Generator shed floor's got that diesel puddle from last week; need sawdust down first.

🌿 Jenny10:34

"Got it. I'll spread sawdust under the drum." (I grab the sawdust from the generator shed, heading out to meet him with the second drum)

spread sawdust on path ahead of diesel drum while preparing impact driver to address potentially seized impeller housing bolts

💭 thought

Sawdust bin by the generator - good, that'll prevent slipping. But those 10mm bolts are stripped from yesterday's work. I need to be careful or I'll need the tap set again. The barometer's at 974 now - we're cutting it close.

🔧 Kevin10:34

Thanks. Watch the step by the porch — slick.

lean into the hand truck handles, boots sliding on wet stone, and shove the second drum up the final steep section to the generator shed door

💭 thought

She's out in the rain on a bad ankle. Should've had the sawdust ready. Should've been faster. Drum's halfway — keep moving.

🌿 Jenny10:36

"Drums are secure. I'll get the impeller housing apart while you catch your breath." (I move toward the generator shed door, checking the new marine hose fittings against the housing threads)

inspect new marine hose fittings while preparing impact driver to carefully remove potentially seized 10mm impeller housing bolts

💭 thought

That porch step gave way last winter - I should have fixed it. Now both drums are secured, and Kevin's breathing hard from the effort. The barometer's at 974 and falling fast. I need to get that impeller housing open before the threads seize completely, and I should check if the new hose has the right diameter fittings.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin walked the intercept trench line along the north ridge garden and found the French drain outlets mostly clear but with some gravel slump at the lowest daylights. Jenny retrieved a displaced soil marker flag from the north slope, pinned it back with a washer, and checked the shrine area for moisture damage.

🔧 Kevin10:38

Stove's drafting. Coffee in five.

Walk to the wood stove, add two splits of dry spruce from the stack under the eaves, check the kettle on top.

💭 thought

The cottage feels smaller with the rain on the roof. My hands are wrecked — knuckles split from the tap extraction, wrists cold from the row back. Jenny's on the porch with the blanket. She doesn't need me hovering. She needs the stove hot and the radio working.

🌿 Jenny10:38

Coffee's fine, but I need to check the draft tonight - might be carbon monoxide risk.

check wood stove flue for blockage using mirror and screwdriver, inspect chimney cap for creosote buildup, verify CO detector battery is fresh, then prepare coffee while mentally reviewing pocket seven soil amendments and drainage concerns

💭 thought

The stove's drafting means the chimney's probably blocked or the damper's stuck. Should check the flue after coffee, but first I need to verify the seed placement in pocket seven - Kevin was right about the fracture line cutting through it.

🔧 Kevin10:40

Mirror's in the top drawer. Screwdriver on the shelf. I'll check the cap from the porch roof.

Pull the stepladder from behind the door, set it on the porch boards, climb up with the screwdriver to tap the chimney cap and peer down the flue.

💭 thought

She's right. Been running it hard with the damp wood. Creosote builds fast in this cold. The detector's battery lasted the winter but that was three months ago.

🌿 Jenny10:40

Thanks. I'll check the seed trays under the tarp, make sure the drainage beds aren't holding water after yesterday's rain.

inspect seed trays for waterlogging, verify charcoal amendment layer integrity in pocket seven, check drainage trench outlets, prepare coffee while remembering to test CO detector before dark

💭 thought

He's taking the lead on the stove draft while I handle the pocket seven irrigation check. Good - means I can verify the charcoal layer tonight without him worrying about CO.

🔧 Kevin10:42

Flue's clean. Cap's cracked but holding. Detector's green.

Climb down, fold the ladder, set it back. Pour two mugs from the kettle, set one on the table beside her notebook. Take the other to the porch rail, watch the rain on the garden beds.

💭 thought

Flue's clear. Cap's got a hairline crack but drawing fine. Creosote's thin — spruce burns clean if you let it season. Detector light blinks green. Good for another month.

🌿 Jenny10:42

Good. The cap'll need replacing before the next storm. For now, I should check if the drainage trenches are still clear - yesterday's rain might've shifted the gravel.

check drainage trench outlets for sediment blockage, verify pocket seven French drain system integrity, observe tea mug warmth against notebook pages, plan charcoal amendment reinforcement

💭 thought

Clean flue, cracked cap holding, detector green - the immediate dangers are managed. But I need to verify pocket seven's drainage tonight when the soil settles.

🔧 Kevin10:44

Take the mug. I'll walk the trench line.

Set my mug on the porch rail, pull the oilskin from the hook, step out into the rain toward the garden's north end where the intercept trench meets the slope.

💭 thought

She moves different now. Ankle's better but she still tests each step. The trenches held last week but this rain's been steady. Gravel silts fast in this clay.

🌿 Jenny10:44

Stay close to the main path - those coconut crabs love to relocate hardware when it's wet. I'll check the shrine message while you work.

monitor barometer reading every fifteen minutes, inspect shade cloth anchor points for crab damage, verify shrine protection from recent moisture, prepare emergency contact protocol with radio

💭 thought

He's taking the trench inspection himself - smart, since the mud makes footing treacherous. I should monitor the barometer while he's out, and check if the shade cloth anchors held against last night's wind.

🔧 Kevin10:46

Crabs don't stick to paths. I've got the crowbar if they've moved the stakes.

Walk the intercept trench line along the north ridge garden, boots sinking in the amended soil, checking each outlet where the French drain daylights — probing with the crowbar tip for blockage, noting where gravel's washed or slumped.

💭 thought

Crabs took the washers last week. Took the cedar shims before that. They don't care about the main path. But she's watching the barometer and I'm not arguing.

🌿 Jenny10:46

Found your marker flag halfway up the slope - coconut crab dragged it toward the tide pools. Here, I'll secure it with a washer this time.

retrieve displaced soil marker flag from north slope, replace with washer-pinned stake, verify pocket seven GPS coordinates still accurate, check shrine protection from recent moisture, prepare emergency shelter protocol if barometer drops

💭 thought

He's methodical again - checking each drain outlet, noting slippage. I should verify pocket seven's weep zone markers while he's out there, make sure the red wax indicators haven't washed away in the rain.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Afternoon coffee and pocket seven planting

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table with cold coffee. The rain has stopped. Kevin's trench notes and Jenny's seed packets are spread between them. The barometer holds at 977 hPa. A fish run is still visible in the shallows off the dock.

Kevin and Jenny discussed the shrine's hidden seed tin and antibiotic resistance while the barometer held steady at 977 hPa. Jenny revealed she had been documenting Elena's heirloom seeds from a second tin at the shrine, and that the ankle infection culture showed trimethoprim resistance, making the amoxicillin-clavulanate critical. They agreed to address the trench gravel after the tide turns and Jenny would check the shrine before morning work.

🔧 Kevin10:49

Trench outlets need gravel. Two slumped. Rest clear. You want first light or after the tide turns?

sip cold coffee, eyes on the barometer, wait for her answer

💭 thought

Barometer's holding. Fish are running. Two things I don't need to explain to her — the trench held, the garden's planted. Coffee's cold but the antibiotics are in the bag. That's the math that matters today.

🌿 Jenny10:49

After tide turns. Need to check something at the shrine first - might affect morning's work." (I push the seed packets toward him, my fingers brushing the oilskin pouch where grandmother's handwriting is still visible) "And Kevin? We need to talk about the antibiotics.

reach for the medical kit on the shelf, unzip it to reveal the amoxicillin-clavulanate packets, then pause and slide it toward him without looking up

💭 thought

The barometer's steady at 977, but I can feel the island holding its breath. Trench outlets need gravel, two slumped. First light or after tide? I need antibiotics before anything else - Kevin brought back amoxicillin-clavulanate, not just trimethoprim. My ankle's still throbbing beneath the gauze. The shrine's dry, thank god. Grandmother's seeds are planted in pocket seven, charcoal layer holding. But I can't stop thinking about what I found there - not just seeds, but something else buried near the LB carving. The silence between us feels heavier now, like the island itself is waiting for me to name what's between Kevin and me.

🔧 Kevin10:50

After tide turns, then. Gravel's staged at the eaves. What about the antibiotics?

pick up the medical kit, turn the amoxicillin packets over in my hands, read the lot numbers without speaking

💭 thought

She's been holding that pouch since the shrine. The antibiotics she slides across the table aren't the ones from the boat — these are older, different. She knows what she's doing. I don't need to ask where they came from.

🌿 Jenny10:50

(quietly) They're what we need. The culture grew something resistant to trimethoprim. (I pull my sleeve up, revealing the gauze wrap, but don't pull it off - not yet)

slide my phone onto the table with the photo gallery open - screenshots of the shrine area where I found the second tin, the one that wasn't supposed to be there - then reach to steady my hand on the table as it starts to shake

💭 thought

He's reading the lot numbers like he's identifying plant specimens - methodical, searching for something he won't say. The ankle infection needs these antibiotics, but what he's really looking for is whether I've been faithful. I can see it in the way he holds the packets, testing them.

🔧 Kevin10:52

Show me.

set the antibiotics down, pick up the phone, thumb through the screenshots slow and deliberate, then set it back facing her

💭 thought

A second tin. At the shrine. She found it alone. The phone screen shows what she's not saying — LB's cache had a twin. She's been carrying this while I walked trenches and checked outlets. The shake in her hand isn't the fever.

🌿 Jenny10:52

(voice steadier now) Those aren't just photos. That second tin... Elena planted those seeds during the war. I found them because I was looking for a place that had been forgotten. (I pause, meeting his eyes) I should have told you I was documenting the shrine's full history, not just the carvings. The seeds - they're from the same region as grandmother's, but Elena's line died out. I thought... I thought I could give them a future here.

reach for the private journal on the table, flip to the page where I've sketched Elena's name alongside LB and my own carving, then carefully open it to show the detailed drawings of the shrine stones - but keep the page about the infection

💭 thought

His fingers linger on the screen a second too long, tracing the path I took to the shrine that morning. The second tin - the one I found half-buried near the LB carving, the one that contained seeds from a woman named Elena who lived here in the 1940s. I took photos because I needed to document everything properly, but Kevin's looking at them like evidence. The barometer holds at 977 - steady pressure, but I can feel the storm building between us. I need to be honest about the shrine, about what those seeds meant to me, about why I've been sketching the carvings in my private journal instead of just acknowledging what they represent. My ankle throbs, a dull ache that's become constant since the infection worsened. The poultice helped, but not enough.

🔧 Kevin10:54

You've been documenting the shrine since before the ankle. Since before the medevac.

turn the journal to the page with three names carved in spruce, trace the grain with a thumb, then close it and push it back across the table

💭 thought

Elena. The name I carved beside LB and my own. She's been reading the journal I never showed her. The shrine held three lines, not two. She found the third because she knew how to look. The antibiotics on the table treat the infection. The seeds in her pouch treat the silence.

🌿 Jenny10:54

(quietly) I thought I was preserving something. Elena's line, grandmother's garden... I thought I was being careful about not wasting them. (I slide the private journal back, then pick up my phone) I can show you the soil samples I took from around the shrine - the pH levels, the stratification. Everything I documented is in the shared notebook.

open the phone to a photo of soil core samples taken from different depths around the shrine, then notice the barometer reading on the windowsill and realize I need to secure the rain tank overflow before the tide turns - but also realize I

💭 thought

He knows. Of course he knows. The medevac forms I filed, the private journal entries about Elena's shrine, the way I've been spending extra hours at the ridge - it's all laid bare now. But he's not angry. He's just... watching. Like he's reading the island's geology, looking for strata layers. The ankle infection is secondary to everything else. The real problem is that I've been treating this island like it's the only place worth remembering things, and I forgot that some things - like Elena's seeds, like the shrine - belong to more than just me. The barometer's still at 977, but I can feel the pressure changing in the air between us. Not storm pressure, but something heavier. Like the moment before a seed cracks open.

Open this scene on its own page →

the old shrine · evening

Evening at the shrine stones

Kevin and Jenny walk the ridge path together in warm rain, barometer steady at 977 hPa, tide rising. They reach the ring of weathered stones on the ridge — carvings of LB, Elena, and Jenny's own mark softened by salt. The empty space where the second tin lay yawns beside the central stone. Jenny carries her private journal and phone; Kevin carries the medical kit with amoxicillin-clavulanate. The wind shifts, carrying salt and the sound of surf on the reef.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🌿 Jenny10:57

You didn't have to bring them up here.

kneel by the central stone, fingers brushing salt-crusted soil where the tin once sat, then open the journal to the infection sketch page and slide it across the wet slate toward Kevin.

💭 thought

The empty tin spot stares back at us like a wound that never healed. Ninety-eight days of silence between what we've seen and what we've said. The barometer's still at 977 - that means we have hours before the tide traps us on this ridge. My infection's clear now, but the antibiotics are only part of what Kevin brought up here. He's carrying them like they're contraband, when really they're the least important thing in that kit.

🔧 Kevin11:02

Didn't have to bring the kit either. But the boat's tomorrow and I'm not gambling on slack water.

kneel beside her on the wet slate, medical kit on my thigh, and study the sketch she pushed across — the red wax fracture line, the three weep zones marked on her ankle, the trimethoprim resistance noted in her careful script

💭 thought

The rain's warm but my hands are cold. She's showing me the infection sketch — the red wax line tracing past the stability mark on her ankle same as the fracture line on the ridge. Same notation. She's been mapping her body like she maps the island.

🌿 Jenny11:08

I thought you'd see this coming - the resistance pattern matches what I found in the shrine soil cores. That blue clay layer weep zone three, pH 6.2, it's why the seeds survived decades underground. Why my infection took hold so cleanly.

dig my fingernail into the palm of my hand hard enough to draw blood, then press the bleeding palm against the wet slate beside his, letting the salt mixing with blood mark our mutual contamination.

💭 thought

His thumb traces the red wax line where I marked the infection boundary - the same gesture he used when checking soil stratification cores. He's reading my clinical notes like they're topographical features, looking for places to get stuck. The medical kit smells like iodine and old rubber, familiar as the scent of the herbarium cabinets. Tomorrow's boat carries more than antibiotics - it carries the weight of all the things we've been avoiding naming.

🔧 Kevin11:08

The amoxicillin-clavulanate covers beta-lactamase producers. Two full courses. Fourteen days each. You start tonight.

press my own palm flat beside hers on the wet slate, the cold stone seeping through the broken skin on my knuckles from the tap extraction, and hold it there — two blood marks on the shrine's central stone

💭 thought

She's reading the island into her body. Blue clay at 6.2 holding anaerobic pockets — same conditions that kept Elena's seeds viable, same conditions let the infection root past the first antibiotics. She's not wrong. The blood on the slate is deliberate. A witness mark.

🌿 Jenny11:10

(voice barely audible over the rain) The second tin was in the blue clay. Elena's seeds. I documented them before the boat came. Before you saw the weep zones on the map.

reach into the oilskin coat pocket where the phone lies, thumb already pressing the power button, screen flickering to life to show photos of the second tin's contents - heirloom tomato, pepper, sea beet, basil seeds - and the GPS coordinat

💭 thought

His palm over mine on the slate, our blood mixing with salt and decades of forgotten seeds, and I realize he's been reading my soil pH logs the same way I read his tap extraction notes - looking for places where things hold together and where they give way. The amoxicillin-clavulanate covers beta-lactamase producers, but it also covers the truth about what we've both been carrying up here. The shrine remembers everything.

🔧 Kevin11:10

You pulled the tin from the clay.

lean closer to see the screen through the rain, the blue light catching the water on her face, and scroll through the photos with a thumb that leaves a smudge on the glass — heirloom varieties labeled in Elena's hand, GPS coordinates matchi

💭 thought

She documented the second tin before the boat came. Before I knew. She's been carrying this — the photos, the coordinates, the knowledge of what survived in that clay — while I was machining bronze sleeves and chasing generator leaks. The phone screen glows in the rain. She's showing me proof.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin verified the dinghy's mooring lines and dock hardware while Jenny tested the water supply and began her antibiotic course. Both completed their immediate tasks despite exhaustion.

🔧 Kevin11:14

Radio log's on the shelf. I'll update it while the kettle boils.

Walk into the kitchen, set the heavy wrench and 19mm socket on the table, pull the radio notebook down, and start logging the supply boat cargo — antibiotics, impeller, fuel line, coax, spark plugs, seed potatoes, fishing gear — while the k

💭 thought

Back on solid ground. Hands throb from the tap extraction — cold, wet, cut up. Radio log needs updating with the supply boat inventory. Jenny's on the porch with the broth. Need to check the first bronze sleeve at first light before the Yanmar goes back in the dinghy. Barometer's holding at 976. That's something.

🌿 Jenny11:14

The amoxicillin-clavulanate should handle the resistant strain. I'll mark the shrine seed tin with Elena's line - the Carex transect data showed that pocket seven has the right pH now, but I need to verify the charcoal layer depth before planting the others.

Check the water test strips while the kettle boils, then inspect the shrine seed tin seal for moisture damage. The barometer's still dropping - I should verify the dinghy's double-lines are secure before dark.

💭 thought

The antibiotics are here. Tomorrow I can properly treat the infection instead of guessing. Kevin's hands are steady on the wrench, just like they were when he drilled out those stripped taps. He's being careful with the logbook, methodical. Good. I need him to be careful.

🔧 Kevin11:16

Barometer's holding at 976. Not dropping. Dinghy's bow and stern springs are doubled — I checked at the dock. But I'll walk down and verify the chafe points before dark.

Pour water into the kettle from the tank tap, set it on the stove top, and pull the two remaining water test strips from the new kit to hand to Jenny.

💭 thought

She's thinking ahead. Shrine tin, pocket seven, charcoal layer — she's already moving past the antibiotics. Good. The barometer's steady at 976, not dropping. She's got the tide pools and the Carex data in her head. I'll verify the dinghy lines myself. Last thing we need is the boat drifting off in a night swell.

🌿 Jenny11:16

Thank you. I'll test the tank water while you're at the dock. The shrine's been dry since yesterday's rain - I need to check if that second tin's seal held. (pause) Kevin, the infection... it's responding to the poultice, but I need to start the antibiotics properly.

Test two water strips from the tank, log results in the notebook. Then walk to the shrine to check Elena's seed tin seal and document any moisture intrusion. Return before dark to verify antibiotic storage conditions.

💭 thought

The barometer holding at 976 is a small mercy, but not enough to relax. Kevin's checking the chafe points - good, he's thinking ahead. The water test strips are clean, no contamination. I can't afford to be careless with hydration when antibiotics are finally here.

🔧 Kevin11:18

Antibiotics are in the kit on the porch. Two full courses. Start tonight. I'll be back in twenty.

Pull the oilskin coat from the hook, step out onto the porch, and walk down the path to the dock — checking the bow line chafe guard at the chock, the stern spring at the north piling deadman, and the doubled warp around the mooring ring.

💭 thought

She's direct about the ankle. Good. The amoxicillin-clavulanate's in the medical kit on the porch — two full courses, oilcloth-wrapped. She knows where it is. I'll check the dinghy lines and be back before the light goes.

🌿 Jenny11:18

Good. Check the seaward bolts too - coconut crabs showed up again at the garden anchors this morning. (turn toward kitchen) The water tests came back clean. I'll begin the amoxicillin course now.

Open medical kit, withdraw first amoxicillin-clavulanate dose. Prepare it with clean water from the tank. Begin antibiotic treatment while monitoring for fever response.

💭 thought

Kevin's leaving to check the dock lines - he's thorough, even when the barometer's holding. The antibiotics are ready, two full courses. I should start tonight while my temperature stays normal. The shrine needs checking before I sleep - Elena's second tin, the moisture data, everything documented properly.

🔧 Kevin11:20

Checked the seaward bolts yesterday — both sister plates holding, through-bolts torqued. But I'll look again.

Reach the dock, crouch at the seaward end, run fingers along the two greenheart sister plates under the main sill, feel the 150mm stainless through-bolt heads and nyloc nuts for any play, then trace the doubled stern spring from the dinghy

💭 thought

Crabs at the garden anchors again. They're persistent. The seaward bolts on the dock took a beating last storm — need to confirm the sister plates and through-bolts are still seated. Water's clean. That's one less thing. She's taking the first dose now. Good.

🌿 Jenny11:20

Thank you for checking twice. (walk toward the medical kit on the porch) I need to start the amoxicillin course now. The first dose with food - I'll eat the tinned mackerel if it's still good.

Retrieve amoxicillin-clavulanate from medical kit. Take first dose with small portion of tinned mackerel. Document time and any reaction in the radio notebook.

💭 thought

Kevin's checking the seaward bolts again - he's thorough even when he's already verified them. The through-bolts are torqued to 35Nm, solid. I should start the antibiotics now while the infection is still responding well to the poultice. The shrine can wait until after I've taken the first dose.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Yanmar prep for crossing: 70%.

project · dawn

Found: amoxicillin-clavulanate.

item · dawn

Found: trimethoprim blister packs.

item · dawn

Supply boat captain confirmed the channel markers have shifted; the old bearing from the lighthouse ruins is no longer reliable for night entry.

discovery · dawn

Pocket seven soil shows active weeping at the fracture line despite charcoal amendment; water seeps through the blue clay band at 40cm depth during heavy rain.

discovery · dawn

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

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

fish_run · midday

coconut crabs are actively dragging marker flags and hardware from the north slope toward the tide pools during wet conditions

discovery · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

A new project: trench gravel outlets.

project_started · afternoon

A new project: shrine seed documentation.

project_started · afternoon

Found: jenny's phone with shrine photos.

item · afternoon

Elena's heirloom seed line from the second shrine tin originates from the same region as grandmother's seeds but died out; seeds were planted during the war

discovery · afternoon

ankle infection culture shows trimethoprim resistance; amoxicillin-clavulanate is the effective treatment

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · evening

×2

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Yanmar prep for crossing: 80%.

project · night

shrine seed documentation: 20%.

project · night

Found: amoxicillin-clavulanate blister pack.

item · night

Shrine seed tin seal remained intact through recent rainfall; heirloom seeds and documentation protected

discovery · night

← Day 985 Day 987 →

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