Kevin and Jenny are in the kitchen as the rain intensifies and the tide reaches the height of the dock's weakened southern pilings.
Jenny marked the boundary of the infection on her calf with a ballpoint pen. Kevin cleaned the wound with water and applied antiseptic cream before rewrapping it. The air remains heavy as the atmospheric pressure continues to drop.
🌿 Jenny17:11
Kevin, give me the pen. I need to mark where it stops right now.
Jenny unwraps the gauze with shaking fingers and uses a ballpoint pen to circle the edge of the infection on her calf.
💭 peek at the thought
The red line is higher than it was this morning. If the boat doesn't come in six days, I won't be able to walk to the radio.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:11
Here. Let me clean it first—then we’ll mark it again after. You’re not doing this alone.
kneel beside Jenny, take the pen and gauze, gently wash the infected area with clean water from the bucket, apply fresh antiseptic cream, then rewrap the calf with clean gauze before handing the pen back.
💭 peek at the thought
The infection’s spreading fast—red streaks up her calf, the gauze soaked through. She’s marking it like a tide line, trying to measure how much ground we’ve lost. I should’ve acted sooner on that dock chain. Now the water’s lapping at the rotting pilings, and the storm’s closing in. If we don’t get that mooring ring fixed before dark, the whole dock could go. But Jenny comes first—always has. I need to clean this wound, get antibiotics in her, and then brace the pilings before the tide turns.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny17:13
Just mark it, Kevin. It's moving.
Jenny draws a new line just above the old one, watching the ink bleed slightly into the damp skin.
💭 peek at the thought
His hands are steady, mine are not. I hate that he has to see this, hate being a burden before the storm even breaks.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:14
Marked. Now let me at the dock before the tide takes the pilings.
take the pen, draw a third line a finger's breadth above hers, initial it with the time, then grab the heavy wrench and mallet and head out the porch door toward the dock.
💭 peek at the thought
She's right. The red's crept past the first line in minutes. This isn't waiting for antibiotics. I mark it, then I move—dock pilings, mooring ring, the works. If the south piling goes, the dock goes, and the dinghy with it. No supply boat landing. No way off. She's tracking the infection like I track engine wear: cold, precise, no flinching. I'll match her.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:16
Be careful. The wood is slicker than it looks.
Jenny leans back against the kitchen table, watching him go through the window as she monitors the throbbing in her leg.
💭 peek at the thought
The line is too close. If it reaches the knee before the boat arrives, I won't be able to reach the seed tin.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:16
Always am.
pull the porch door shut behind him, step onto the slick boards, and move down the dock toward the southern piling with the heavy wrench and mallet in hand.
💭 peek at the thought
She's watching. She always watches. The rain's coming down hard now, turning the dock planks to grease. South piling's the one—greenheart shim held at low tide, but the scour hole under it's deep. If the surge hits it wrong, the whole structure shifts. Mooring ring's wedged tight with oak, but the chain's worn thin at the crown. One hard pull from the dinghy in this swell and it parts. I need to double the weather line, check the sister plank bolts, and drive more wedges if the ring's moved. All before the tide peaks.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:17
(She says watches.)
Jenny pulls her own toward her and begins to frantically sketch the cellular structure of the sea much to focus on something other than the pain.
💭 peek at the thought
The dock is groaning. If that fixes goes, we lose the dinghy, and then we are truly stranded.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:18
(nothing — he's too far out on the dock for conversation, wind taking any words)
work along the dock in the driving rain — wedge oak offcuts under the south beam at the scour hole, drive them tight with the mallet, check and retighten the three sister plank bolts on the greenheart knee, then move to the mooring ring and
💭 peek at the thought
She's drawing sea beet cells to keep from screaming. The rain hammers the dock planks, each step a gamble on rotten wood. South piling first—the greenheart shim's holding but the scour's eaten two feet under the toe. Tide's still rising. I wedge oak offcuts under the beam, drive them home with the mallet, then check the sister plank bolts. Three sixteen-millimeter stainless, torqued to thirty-five newton-meters. They held at low tide. Now the water's chest-deep on the piling and the current's pushing hard. Mooring ring next. Chain's worn paper-thin at the crown. I'll double the heavy weather line around the ring and the north piling, take the load off the chain entirely. Hands cold, rope slick, but the knots hold. They always hold.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:19
(She says nothing.)
Jenny sits on the kitchen floor, ankle propped on a chair, watching the red line creep past the last mark he made.
💭 peek at the thought
The water is coming up fast. If the dock doesn't hold the wayhy, the boat is gone, and I'm stuck with this infection.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:19
(nothing — still on the dock, securing the last of the weather line, rain masking everything)
finish serving the weather line splice, coil the bitter end, check the dinghy's ride one last time, then turn and move back up the slick dock boards toward the cottage porch.
💭 peek at the thought
The tide's peaking. Water slams the dock, each wave a hammer on the south piling. Oak wedges are holding — so far. Sister plank bolts didn't budge when I leaned on the wrench. Good. Now the mooring ring: chain's shot, but the heavy weather line's doubled around the ring and north piling, two half-hitches and a round turn, served with sail twine. Took the strain clean. Dinghy's riding easy on the spring. The ring hasn't shifted in its mortise — oak wedges and the steel doubler plate doing their work. Barometer's still falling. Wind's backing southwest, gusting thirty-plus. This isn't the peak. I need to get back to her. Check the leg. Get the doxycycline and metronidazole down her. Hot compresses. Keep the leg elevated. Watch the line she drew.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny17:22
Kevin! The radio—check the frequency!
Jenny reaches for the radio dial, her hand trembling as she tries to find the signal.
💭 peek at the thought
The heat is coming off now. I can feel the fever starting to pull at my head, making the air too thick.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin17:22
On it.
step through the porch door, strip off soaked oilskin, grab the radio handset from the shelf, and dial 6215 kHz — Tom's frequency — squelch open, volume up.
💭 peek at the thought
She heard something. Or she's hoping. The radio's been static for weeks on Tom's frequency — 6215 kHz, 0200 and 1400. But the storm's skipping signals weird, bouncing them off the ionosphere. Could be the supply boat. Could be Coastguard. Could be nothing. I'm dripping on the porch boards, hands raw from rope and cold. She's on the kitchen floor, leg propped, red line creeping past the last mark. The antibiotics are in the cupboard above the stove. Doxycycline first, then metronidazole. Water. Hot compress. But she's reaching for the radio. So I reach too.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b