The tide continues to fall, exposing more of the sandbar. The heat remains oppressive as the sun begins to dip.
Kevin tested the Yanmar engine at the dock, confirming the vibration at half-throttle persists despite the prop shaft repair. Jenny debrided her ankle wound with saline and applied a fresh sea beet poultice, then sketched the spreading inflammation in her notebook. A wooden crate drifted in the surf near the dock as the tide fell.
🔧 Kevin01:57
Kevin — walk to the dinghy at the dock, check Yanmar mount bolts and prop shaft alignment by hand-turning the flywheel
💭 peek at the thought
The tide's dropping clean. Good. Means the sandbar'll hold for the supply boat's approach if they come at high water tomorrow. Radio's been quiet all afternoon — just static and that Kyiv chatter earlier. Jenny's asleep on the porch, ankle propped. She's been sleeping more since the antibiotics finished. Body catching up. I should check the Yanmar one more time before dark, make sure the vibration fix held at load. And the radio aerial — spare insulator's fitted, coax secured. Should transmit clean now. Might try Tom's frequency again tonight. Or the trust's scheduled check-in. Whichever comes first.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny01:57
Watch those bolts, Kevin. The salt's eating the threads alive.
Jenny sits on the porch step, gritting her teeth as she shifts her weight, and opens her notebook to sketch the jagged red lines creeping up her calf.
💭 peek at the thought
If that engine doesn't hold, I'm stuck on this rock with a leg that's turning to rot.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin01:59
The bolts are stainless. They'll outlast the both of us. Your leg's the one rotting.
walk back to the porch, crouch beside her, touch the back of her calf where the red lines end
💭 peek at the thought
She's watching the ankle spread. Red lines tracking upward past the calf now. That's not healing — that's moving. She's sketching it like it's a transect. Clinical. Detached. But her jaw's tight. The bolts I can fix. The Yanmar's sleeve held true at noon. But her leg... the antibiotics finished yesterday. Four doses doxycycline, five metronidazole. Course complete. If it's tracking past the calf, it's in the lymphatics. She needs IV. She needs the mainland. The supply boat's two days out — if it comes. The medevac forms are signed. In the dry bag on the dinghy. I didn't send the radio call. She'd refuse. She'll refuse now. But the lines are moving.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny01:59
It's not just the leg, Kevin. The infection is moving.
Jenny pulls her leg away from his touch with a sharp intake of breath, and stares at the sketch of the inflammation.
💭 peek at the thought
He thinks everything is a mechanical failure to be fixed with a wrench.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin02:03
The radio's fixed. Insulator's seated, coax continuity good. I can raise the trust on the scheduled frequency at 2000. Helo out of Cairns. Eight hours. You'll be in a mainland ICU by morning.
stay crouched, not reaching for her again, waiting
💭 peek at the thought
She pulled away. Sharp breath. The lines on her skin match the lines in her notebook — tracking toward the knee, maybe past. Lymphangitic spread. The antibiotics didn't hold. She knows it. I know it. The medevac forms are signed and sitting in the dry bag on the dinghy, two days from a supply boat that might not show. The radio works now. Insulator fitted. Coax sound. I could call it in tonight. The trust has a helo on retainer out of Cairns — eight hours flight time if they launch. But she'll fight. She always fights. Said once she'd rather die on the island than leave it unfinished. This isn't unfinished. This is sepsis waiting to happen.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny02:03
Eight hours... I haven't finished the survey of the ridge.
Jenny looks at the half-weeded garden behind the cottage, then back at her swollen ankle, her hand trembling over the pencil.
💭 peek at the thought
If I leave now, the seeds in the tin will never see the soil.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin02:04
The ridge data's logged. Three cairns. Full elevation gradient. Species counts complete. You finished it last week. The notebook's in the dry bag on the dinghy — next to the medevac forms I signed.
reach for the notebook on the step, close it gently, set it aside
💭 peek at the thought
The ridge survey. She's mapping Carex elevation gradients on the north ridge — three reference cairns placed, full transect logged. That data's done. She knows it's done. She's bargaining. Not with me. With the island. With the work. The garden's half weeds still. The sensory garden I talked about for eleven months and never built. The seed tins organized. The sea beet morphology complete. The transects finished. She's leaving something behind she can't name, so she names the ridge. Her hand trembles on the pencil. Fever. The tremors started last night. I didn't say. She didn't ask. Eight hours to Cairns. If the helo launches. If the weather holds. The barometer's steady at 1011. Trade wind clean. But the wet season's building — clouds stacking west. Two days to the supply boat.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny02:07
I didn't ask you to do that yet.
Jenny looks at the tin of seeds on the porch floor, her fingers tracing the rusted metal edge.
💭 peek at the thought
He signed the forms before I was even ready to be a patient.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin02:07
You didn't ask me to stay. You didn't ask me to go. You just waited. So I chose. The forms are signed. The radio works. The helo comes if I call. But I'm not calling until you say.
sit down on the porch step beside her, shoulder to shoulder, not touching the tin
💭 peek at the thought
She's not talking about the medevac forms. She's talking about the tin marked E. The one I took to the shrine. The one with the carved stone beside it — spruce scrap inscribed "I'm still here." She found it there this morning. Or she knew it was there. She traces the rusted edge like it's a fault line. The letter to Tom is in the dry bag with that tin. Sealed. Unsent. She's asking why I made the choice for her — for us — without a word. Why I signed the forms. Why I fixed the radio. Why I'm calling the helo. She didn't ask me to stay either. Eleven months I talked about the sensory garden. Never built it. She didn't ask me to leave the sea. She just... waited. And now I'm choosing for both of us again.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny02:11
The tide is going out too far today.
Jenny leans her head back against the whitewashed stone of the cottage, watching the sky turn a bruised purple.
💭 peek at the thought
He's always so good at fixing things that aren't broken.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin02:11
The barometer's holding. Trade wind steady. Helo can fly in this. Eight hours from Cairns. They'll launch if I key the mic.
pull the shortwave handset from the shelf, coil the cord slow, set it on my knee
💭 peek at the thought
She's not talking about the tide. The sandbar's exposed clean, normal for spring low. She's talking about the window. The gap between now and the supply boat. Between now and the helo. Between the antibiotics running out and the sepsis taking hold. The sky bruising purple — wet season clouds stacking west, heavy with rain. The barometer's steady at 1011 but the humidity's thick. She feels it in the ankle. In her bones. The ridge survey. The seed tin. The letter to Tom I haven't sent. The sensory garden I never built. Eleven months of talking. She's saying the tide's going out too far — meaning the space between us and help is widening. Meaning she's tired. Meaning she might let me call. Meaning she might not.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny02:15
The seeds aren't in the ground yet.
Jenny looks at the radio, then at the red streaks on her own skin, her hand tightening over the tin.
💭 peek at the thought
If he calls now, I'm just a body to be transported.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin02:15
The trays are covered. Tarped. Lime amended beds waiting. I'll plant them. Every cell. You get on the helo.
thumb the mic button, hold it, not transmitting yet
💭 peek at the thought
The seeds. Heirloom tomato, pepper, lettuce, sea beet. Tin E's contents — dried, sorted, viable. The garden behind the cottage: half weeds, half planted. Tomato stakes driven. Basil chewed by rats. Pepper and lettuce cells showing damping-off in the trays. She's not talking about the garden. She's talking about what she leaves behind. The work unfinished. The sensory garden I promised and never built. The ridge data complete but the sea beet propagation half-done. The letter to Tom unsent. The life we were supposed to make here. She's dying — maybe — and she's thinking about seeds. Her hand tight on the rusted tin. The red streaks climbing past her calf now. Fever heat radiating off her. Eight hours to Cairns. The radio in my hand. The mic cold. She hasn't said yes. Hasn't said no.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny02:23
I catalogued 347 species here. I haven't named a single one after you.
I catalogued 347 species here. I haven't named a single one after you.
Jenny pulls the seed tin from her pocket where she's been clutching it, and places it carefully on the step between them.
</think>
Jenny pulls the seed tin from her pocket where she's been clutching it, and places it carefully on the step b
💭 peek at the thought
He thinks I'm the one who's broken.
He thinks I'm the one who's broken.
poolside/laguna-xs-2.1