By Kevin Brooks

This is often the winner of the 2014 Cilip Carnegie Medal. Room meets Lord of the Flies, The Bunker Diary is award-winning, younger grownup author Kevin Brooks' pulse-pounding exploration of what occurs whilst your worst nightmare comes actual - and the way will you continue to exist? i cannot think I fell for it. It used to be nonetheless darkish whilst I awakened this morning. once my eyes opened I knew the place i used to be. A low-ceilinged oblong construction made solely of whitewashed concrete. There are six little rooms alongside the most hall. There aren't any home windows. No doorways. The elevate is the one approach in or out. what is he going to do to me? What am I going to do? If i am correct, the carry will come down in 5 mins. It did. purely this time it wasn't empty...Praise for The Bunker Diary: "[Kevin Brooks'] pacey plots ...have made him a cult between adolescents. This, even though, is the large one. it's going to be learn by way of everyone". (Amanda Craig, The Times). Kevin Brooks has gained the Branford Boase Award and been shortlisted for the mother or father kid's Fiction Award, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, the Manchester publication Award and for the Carnegie Medal (for Martyn Pig, highway of the lifeless and Black Rabbit Summer). Kevin Brooks was once born in Exeter and studied in Birmingham and London. He had a diversified operating existence, with jobs in a crematorium, a zoo, a storage and a put up workplace, sooner than - fortunately - giving all of it as much as write books. Kevin is the writer of Being, Black Rabbit summer season, Killing God (published as sunrise within the USA), iBoy and bare for Penguin. He now lives in North Yorkshire. if you happen to loved The Bunker Diary and wish to get within extra of your favorite books, then try out for specific writer interviews, competitions and masses extra.

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And that i see a boy, a pathetic-looking factor with ropy hair and junkie epidermis and the baggiest outfits on the planet. and that i imagine to myself—what are those humans doing? good, says a voice in my head, 3 of them are discussing the presumed act of the fourth. 3 of them—a villainous drug addict, a loss of life guy, and a vagrant kid—are discussing what to do a couple of purple-skinned fats guy who they suppose has murdered a slightly distasteful lady. And with that proposal I flow back off into my physique simply in time to gain that we’re all simply sitting there, so wrapped up in our personal futility, that we haven’t spotted Jenny popping out of my room and crossing over to the carry. We haven’t performed something to avoid her from seeing the sheet-wrapped corpse at the ground. and that i hate myself for that. I don’t hate myself for far, yet I hate myself for that. We’re all simply sitting there, misplaced in our personal in poor health heads, and negative Jenny’s status by myself with a useless physique less than a sheet. after which the carry comes down. G-dung, g-dunk, whirr, clunk, click on, nnnnnnnnn … nnnnnnnnnnnnnn … g-dunk—mmm-kshhh-tkk. i am getting up and exit into the hall and my center stops on the sight of Jenny getting into the elevate. She stoops down, choices anything up, and steps out back preserving a bit of paper. She reads it. seems to be up, appears to be like over at me, smiles awkwardly, then glances on the form below the sheet, comes over to me, and arms me the sheet of paper. I see published phrases. i glance at Jenny. “Are you okay? ” She nods. “You definite? ” She nods back. I smile at her, then learn the notice. It says: LiES—mY fact: LiNUS sLAYEd the woman I learn it back. And back, and back. And all i will be able to imagine is—what? WHAT? after which my mind kicks in and that i think—shit, what am I going to do with this? Tear it up? Screw it right into a ball and devour it? Or do I positioned my belief within the others? Russell, Fred, Jenny … do i've got adequate religion in them to belief me? have they got religion in me? Do they belief me? in fact they do. Jenny follows me again to the desk. We take a seat and that i move the be aware to Russell. He reads it, appears to be like at me, then passes the be aware to Fred. Fred reads it, seems to be at me, throws the notice at the desk. “Well? ” I say to nobody particularly. “Well what? ” says Fred. “What do you're thinking that? ” “About what? ” “The notice, for Christ’s sake. What do you're thinking that? ” “What do you think that i believe? ” I shake my head. He says, “It’s bollocks. Bullshit. try to be ashamed of your self for even asking. ” A tingle rises in my throat. yet then Russell says, “Now, carry on a minute …” And that’s while he begins jabbering on approximately stuff—justice, guilt, fact, innocence … the necessity for objectivity. before everything I simply imagine there’s not anything to it, he’s simply rambling. He’s stressed, ill, he doesn’t be aware of what he’s conversing approximately. “We mustn’t leap to conclusions,” he says. “We need to take heed to both sides of the argument. we need to lay apart our feelings and restrict ourselves to the proof. And we need to examine the phrases of a witness, no matter if we distrust his intentions. now we have an obligation to contemplate his testimony—” “What witness?

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