Day 997

The chapter for this day hasn't been written yet — it's written once the day closes.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Grey morning, supply boat due

Kevin and Jenny stand on the cottage porch in the damp chill, steam curling from tin mugs as the barometer climbs to 987 hPa. The tide is falling, exposing the wooden crate rolling in the surf below the dock. Jenny's ankle is wrapped fresh in sea-beet poultice and gauze; she leans on her cane, favouring the leg. Kevin holds the VHF, thumb on the transmit button, ready to raise the supply boat at first light.

A sudden squall drove both of them back to the cottage before either could finish their tasks. Kevin hauled the waterlogged crate partway up the dock but could not pry it open before the rain wall hit. Jenny marked pocket seven's new slump in her notebook and started on the diesel can seam, but the bow saw teeth remained jammed and the generator fuel line showed a fresh weep.

🌿 Jenny07:45

Kevin, the barometer's holding at 987. Supply boat can come first light—tide's falling, that crate's rolling in from the surf. I need you to mark the GPS on pocket seven before you head out. The weep zone's moved closer to the ridge line.

walk to the dock and collect the wooden crate from the surf, then return to cottage and place it beside the workbench; apply fresh sea-beet poultice to ankle; oil the bow saw blade with whale oil from the kit; check the diesel can seam for

💭 thought

The infection's breaking but my body remembers how to hurt. Kevin fixes what I break, even when I don't ask. The diesel can still weeps despite his epoxy work—I should trust him less with details and more with the big picture. He sees me dying slow, and maybe I am, but not before planting pocket eight's seeds. Those green fists pushing through charcoal-amended soil reminded me why I stay. The ground shifts near the shrine stones now; water finds new paths, just like Kevin finds new ways to check on me without asking directly. I stopped pretending I could handle the coax work with numb fingers. The bow saw still jams—I'll oil it tonight. Kevin re-terminated the coax properly while I inspected my wound. No red streaking means the antibiotics work, but the scalpel stays close anyway.

🔧 Kevin07:46

Copy. Pocket seven first, then the crate on the ebb. You stay off that ankle.

Walk to the north ridge with notebook and GPS to mark pocket seven coordinates, then descend to the dock and wade out to retrieve the wooden crate from the surf, hauling it back to the cottage workbench.

💭 thought

Barometer's holding steady. Boat'll make the crossing if it doesn't drop further. Crate's close enough to grab on the falling tide — Jenny's right, need to get it before the next swell pushes it out. Pocket seven GPS first, then the crate. She's tracking the weep zone closer than I am.

🌿 Jenny07:47

Good work. I'll mark pocket seven's new slump in the notebook while you're at it—GPS coordinates logged. The crate's contents are unknown but likely provisions or rope. Check for anything salvageable before bringing it in. Don't slip on the seaweed.

mark pocket seven coordinates in notebook with new slump notation; inspect diesel can seam for fresh weep marks; oiling bow saw blade with whale oil from kit; check generator fuel line for drips; prepare medical supplies for tomorrow's sea

💭 thought

He moves through this island like he's been mapping it his whole life, but I'm the one who knows where the ground gives way. Pocket seven's weep zone has crept closer to the ridge line—water finds new paths, just like Kevin finds new ways to check on me without asking directly. The infection's breaking but my body remembers how to hurt. Those green fists pushing through charcoal-amended soil reminded me why I stay. Not because I'm strong, but because some things require showing up even when you're falling apart. The diesel can still weeps despite his epoxy work—I should trust him less with details and more with the big picture. He re-terminated the coax properly while I inspected my wound. No red streaking means the antibiotics work, but the scalpel stays close anyway.

🔧 Kevin07:54

Got it. Back before the tide turns.

Descend the dock ladder, time the swell, wade out and secure a line around the waterlogged crate, haul it up the slippery planks using the come-along if needed, then pry it open on the dock to inventory contents before moving salvageable it

💭 thought

She's got the notebook covered. Crate's rolling in the troughs — heavy, waterlogged. Need to time the swell, grab it clean, and get it up the dock before the next set. Seaweed's slick as ice on the planks.

🌿 Jenny07:55

I'm checking the generator's raw water pump impeller now—if it's seized I need the replacement impeller from the supply boat tomorrow. The bow saw still jams after oiling; I'll need to clean the teeth with sandpaper. The diesel can's seam is failing again at the deep pitting point; I should have used marine epoxy instead of what Kevin applied.

check generator fuel line for drips; inspect diesel can seam at deep pitting point; clean bow saw teeth with sandpaper; apply fresh marine epoxy to diesel can seam; prepare medical supplies for tomorrow's sea beet poultice application; mark

💭 thought

🔧 Kevin07:56

Crate's secured. Coming up.

Haul the waterlogged crate up the dock planks using the come-along, brace it against the seaward cleat, pry the lid open with the crowbar, and inventory contents — sorting salvageable provisions, rope, tools from the mould and rot.

💭 thought

Crate's heavier than it looks — full of seawater and whatever's inside. Timber's swollen. Got a line on it. Hauling now.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Squall morning at the cottage

They sit at the kitchen table under the single lantern, steam rising from tin mugs of limpets broth. The barometer reads 987 and rising. The crate is lashed at the dock edge, unopened. The supply boat is due at high tide in six hours. Jenny's ankle is rewrapped with fresh sea-beet poultice. Kevin's eyes burn; his hands are stiff.

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

🌿 Jenny07:57

The broth's ready. Drink while it's hot - salts help with the infection.

wrap pocket seven soil test kit in dry cloth and carry to door

💭 thought

The broth tastes of salt and desperation, but it's warm and there's enough for both of us. 987 hPa and rising - that's good news, but I need to move fast. The diesel can still weeps despite the epoxy work, and I can't afford to lose another day to faulty repairs. Grandmother's seeds won't plant themselves, and the tide won't wait. I should head to pocket eight now, before the supply boat arrives and everything changes.

🔧 Kevin07:58

"Thanks." (voice rough, barely above the rain on the roof)

wrap both hands around the tin mug, let the heat soak into knuckles before lifting it to drink

💭 thought

The broth smells right — salt and fat and something green underneath. My hands are shaking too much to lift the mug clean. Six hours to high tide. The crate's still lashed at the dock, the injector pump swap isn't finished, and I haven't called Tom on the shortwave in eleven months. She's pushing the soil kit toward the door like she's already planning the next thing. Good. That's good.

🌿 Jenny07:59

I'll mark the soil pH at pocket seven - need to document the weep zone shift. Then we'll tackle the diesel can properly.

retrieve soil pH test kit from door, check pocket seven documentation

💭 thought

His hands are shaking worse than I remember from the infection. The heat helps, but I need him focused, not fragile. The barometer's rising now - that's actually good news, means we have at least a day before pressure drops below 990. But I can't waste time. Pocket eight needs to be planted before tide fully exposes those shrine stones, and the diesel can needs proper sealing with fresh epoxy.

🔧 Kevin08:00

"Diesel can first. Then injector pump. Boat's not waiting on soil readings." (gruff, not unkind)

set the empty mug down hard, push back from the table, grab the heavy wrench and the epoxy tube from the workbench shelf

💭 thought

She's moving. Good. The pocket seven slump's been eating at her all week — red wax marks shifting on the shrine stones, the weep zone creeping ridge-ward. She needs the data. I need the diesel can sealed and the Yanmar's injector pump finished before the boat hits the channel. My shoulder's screaming from the come-along but the broth's settling something in the gut.

🌿 Jenny08:01

I'll grab the diesel can and fresh epoxy. You handle the injector pump - I'll be back before the tide fully exposes pocket eight.

head to diesel can with fresh epoxy tube, plan proper seam repair

💭 thought

He's right - boat comes in six hours and we need that diesel can sealed and the Yanmar injector pump working. The bow saw still jams despite my best efforts. I can see the fatigue in his eyes, but he's still moving. That's enough for now. I need to plant grandmother's seeds before this island takes me completely.

🔧 Kevin08:02

Go. I'll have the pump seated and timed before you're back.

pull the Yanmar injector pump from the crate on the floor, set it on the kitchen table beside the torque wrench and the new collar, crack the service manual to the timing page

💭 thought

She's giving me the engine. That's trust, or maybe just knowing I'll tear the pump apart cleaner than she will. Either way the injector pump's the gate — if the Yanmar doesn't run clean at load, the dinghy's dead weight when the supply boat comes through the cut. The diesel can's a slow bleed; the pump's a hard stop. Six hours. Tide's already pushing.

🌿 Jenny08:03

I'll mark pocket seven's new slump coordinates in the GPS log - need those readings before the tide changes.

grab GPS unit from door shelf, head to shrine stones to document pocket seven's shifted weep zone

💭 thought

He's actually confident in his ability to fix the injector pump - that's new. The barometer's at 987 and rising, which means we have window. But I'm not risking another day on repairs. Grandmother's seeds in pocket eight before the tide fully exposes those shrine stones, and the diesel can needs proper sealing with fresh epoxy. I can hear him working on the pump - that's good. I should move.

🔧 Kevin08:04

(nothing — just the exhale through the nose)

pull the micrometer from the drawer, measure the plunger lift on the new pump, compare to spec (0.85mm at TDC), file the shim stack until it seats dead on

💭 thought

She's not going to the diesel can. She's going to the shrine — pocket seven, the weep zone, the GPS log. The words don't match the feet. Let her. The data's eating her alive and she needs to pin it down before the water swallows the marks. I've got the pump. The timing marks are worn but the micrometer's in the drawer. Six hours to high tide. The crate at the dock stays lashed. The shortwave sits silent on the shelf. Tom's frequency. Eleven months.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin and Jenny treated Jenny's worsening ankle infection with a full antibiotic regimen and hot salt water soak. Kevin prepared the medical supplies while Jenny revealed the spreading red streaks. The barometer held steady at 988 hPa as they worked.

🔧 Kevin08:06

Mug's on the table. Eat something.

Walk into the kitchen, pull the tin mug from the stove shelf, fill it with the remaining limpet broth from the pot, set it on the table beside the tin of corned beef. Sit opposite the porch door, roll my shoulders, stare at the shortwave.

💭 thought

The squall's passed but the air's still thick with salt and damp. Hands are raw from the crate and the generator line. Need to check the Yanmar's vibration at load before the supply boat comes — if the impeller's aboard, I can swap it and be done. But first, water and food. Jenny's on the porch with the broth.

🌿 Jenny08:07

"Thank you." (I push the mug closer to him without standing up, my ankle throbbing against the bandages.)

reach for the medical kit on the shelf, pull out a fresh gauze roll, and begin carefully cutting a new dressing for my ankle while keeping one eye on the shortwave radio's antenna.

💭 thought

The broth's gone cold but at least it's there. My fingers are still raw from the scalpel work, and I can feel the infection flaring again where the poultice didn't quite take. The diesel can's leaking even after Kevin's second attempt at the seam - I should have known epoxy wouldn't hold with the engine vibration. But the seeds... grandmother's seeds are in the ground now, pushing through that charcoal amendment like nothing I've seen before. The barometer's still dropping, and I need to check if the tide's exposed those shrine stones yet.

🔧 Kevin08:08

Change it proper. Don't rush.

Take the mug, blow across the surface, drink half in one pull. Set it down. Reach for the corned beef tin, pry the lid with the church key blade, fork a chunk into my mouth. Chew while watching her hands on the gauze.

💭 thought

She's moving slow. Ankle's not right. I should've checked the dressing earlier but the crate took priority. Radio's quiet — good sign or bad, can't tell. Barometer's steady at 988. Supply boat's tomorrow high tide if the crossing holds.

🌿 Jenny08:09

"The antibiotics... I took the full course but—" (I stop cutting the gauze when I realize he's watching the infection line too, his fork hovering over the corned beef.)

hold up my hand, palm open, showing him the red streaking that wasn't there this morning, then carefully peel back the wet gauze to reveal the spreading inflammation.

💭 thought

He's right - I am rushing. The infection's already creeping back along the incision line, and I can feel the heat building. That diesel can seam failure means I need to find proper marine sealant, not just epoxy. But those seeds... they're already sprouting in the charcoal, and I can hear the tide shifting against the shrine stones out front.

🔧 Kevin08:10

Trimethoprim. Two tabs now, then twelve hourly. Amoxicillin-clavulanate on top. Fourteen days both. We'll soak it in hot salt water first — draw the pus. Hand me the kit.

Reach across the table for the medical kit on the shelf, pop the latch, pull out the oilcloth-wrapped blister packs. Strip two trimethoprim tablets, two amoxicillin-clavulanate. Set them on the table beside her mug.

💭 thought

Red streaking past the marked line. That's new. That's fast. Doxycycline and metronidazole should've held it. Either the dose wasn't enough, the bug's resistant, or the wound's deeper than we thought. Trimethoprim's in the kit. Amoxicillin-clavulanate too. Need to hit it broad and hard now.

🌿 Jenny08:11

I thought—" (I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, then hold up the remaining gauze so he can see how saturated it's become with pus.) "The salt water's too cold from the spring.

reach for the pot that's still on the stove from the limpet boil, then hesitate when I remember the water's barely lukewarm, and instead nod toward the generator shed where I've been keeping a small container of heated distilled water for e

💭 thought

He's reading the notes I wrote in the medevac forms, the copies I tucked away. Fifteen days of antibiotics and I'm still sitting here watching him work instead of planting pocket eight. The infection's already pulling at the sutures, and I can feel the heat in my ankle like a live wire.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Afternoon radio check and Yanmar work

Kevin and Jenny are at the kitchen table. The VHF sits between them, antenna raised. Kevin has the Yanmar injector pump parts laid out on a clean cloth. Jenny's ankle is elevated on a cushion, freshly dressed. The tide is high now, lapping at the dock planks. A fish run is visible in the shallows.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · dawn

A sudden squall sweeps through — wind first, then a wall of rain.

squall · dawn

A new project: generator raw water pump check.

project_started · dawn

Found: notebook with pocket seven GPS and slump notation.

item · dawn

pocket seven weep zone has migrated closer to the north ridge line since last survey

discovery · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · 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

ankle infection has progressed with red streaking spreading up from wound site

discovery · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

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