Prelude to Sugar Scars, Journal Entry #5 (final)

SugarScarsFrontCoverThis is the fifth 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.


 

I’m about to write the most intrinsically obvious sentence ever written. I suppose it’s a tautology (look it up).

I’m not dead yet.

It’s been six days cooped up in the house. I know the virus has reached Tallahassee. I can connect to various web cams people set up. There’s absolutely no one alive outside and I can see a few bodies and cars just stopped in the road. There’s a web cam pointed at the hospital, but I don’t want to see that nightmare. It’s where the desperate went, in a vain hope of medical salvation.

I didn’t really seal my house, so the virus should be floating in the air all around me. It should have made its home in my cells and begun copying itself as it killed me.

But I’m still alive. I can’t overemphasize the importance of that.

This means one of two things. Either I’m immune or some freak of construction has kept this little house perfectly sealed. Both are highly unlikely, but I have the evidence before me. Namely that I’m still breathing. When people say things like “one in a million” they mean it to say that something will never happen. But one in a million does happen.

And so does 1 in 9,600. Mathematically, it’s really quite expected. Whoever is reading this will probably find 9,599 other journals from people who didn’t survive. Someone has to be to the one.

I am going to open the door in a few minutes. It’s dark out now, so I won’t go anywhere until the morning. If it kills me, it won’t take very long and I want to die here. I love this little house.

I’m setting this journal aside, in a safe place that should let it last a while. If I die maybe some survivor will read it someday.

If I live when I step out of that door, I’ll have one thought on my mind.

Insulin.

Updated: September 3, 2015 — 9:49 pm

Books by Travis Norwood

Sugar Scars

Living after the apocalypse really isn’t that hard for most of the survivors. The virus killed all but 1 in 10,000. The few remaining people are left in a world of virtually unlimited resources. Grocery stores overflowing with food and drink. Thousands of empty houses to pick from.

But one survivor, a nineteen-year-old girl, requires more than simple food, water and shelter. As a type 1 diabetic her body desperately needs insulin to stay alive. With civilization gone, no one manufactures it anymore. She hoards all the insulin she can find, but every day marches toward the end of her stash of vials. She has a choice. Accept her fate and death, or tackle the almost insurmountable task of extracting and refining the insulin herself.

Brilliant scientists struggled to make the first insulin. What hope does a high school dropout have?

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Suspended Between

Julya’s scream shatters through the metal of the starship when a simple number destroys everything she dared hope for in her life—love, a future, happiness. One simple number...

101

4,096 colonists lay in deep suspension. Some of Earth’s best, they are chosen to colonize a new world and are on a 200-year journey through space. Julya was one of them, dreaming of the life she’ll live when she awakes on the new colony.

But Julya isn’t asleep anymore.

When an accident causes two suspension pods to fail—those of Julya and an engineer named Dax—both are forced to face the unthinkable…

What happens when you are in deep space, on a spaceship never designed for the living, with only one other person? Can you survive? Can you find love? Can you face the unexpected?

What happens when you awake early? Not just early, but 101 years early?

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