The Bunker Diary (Fiction - Young Adult)

The Bunker Diary (Fiction - Young Adult)

Kevin Brooks

Language: English

Pages: 264

ISBN: 146775420X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


This is the winner of the 2014 Cilip Carnegie Medal. Room meets Lord of the Flies, The Bunker Diary is award-winning, young adult writer Kevin Brooks' pulse-pounding exploration of what happens when your worst nightmare comes true - and how will you survive? I can't believe I fell for it. It was still dark when I woke up this morning. As soon as my eyes opened I knew where I was. A low-ceilinged rectangular building made entirely of whitewashed concrete. There are six little rooms along the main corridor. There are no windows. No doors. The lift is the only way in or out. What's he going to do to me? What am I going to do? If I'm right, the lift will come down in five minutes. It did. Only this time it wasn't empty...Praise for The Bunker Diary: "[Kevin Brooks'] pacey plots ...have made him a cult among teens. This, though, is the big one. It should be read by everyone". (Amanda Craig, The Times). Kevin Brooks has won the Branford Boase Award and been shortlisted for the Guardian Children's Fiction Award, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, the Manchester Book Award and for the Carnegie Medal (for Martyn Pig, Road of the Dead and Black Rabbit Summer). Kevin Brooks was born in Exeter and studied in Birmingham and London. He had a varied working life, with jobs in a crematorium, a zoo, a garage and a post office, before - happily - giving it all up to write books. Kevin is the author of Being, Black Rabbit Summer, Killing God (published as Dawn in the USA), iBoy and Naked for Penguin. He now lives in North Yorkshire. If you enjoyed The Bunker Diary and want to get inside more of your favourite books, then check out spinebreakers.co.uk for exclusive author interviews, competitions and much more.

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staring at the closed door. Staring and thinking. Thinking and staring. It’s a hell of a door. Smooth, silver, grainy, solid, sealed. No gaps at the side, no gaps at the top, no gaps at the bottom. No markings. No flaws. No scratches. After staring at it for a while I got a saucepan from the kitchen and gave the door a good hard whack. It didn’t do any good, but it made me feel a bit better. I hit it a few more times, then kicked it, then dropped the pan and slapped the door with both hands. A

should be OK.” “But he’s not OK, is he? He’s sick and crazy.” “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. He may be suffering from some kind of personality disorder … his symptoms may be exacerbated by the pain and infection of the wound—” “I wish you’d shut up,” says Fred. We all lapse into silence. At this point I’m still trying to get my head round what’s going on. I don’t understand it at all. The cold shock of death, this strange aftermath, full of confusion … And as I’m thinking about that,

he said, patting my shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen. You and Jenny get some sleep and we’ll talk again in the morning.” I was confused when the sound of the lift woke me up. G-dung, g-dunk. It was dark, and it felt early. And that wasn’t right. The lift comes down at nine o’clock. The lights are always on at nine o’clock. The lift doesn’t come down when it’s dark. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and listened. Whirr, clunk, click, nnnnnnnnn … It was definitely the lift. I wasn’t dreaming.

tap, and wanders back to his room. 09:00: The lift comes down. Empty. 09:30: The day drags on. I talk to Fred. We discuss how long we can go without food. Neither of us knows for sure, but we both think it’s probably quite a long time. Ten days, a couple of weeks, a month … “As long as we’ve got water,” Fred says. “Water’s what counts.” “Yeah.” “You got any ideas?” “About what?” “Getting out of here.” I look at him. I start giggling. “Shit,” he says. My laughter turns to tears. Later

changed at noon. Jenny was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cornflakes, and I was sitting at the table staring at the grille on the ceiling, trying to work out how to kill the cameras without getting a face full of poison. Everything was quiet. Everything was normal. Everything was routine. There’s always a routine, wherever you are. You soon get used to it. Lights on at eight, lift down at nine. Lift up again at nine in the evening, lights off at twelve. Long hours of doing nothing. Waiting,

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