Page 2

Dear Diary

There were more crazy people outside today. Quite apt for Halloween, but none of them were trick and treating. We wouldn’t give them anything, even if they were. Mum says we’re rationing. Like they did in the Second World War. We learned about that at school.

I watched the crazy people from Scott’s bedroom window while he played with his toy cars. I didn’t recognize any of them this time. They didn’t move like real people. Instead, they were all jerky and fast, and they made noises like Mr. Pritchard did. One of them looked like she was covered in blood. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was raspberry jam or something, and she went crazy while she was making some tarts. I’d prefer to think that.

Mum made me come away from the window after ten minutes. She keeps setting me schoolwork to do. Either that or she makes me practice the two times table with Scott. I don’t know how that’s supposed to help him when the world’s gone to hell. I wonder what Robert’s doing? I bet he doesn’t have to do schoolwork. His mum is way cooler than mine.

3rd November

Dear Diary

The electricity went off today. We still have water, but Dad says it’s only a matter of time before that goes too. We’ve filled every container we have, and we can’t take baths anymore because that’s full of water, too.

Dad had already gotten the camping stove out of the shed to boil the water, saying it was better to be safe than sorry. I made the mistake of admitting I was confused about why it would be a problem, which made Mum give an impromptu lesson on the water cycle. Scott found it fun. I did not.

At least having the camping stove means we can still eat hot food until the gas cylinders run out. Then I guess we’ll be eating cold beans. The me of a couple of weeks ago would have had a major issue with that. Now, I’m just relieved my mum got all that tinned food and we’ve got something to eat.

4th November

Dear Diary

Dad finally found someone transmitting on the radio. It wasn’t good news. Apparently, London is one of the worst places to be. Something to do with the high population all being squeezed together into a relatively small space, and the infection spreading like wildfire.

The advice is to get out of the city and either head south to the coast or north to a less populated area. Mum cried again. Dad just kept sighing a lot. To think that a few weeks ago, my biggest issues were whether Robert would come to my birthday party and what kind of cake I wanted. Now, I’ll be lucky if there’s anything to eat on my birthday.

6th November

Dear Diary

The water stopped yesterday. The house is starting to smell because Dad says we can’t waste any of the water we saved on flushing the toilet, that we need to keep it for drinking.

Mum and Dad spent ages today with a map of London spread out in front of them. When I tried to sit with them, Mum told me to go and play. Play? I’m twelve. I’m not a kid. Not a little one, anyway. I don’t need to go and play when important decisions are being made. I know we’re leaving the house. I’m not stupid. We can’t stay here indefinitely when we’re running out of food and water. I just don’t know where we’re going to go, and how we’re supposed to get there without getting bitten by one of the crazy people. I don’t want to become one of them. Please don’t let me become one. I want a husband and children. And a dog.

9th November

Dear Diary

We’re down in the Underground. That was the big plan Mum and Dad hatched together. They said that if it was good enough to use as an air raid shelter during the war, then it’s good enough to use now. Luckily, we only lived a few streets away from Wimbledon tube station. I don’t want to talk about what I saw on those few streets, though. Putting it down on paper makes it too real. I’d rather just pretend it was a nightmare.

We’re not the only family down here. Lots of people had the same idea. Scott thinks it’s great, like it’s some big adventure. Every time we find an abandoned tube train, he runs off to explore it like he thinks it’s a treasure chest. Which it kind of is. There are no bodies, which is good, but people must have left in one hell of a rush, because they left their belongings behind. Handbags. Suitcases. Backpacks. We even found a violin. It’s a shame none of us knows how to play it. I’ve taken it, anyway. Maybe when we get somewhere safe, I can learn how to play.

The plan is to stay underground and find our way to one of the northernmost stations like Cockfosters, High Barnet, or Watford Junction, whichever is easiest.

Unlike my little brother, I find it quite eerie down here, like time just stopped. People have a lot of stories to share, which passes the time. One family got caught in the rain, but it was normal rain. I guess it’s good to know that such a thing still exists. At least down here, we can’t get rained on.

11th November

Well, happy birthday to me. I made it to thirteen. No party. No cake. No, Robert Hargreaves. Although that’s kind of a relief. Because I’ve got to tell you, I am not looking my best. My hair’s greasy, and I probably smell like a rat. Speaking of rats, there are loads down here. Scott wants to catch one and keep it as a pet. I just want them to stay the hell away from me.

I didn’t realize, but the people we’ve been traveling with have been looking out for birthday gifts for me, so everyone gave me something. And then they sang happy birthday to me. It was so sweet that I almost cried. Mum and Dad gave me a necklace with a horseshoe on it they’d already bought for me. They said horseshoes are lucky and that it would keep me safe. Scott gave me a set of gel pens, so my entries in this diary are probably going to be fancy from now on.

It might have been a strange birthday, but it’s not the worst I’ve ever had.

13th November

There are infected down here with us. We haven’t seen them yet, but we heard them. It means we’re having to creep around so they don’t hear us, and someone has to keep watch when the rest of us sleep. I’ve never been so scared.

14th November