the keeper's cottage · day 544 · morning

The Rising Tide

The rain has tapered to a drizzle. Kevin enters the cottage to check on Jenny as the tide begins to turn.

The morning rain tapers into a heavy, humid mist as the tide rises rapidly against the cottage stones. Kevin battles with the radio aerial, the salt-crusted tape failing under the damp wind, while Jenny remains in bed, her fever climbing as the red streak moves further up her calf.

🔧 Kevin08:41

Jen. How's the ankle?

Walk into the bedroom, crouch beside the bed, peel back the gauze to check the wound and red line spread. Feel her forehead with the back of my hand for fever.

💭 peek at the thought

She's been quiet too long. The fever was climbing when I left her — need to see if the antibiotics are holding or if we're past that window.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny08:41

It's moving, Kevin. Don't just look.

Wince as the air hits the skin, pulling the leg away slightly.

💭 peek at the thought

It's burning. The red lines are reaching the knee now. I can't hide it anymore.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin08:42

Hold still. Let me see the groin.

Gently pull the blanket down further, examine the inguinal area for lymph node swelling and red streaking. Check the wound itself for drainage — colour, smell, volume. Palpate the femoral pulse and compare both sides.

💭 peek at the thought

She's right. The red line's tracked past the knee now — sepsis moving up the femoral. We're out of time. Four doses of doxycycline left, metronidazole nearly gone. If this doesn't turn in twelve hours, the radio call goes out.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny08:44

Kevin, I'm sorry. I thought— Kevin, I'm sorry. I thought—

Let him pull back the blanket, watching his face for the diagnosis I already know. </think>THOUGHT: It's spreading faster than the antibiotics can catch it. The lymph nodes are swollen, hot to the touch.

💭 peek at the thought

Oh god. He's right. It's spreading faster than the antibiotics can catch it. The lymph nodes are swollen, hot to the touch. I shouldn't have waited.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin08:44

Stop. You've got nothing to be sorry for. Not for this.

Re-dress the ankle wound with fresh gauze and antiseptic cream. Press a clean cloth to the groin nodes — can't do much but monitor. Pull the antibiotic blister packs from the kit, count what's left.

💭 peek at the thought

She's apologising for getting sick. For the ankle, for the garden I never built, for the life that's just... this. The femoral nodes are shot. Red streaking into the crease. We're past oral antibiotics doing the job alone.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny08:45

It's moving, Kevin. I can feel the heat.

Shift slightly away from his touch, the fever making the room tilt.

💭 peek at the thought

The red lines are like a map I didn't want to draw. I'm rotting right here.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin08:46

I know. I'm going to get the radio ready. You keep the fluids down.

Rise, move to the kitchen shelf, power on the shortwave. Check the aerial connection — shattered insulator was taped, but salt and wind work loose. Set frequency to the trust's channel, then Coast Guard 2182. Test the mic.

💭 peek at the thought

She feels the sepsis tracking up the femoral vein toward the heart. Four doxycycline, four metronidazole. That's two days if she keeps them down. The supply boat's nine days out on the schedule — seven if the skipper runs the tide hard and the weather holds. We don't have seven days. Radio call for medevac goes out at the next scheduled check-in. Tonight. 2000 hours.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny08:51

Don't stay too long.

Reach for the water glass, hand shaking too much to take a proper sip.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come in ten days, the seeds will never see the dirt. I'm too weak to move.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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