Primordial

Chapter 42

Aston let out a small laugh, as much from disbelief as anything. Several wooden crates were stacked in a pile on one side of the passage, each branded with the swastika and eagle symbol of the Third Reich. A large red and black flag bearing the same motif was draped over the boxes, tattered and threadbare with age. Leaning up against the boxes and the tunnel walls, and lying on the tunnel floor, were several skeletons in crumbling German military uniforms.

“Well, we have our proof that Old Mo’s story was true and this is definitely the cave in question.” He moved over to the pile of crates and ran a finger across the surface of the one closest to him. Three words were stamped on the front: SPRENGSTOFF DEUTSCHEN WEHRMACHT. He knew the last two words translated to ‘German Army’ and he could guess what the other meant. “Explosives.”

Slater stared at the bizarre scene before her. “This can’t be the entire German unit, so what happened to the others? They just left these men here to starve to death?”

“Who’s to say any of them survived? They might be part of the bone pile out in the lair. We know…” Something caught his eye.

“What?”

Aston pointed, at a loss for words. Another pile of bones stood off to one side, next to the black scorch marks of a small fire. A couple of daggers lay atop a neatly folded uniform. The skeleton itself was broken up, the arms and legs separated from the torso, and the larger bones cracked open.

“Did that one get undressed before he died?” Slater asked quietly.

Aston gritted his teeth as he took in the grisly scene. “I think maybe he didn’t undress himself.”

“The others undressed him? Why..?” She didn’t finish the question. After a moment she said, “They ate him?”

Aston shrugged. He knelt beside one of the uniformed corpses. It had a hole blown in the skull and a Luger pistol clutched in its bony fingers. “Whatever they did, this one couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Jesus Christ,” Slater said. “They couldn’t wait for their friends?”

“Assuming there were any friends to wait for. Maybe they figured the rest of their unit had already been killed. They probably reached a point at which it was every man for himself.”

“What, they didn’t realize the monster couldn’t fit through here?”

“I’ll bet it had them trapped. They probably held out as long as they could, waiting for help to come. Once they ran out of provisions, water in particular, they were done for.”

“I can’t imagine. But if they came in by land, why not leave the same way?”

“Wait here.” Aston jogged further up the tunnel. Sure enough, he soon came to a tumbled rock wall, the result of the explosives from Old Mo’s story, perhaps. A cursory inspection revealed scorch marks, tunnel walls scoured and pockmarked by flying debris, stone fragments covering the floor. Having a good idea of what happened, he returned to Slater.

“It’s a dead end up there. The tunnel is caved in, either deliberately or accidentally, but almost certainly from blasting.”

Slater frowned. “So what happened?”

“I reckon maybe the entire platoon was running from the monster after it snacked on a few of them. This must be the way to the surface, but perhaps they blew the tunnel behind them in an attempt to end the chase. The rest probably buried themselves and these guys here were the only few stragglers left, but were trapped on this side. Or maybe the others escaped and sacrificed this lot. Given Mo’s story told of no one ever making it out, I’m thinking maybe they really fucked up and brought the whole passage down on themselves. One idiot’s stray grenade could potentially do that. Either way, we can hide a little deeper in.”

“If only these guys had realized there was an underwater passage leading out to the lake,” Slater said.

“Wouldn’t have done them any good. They don’t have the gear to make it.” Aston pointed to an old fashioned diver’s suit, a large, round brass helmet and hand-pumped bellows for air. “They only had the necessary equipment to send a single man down exploring. Looks like only a few hundred feet of hose at most.”

He moved to the boxed and pulled the flag away. It disintegrated at his touch and he brushed it aside. It didn’t take too much effort to lever the lid off the crate and inside he found a selection of supply boxes, food and drink, all torn and emptied.

“My god,” Slater whispered. “How long were they here before…” She gestured to the naked, butchered skeleton. “Before that?”

“Maybe quite a while,” Aston allowed. There were scrape marks on the tunnel floor that seemed to indicate they had dragged whatever supplies remained to them up to this point and camped out. He winced at the thought of them awaiting rescue, knowing it was never going to happen. What a horrible, slow way to die. Far too much time to think about it. He didn’t blame the guy with the Luger P08 in his lap.

“Do you think we can get out through there?” Slater pointed toward the blocked passageway. “Maybe clear the rubble?”

“If several soldiers in their prime couldn’t do it, I doubt we can. The blockage will have only gotten worse over the years, the little cracks filling with dirt and gravel. I reckon it’s sealed shut.”

“You’re such an optimist.”

Aston nodded. But the discovery of the crates had given him an idea. He picked up one of the Nazi daggers and, working with the utmost caution, pried the lid off of the top crate. When he looked inside, he froze, half terrified, half elated.

“What’s that?” Slater asked.

“That,” Aston said, “is a bloody great box full of dynamite.”

“Seriously? Is it dangerous?”

“Probably. Nitroglycerine, which is what makes dynamite volatile, doesn’t evaporate. Let’s not move around too much now, it might be a bit unstable. Let me investigate here.”

He leaned over the box, reluctant to touch anything. The sticks were pristine, with none of the waxy coating or crystallization that would indicate increased volatility. They appeared safe to handle. He noted that the fuses were thick and coated with wax.

“These were made to burn underwater. Looks like these guys anticipated having to blow their way in or out of somewhere.”

He moved to another box and opened it to find more dynamite, this time lacking the waxy fuses. “With these you attach wire to the blasting caps. They’ll have used a manual detonator and some of that,” he pointed to a roll of detonator wire wrapped around a wooden wheel, “in order to get down deep.”

“Why didn’t they use this stuff to blow their way back out up there?” Slater pointed up the tunnel toward the dead end.

“Maybe they tried and only made it worse. I don’t think it would work, probably just bring more of the tunnel down on them. In such a small place, the concussive blast would be hell.”

“Cover it up,” Slater said. “I don’t want to get blown up!”

Aston grinned at her. “No, I won’t be covering it up. I’ve got a plan.”