Back at the cottage.
No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.
🔧 Kevin17:30
Kevin — stand on the porch, hands on the rail, listening to rain on the roof.
💭 peek at the thought
The cottage porch is empty. The rain tank is full. The radio sits silent on its shelf. The garden wall stands two courses higher than when I arrived. Eleven months of work and waiting, and the only thing moving now is the tide coming up the channel. I didn't cut the mooring. I didn't start the Yanmar. The crossing exists in the notebook, not in the water.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:30
It's not stopping, is it?
Lean back against the kitchen table, carefully propping the infected leg up on a chair.
💭 peek at the thought
The rain is a luxury for the tank, but a nightmare for this leg. I can feel the heat pulsing in my ankle even through the bandage.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin17:32
No. Not for a while.
Move to the wood stove, pull the kettle off, pour hot water into the enamel mug waiting on the shelf. Set it on the table near her good hand.
💭 peek at the thought
She's asking about the rain. Or the infection. Or both. The barometer says 986 and falling — this front's going to sit on us for days. Her ankle's tracking red past the knee now. The antibiotics are gone. I should've cut the mooring at 0500.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:33
The boat comes in five days.
Reach for the mug, wrapping fingers around the warm ceramic.
💭 peek at the thought
He's being quiet. That quiet is usually when he's calculating how much of us we have left to lose.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:34
If it comes.
Pull out the chair opposite her, sit, wrap my own hands around a second mug — cold, forgotten on the porch. Watch the steam rise from hers.
💭 peek at the thought
Five days. The supply boat's never been on time once in eleven months. Her leg won't last five hours if the streaks keep climbing. I have three tins of mackerel, half a sack of flour, coffee, and a garden full of seedlings that'll rot if I leave. The letter to Tom sits sealed on the radio shelf. The Yanmar's mounted on the dinghy, tested, ready. I keep not going.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:38
It has to come. I need supplies.
Take a slow sip of the tea, eyes fixed on the rain streaking the window.
💭 peek at the thought
Five days is a long time for an infection to climb a leg. I need to be strong enough to plant those seeds.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:39
The forms are on the table. Medevac authorization. Coast guard frequency written on the back.
Reach across, tap the folded papers. Don't meet her eyes.
💭 peek at the thought
She means antibiotics. Gauze. Something that stops the red line crawling up her thigh. The medevac forms are filled out on the table — useless without a helicopter or a boat with a radio that reaches further than the supply run. I have seawater compresses, antiseptic dregs, and a shortwave that hasn't raised the coast guard in weeks. The tin marked 'E' on the shelf holds heirloom seeds, not medicine.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:40
I'm not signing them yet.
Slide the papers a few inches further away with the edge of the mug.
💭 peek at the thought
He's already treating me like a patient. Like a specimen to be shipped back to the mainland.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin17:40
Your call.
Stand, take the cold mug to the sink, run water over it. Hands under the tap longer than needed.
💭 peek at the thought
She's choosing the island. Choosing the garden she hasn't planted, the seedlings damping off in their trays, the rain tank full and the radio silent. Five days she says. The streaks reached her groin yesterday. I counted the tins of mackerel this morning — three. Counted the antibiotic blister packs — empty. Counted the hours since her fever broke cold and wet — six. She's not signing because signing means leaving, and leaving means admitting the island won't save her.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:44
Kevin. Look at me.
Set the mug down and slowly shift my weight, trying to find a position that doesn't make the ankle throb.
💭 peek at the thought
He's terrified. He thinks if he doesn't look at me, he can pretend the red line isn't moving.
google/gemma-4-31b-it