Page 1 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

Dear Diary

Mum just patted him on the shoulder and said, yes, dear, and then we went back to talking about my birthday party in three weeks’ time.

I’m going to be thirteen. A teenager. I’m trying to decide whether I should invite Robert Hargreaves to my party.

He’s so dreamy, but if he says no, everyone will laugh.

Maybe I’ll just drop it into conversation and see if he shows an interest. Play it cool.

Dear Diary

I’m embarrassed to admit that I thought it was funny at first. Mr. Pritchard (my next-door neighbor) has always been such a huge stick in the mud.

He tells us off if we even breathe on his lawn.

If you can even call it a lawn. I’ve seen bigger handkerchiefs.

Well, not really, and who has a handkerchief these days?

It’s not Victorian times. But you get my point, right?

It’s really not worth blowing a gasket over just because Scott kicked his football on there and bent a few blades of grass.

My little brother’s five, for God’s sake.

And Dad couldn’t take him to the park that day because he had an important meeting.

Anyway, I’m getting distracted. So yeah, I laughed when Mr. Pritchard started stumbling around and fell over.

Dad thought he was drunk, but then we saw his face and I stopped laughing.

He wasn’t just angry. He was ANGRY. Like Incredible Hulk angry, but without the turning green and bursting out of his shirt bit.

Dad made us come inside and lock the door.

Instead of going away, Mr. Pritchard started banging on the windows like he wanted to come in, and he was making the weirdest noises. Like a groan, but worse. He wouldn’t stop, so Dad ended up having to call the police.

And then get this! He bit one of the police officers when they tried to talk to him.

They arrested him after that. Mum says we don’t have to go to school today, so at least that’s something.

It means I don’t get to see Robert, though.

Oh well, plenty of time before my birthday to see if he wants to come to my party.

23rd October

Dear Diary

It didn’t just rain red here. Apparently, it rained red everywhere.

And they think it has something to do with the people going crazy.

Like Mr. Pritchard. He’s still not back.

They must have charged him after he bit the policeman.

I’m only a kid, and I know you can’t go around biting the police, no matter how pissed off you are. I can’t say I miss him.

We went to school today as normal, but half of the teachers were missing, and the ones that were there, were acting weird. They closed the school at lunchtime and sent us all home. Robert wasn’t there.

Dad’s acting weird as well. He’s either glued to the news like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, or he’s doing DIY jobs around the house that he’s put off for years, like mending the window in the garage.

Well, I say mending… What he actually did was hammer a couple of boards over it.

He said he doesn’t want anyone getting in that way.

Who’s going to climb in through the garage window?

What does he think they’re going to steal? A hammer?

As for Mum, she went to Tesco and bought way more food than she usually does. Not exciting food. Tins of soup and beans, and bags of rice. Yuk! Scott wants to go to the park and play football, but Dad said no. He wouldn’t even let him play outside.

26th October

Dear Diary

It rained red again last night. We all stood and watched it.

Mrs. Cushing from around the corner was out in it, and then she went crazy just like Mr. Pritchard did, so it’s definitely the rain.

The news said it was, but we didn’t know whether to believe it.

Dad says we’re going to stay in the house until the army comes to rescue us.

I never thought I’d say this, but I miss school.

Not the lessons, but I miss my friends. And Robert.

Hopefully, everything will be back to normal soon.

27th October

Dear Diary

More people tried to get into the house today. Dad called the police, but no one answered. When the crazy people went away, Dad boarded up the rest of the windows on the ground floor. It’s made the house really dark downstairs, so we’re spending most of the time upstairs, which is weird.

They’re saying on the news that the rain is contaminated, that they were testing a virus designed for biological warfare, and it spread everywhere when it wasn’t supposed to.

You’d think scientists would know what they’re doing.

It’s called RRV13. Not a very catchy name.

Surely someone can come up with something better.

I assume it stands for something, but I’ve no idea what.

They’re advising people to stay out of the rain if they don’t want to become infected and turn crazy.

Apparently, if you get bitten by an infected person, you can catch it too.

I wonder if the policeman got it when Mr. Pritchard bit him.

Mr. Pritchard never did come back. I wonder if he’s dead.

Scott cried a lot today. He’s too young to understand what’s going on.

All he wants to do is play football in the park.

29th October

Dear Diary

The news has stopped. As have all the other TV channels.

You can’t even get re-runs of Friends anywhere.

Dad spent most of the day tinkering with an old radio and trying to get it to work.

Mum’s been trying to put a brave face on, but I found her crying upstairs today.

She said it was her time of the month, but I didn’t believe her.

She and Dad are both scared, which makes me scared.

What if the army doesn’t come? What if there is no army anymore?

What if Mr. Pritchard bit them too? Or if not Mr Pritchard, someone else.

Or maybe they were out on an exercise when the rain came, and they’re all crazy, too.

31st October

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

I got bitten on the arm. Mum cried. Dad cried. Even Scott cried. Although I’m not sure he knew what he was crying about. I think he just cried because everyone else was. I just feel… numb.

So, I guess that’s it for me. I don’t know how long it will take for me to turn into one of them, but I’ve made Dad promise he’ll kill me rather than let me roam the underground and eat rats.

It’s weird. I always thought I’d get married and have kids.

Even if it wasn’t to Robert Hargreaves. Most teenagers think that life sucks, but I reckon in this new shitty world I’m allowed to feel like that.

Sayonara Diary. That’s Japanese for see you.

16th November

I’m still here. Still me. Mum says I must be immune.

She won’t stop hugging me. Dad, too. I complain because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but really it’s nice.

They’re so happy that I’m still here. I’m happy too.

Surprised but happy. The bite’s healing, and my arm’s not even sore anymore.

It’ll leave a scar, but I guess I can live with that.

18th November

We have infected in front of us and infected behind us. We’re basically trapped. We’ve hunkered down in a train and we’re staying as quiet as possible. I might be immune, but no one’s immune to getting eaten. I’m not religious, but I’ve taken to praying we find a way out of this.