William Hill - Department 19

“Don’t bother,” said the driver, his voice so loud that it drowned out the engine. “It’s locked.”

Jamie pressed himself against the door.

In the seat next to him was Frankenstein’s monster.

This is a dream. Isn’t it? It has to be, this can’t be real.

“It’s not polite to stare,” the monster said, and Jamie thought he heard the faintest hint of a laugh under the booming, granite voice.

“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 cell 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 road!”

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

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 honor 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 traveling 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 leaned forward and craned his neck upward. 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 DEFENSE THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA UNDER THE PROVISIONS OF THE OFFICIAL SECRETS ACT 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 authorization.”

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 pressurized 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 vapors 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.

“Please state the names and designations of all passengers.”

Frankenstein rolled down the driver’s window and spoke loudly and clearly into the darkness.

“Frankenstein, Victor. NS302-45D. Carpenter, Jamie. No designation.”

Two halogen spotlights exploded into life, enveloping the car in a circle of blinding white light.

“Non-designated personnel are not permitted access to this facility,” the artificial voice said.

This time Frankenstein roared through the window. “Non-designated personnel present on the authority of Seward, Henry, NS303-27A.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“Clearance granted,” the voice said. “Proceed.”

The spotlights disappeared, replaced with warm electric light, and Jamie’s eyes widened in amazement. They were in a tunnel at least a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide. Covering most of the floor was a dark gray treadmill, in the middle of which sat their car. A white concrete path ran the length of the tunnel on either side. The walls were immaculate white, stretching up to a ceiling that had to be at least twenty feet high. Where the walls and ceilings met, lights of numerous shapes and sizes pointed down at the treadmill. Jamie could see the wide circles of spotlights, and rows of thick rectangular boxes with purple lenses.

Frankenstein breathed out heavily, filling the car with warm air, and drove forward along the treadmill. As they neared the end of the tunnel, another gate, as silent as the first, slid open. They drove through the gate, and Jamie got his first look at a world very few people knew existed.