Department 19

“Who are you?” Jamie managed, his mind screaming warnings at him. Don’t talk to it! Are you stupid? Just shut up!

“My name is Victor Frankenstein. I did introduce myself. I assume you don’t remember?”

Jamie shook his head, and Frankenstein grunted.

“I suspected as much. Good thing I locked the doors.”

He laughed, a huge sound like a clap of thunder.

“There is only a certain amount I am permitted to tell you,” he continued. “I’m taking you to a safe place. My superior will tell you whatever else he decides you need to know.”

“Who is your superior?” asked Jamie.

No reply.

“I asked you a question,” he repeated, his voice rising. “Did you hear me?”

Frankenstein turned his enormous head and looked at Jamie.

“I heard you,” he said. “I chose not to answer.”

Jamie recoiled, and then the image of the blood on the bedroom windowsill crashed into his head, and he remembered.

“My mother,” he said, his eyes wide. “We have to go back for her.”

Frankenstein shot him a look of concern.

“We can’t go back,” he said. “She’s gone. You know that.”

Jamie fumbled his mobile phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his contacts until he found his mother’s number, keyed the green button and held it to his ear.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the glowing screen. The network logo that usually shone in the middle was gone, as was the bar that indicated the strength of his signal.

“Phones don’t work around here,” said Frankenstein.

Jamie grabbed again at the door handle, wrenching it until the plastic began to bend in his grip.

“Stop that!” roared Frankenstein. “You will be of no help to her if I have to scrape you off the tarmac!”

Jamie turned on the monster, his eyes blazing. “Stop the car!” he yelled. “Stop it right now! I have to help my mum!”

The car didn’t slow, but the huge man in the driver’s seat looked over at him.

“Your mother is gone,” he said, softly. “You may or may not believe me when I tell you I find that fact almost as distressing as you do. But the fact remains; she’s gone. And running around in the dark will not bring her back.”

Jamie stared angrily at the bolts in the huge man’s neck and, not for the first time, his mouth got the better of him.

“I thought Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster,” he muttered.

The brakes of the car squealed, the wheels locked and they slid to a halt. Frankenstein took a deep breath.

“Victor Frankenstein made me,” he said, his voice like ice. “And for a time I was a monster. But after Frankenstein died, I took his name. To honour him. Now, do you have any more impertinent questions, or should I get us to safety?”

Jamie nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly.

Frankenstein didn’t respond.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“I heard you,” grunted the monster. “I accept your apology, as I accept the fact that you’re worried about your mother, and worry can make people say unwise things. I need you to accept that I share your concern about Marie, and that I’m taking you to the only people in the country who may be able to bring her back to you. And most of all, I need you to shut up and let me drive.”

Jamie turned away, and watched the road they were travelling on snake through the quiet forest. The trees were thick on all sides, blurred by the pounding rain, and the headlights of the car illuminated little more than the road itself, a single lane of concrete that looked oddly well-maintained in this deep countryside.

Every few minutes he looked over at the man in the driver’s seat. Frankenstein’s eyes were glued to the road, and he didn’t so much as glance in Jamie’s direction.

Around the car, the woods seemed to be thickening. Jamie leant forward and craned his neck upwards. He could no longer see the night sky; the trees had arched over the road from both sides and fused into an impenetrable ceiling of wood and leaves.

This didn’t just happen. This is a tunnel. Someone made this.

The car rounded a sharp corner, and Jamie gasped.

In front of them was a huge dark green gate. It stretched across the width of the road and disappeared into the canopy above them, leaving no edges in sight. In the middle of the gate hung a large white sign, illuminated by a strip light above it. Rain lashed against the bulb, sending running shadows across the sign, on which four lines of bright red text had been printed.

MINISTRY OF DEFENCETHIS IS A RESTRICTED AREAUNDER THE PROVISIONS OF THE OFFICIAL SECRETSACT NO TRESPASSING

Smoothly, and utterly silently, the enormous gate slid open. Beyond it was absolute darkness. There was a pause, then an artificial voice sounded through the rain.

“This is a restricted area. Please move your vehicle into authorisation.”

Frankenstein eased the car forward, and for a brief moment panic gripped Jamie.

Don’t go in there. Take me home. I want to go home.

The gate slid shut behind the car, cutting off the faint light from the woods.

“Place your vehicle in neutral,” the voice ordered, and Frankenstein did so.

Machinery whirred into life underneath their car and they began to move. They stopped after an unknowable distance, and then the car was enveloped by a pressurised cloud of white gas that billowed from beneath them, the noise of its release deafening in the enclosed space.

Jamie instinctively reached out and grabbed Frankenstein’s arm.

“What’s that?” he cried.

“It’s a spectroscope,” Frankenstein replied. “It detects the vapours released by explosives. It’s making sure we aren’t booby-trapped.”

He gently lifted Jamie’s hand from the sleeve of his coat and placed it back in the boy’s lap. The artificial voice spoke again.