This is the third in a series of journal entries (read the first one) made by the main character in Sugar Scars, written during the weeks just before the events in the novel.
The government has gone from saying “precautionary measures” to “preparatory measures”. The virus hit this hemisphere yesterday in Alaska. It can’t cross an entire ocean, but it made it on the winds across the short fifty miles of the Bering Strait. Just a few of the homicidal molecules have to find a host and then they can reproduce trillions of copies of themselves and begin to spread anew.
I have to say that I’m proud of the US. Most people aren’t panicking like they did in a lot of countries. The government has done a lot to keep people calm. I don’t believe most of what they’ve said, but it’s given people hope enough.
Everyone is working on sealing their houses. The theory is that the virus goes dormant after a week with no hosts. I don’t believe that. It’s just more calming propaganda. You’re only hope is to be one of the immune. 1 in 9,600. That’s pretty bad odds.
I’m a numbers person. I have to accept the fact that I’ll be one of the 9,599. I always thought it would be the diabetes that got me. Every moment of my life has been a constant effort to stay alive. Without insulin, type 1 diabetes is a certain death sentence. Most people forget that.
The virus should be here in a week or two. I’ve got enough insulin to last me through that and however long it will take one of the viral molecules to find me.
There are church people everywhere. I must get a knock on the door every three hours with someone asking if I want to accept God. They’ve lost all social barriers that used to keep them from being too obnoxious. If they have the slightest suspicion that I’m in the house, they’ll bang on the door until I answer.
I’ve got to admit that their sales pitch has gotten a whole lot more effective. “God’s judgment is coming!” no longer sounds like a fairy tale. I don’t actually believe this is God’s divine judgment, but an ever rising percentage of the people do. I didn’t believe in God before this and it just seems a little insincere to jump on that bandwagon now.
I used to argue with them about science and evidence, but that was too draining. Now I just say that I’m already saved or redeemed or whatever keyword they’re looking for.
My last foster parents asked if I wanted to wait it out in their house with them. They’re good people and I appreciated the offer, but I’d rather be alone. I only spent about six months with them before I turned eighteen and was able to be on my own. I’m really not attached to them, but I still don’t want to watch them die or make them have to watch me die.
I’ll just hide away in my little house until the end comes.