Free The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks

message down the bog idea
 – and then passed thenotebook
around. Anja read it, shrugged, and passed it to Bird. Mr Sulky. I didn’t think
he’d even bother to read it, but to his credit he took the notebook and studied
the message, then wrote something down and passed it back to me.
    I glanced at him for a moment, feeling a
tiny bit guilty, then I looked at the page. He’d written –
We’d
need a waterproof container, something that floats, small plastic bottle?
    ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Good
idea. Let’s think about it.’
    Finally I passed my idea around, the one
about hiding in the lift.
    I said, ‘I haven’t figured out
all the details yet, but I’m working on it.’
    I got a couple of shrugs and a raised
eyebrow from Fred.
    And that was about it.
    I ought to feel more hopeful, I suppose. At
least we’re talking, thinking, doing
something
. We’re beginning to
work together, and that’s good. Because, when you get right down to it, it’s
us against him. The Man Upstairs. Mister Crazy. The Man With No Name. Call him what you
like. Whoever He is, He holds all the cards. He’s got us right where He wants us.
All we can do is try to make the most of what little we’ve got.
    And what
have
we got?
    Well, I suppose we’ve got the
advantage of numbers. We’re five and He’s one. Five brains against one. And,
if I’m right, it should soon be six. Six against one. Even better. Six brains
against one. It’s not much, I know. I mean, they’re pretty mushy brains, and
they’re probably going to get even mushier if we stay here much longer. But five
or six mushy brains working together is a lot better than five or six mushy brains
working on their own.Do you see what I mean? It’s like an ant
thing. You know, like the difference between an individual ant and an ant colony. An ant
on its own can’t do much, but when it gets together with all its ant-colleagues it
can do almost anything. It can build cities, capture slaves and create underground
gardens. It can rampage through the jungle eating everything in sight. That’s what
we have to do, only on a slightly smaller scale.
    This evening was a start. It wasn’t
the greatest of starts, but at least it was a start. We’re getting there.
We’re improving our chances of getting out. Not a lot, I admit. I mean,
we’re not ready for any rampaging just yet. But not a lot is a lot better than
nothing.
    So, yeah, I ought to be feeling more
hopeful. I ought to be feeling more optimistic, more positive.
    That’s how I
ought
to be
feeling.
    The trouble is, deep down, I can’t
help feeling it’s all a waste of time.

Thursday, 9 February
    I was right, number six arrived this
morning.
    It was my turn to meet the lift. I was
standing in the corridor with a bag of rubbish in my hand, pondering my idea about
escaping in the lift, when down it came, opened up, and there he was.
    His name’s Russell Lansing.
    I know him. At least, I know who he is.
I’ve seen his photograph in the newspapers and on the back of his book,
Time
and Stuff: Natural Philosophy in the 21st Century.
    He was in the wheelchair, tied and gagged,
but he was awake. His eyes were open. Scared, red and watery, but open. I wheeled him
out and gently peeled the tape from his mouth.
    ‘Thank you,’ he gasped.
‘Where am I?’
    I started untying him. As I worked on the
knots I explained as much as I could – the five of us, the lift, the food, the cameras
and microphones. It all sounded pretty weird. It’s strange how you can get used to
something and not realize how peculiar it is until you start talking about it. I know
I’ve been talking to you for the last few weeks, but that’s different.
That’s silent talking. This was
real
talking.
    Russell listened patiently as I told him the
story, not saying anything until I’d finished.
    Then all he said was, ‘I
see.’
    Very calm.
    ‘Are you all right?’ I asked
him.
    He nodded, rubbing his wrists and looking
around. ‘Drugged, I believe. No