The Locked Door

I pushed the doors open. The golden doors that the Nazis, of all people, were trying to keep closed. If the Nazi’s were trying to keep a door closed, then you know it has to be something interesting. I stared into the looming darkness before me and decided if I was going to go on this adventure, I needed a torch.

I returned back to the room of dead Nazis and pulled a torch from the wall bracket. Feeling like a 1930s adventurer, I secured the satchel and passed through the doors, the warm glow of the fire barely lighting the way as I headed down the tunnel, going deeper and deeper into the mountainside. The tunnel was smooth but uneven, a mix of man-made and natural. Water dropped from the roof into numerous puddles that I splashed through. All thoughts of my injuries were gone, I was hobbling a little but was pretty sure I could run if I saw any of those creatures.

Aside from the water dripping into puddles and my boots splashing in those same puddles, there was no sound. It was eerily silent, the air cool and fogging with each breath.

After a monotonous walk that lasted ten minutes or ten hours, the tunnel flattened and the semi-natural tunnel turned completely man-made with thick timber posts and planks of wood supporting the roof and sides, like a mine shaft.

I passed by small tables, with tools laying on them. Pickaxes, buckets, ropes, spades, shovels and…

“Dynamite?” My voice echoed in the tunnel. 

I picked up a stick, it was a reddish colour and surprisingly heavy, the fuse hung limply as if it had given up the hope of ever being lit. I pocketed it. 

I didn’t know if an 80-year-old stick of dynamite would work, but I felt like it was something that’s better to have and not need, then need and not have.

Along with the stick of dynamite I took the length of rope and slung it diagonally over my shoulder. I followed the tunnel, passing cross junctions with no signs or indication which way was the right way.

Not that I even knew where I was going.

Which led me to a mild panic attack about getting lost down here. Though I was sure the search party from my ski accident was never going to find me after those Brady-yeti hybrids chased me. I was on my own, lost with no direction to go. So I followed my instincts.

Some of the tunnels that branched off were caved in and impassable, so I walked on, humming the Indiana Jones theme, and taking random tunnels based on nothing but instinct. 

I don’t know how long I walked but I kept going until I turned into a tunnel with a run of cables attached to the roof. I felt a flip of excitement and followed the cables. Dusty light bulbs dangled from the cables, sporadically spaced out along the rafters. I followed them, absently wondering if they still worked until I found the end of the tunnels and found myself in a wide-open void.

The cables took a right and ran along the wall and I followed them. They ran along the curve of the wall, and I passed by more rotten tables and chairs, until they ended in a metal box with a switch. Dozens of thick cables protruded out the top of the switchbox and on the front was a metal handle.

I’d seen enough Wile E. Coyote cartoons to know pulling the switch would end in catastrophe but realistically none of this was going to end well. I was stuck in a secret Nazi hideout beneath the alps.

So I pulled it.

The switch box sparked, the nearest light bulb popped, and I heard a faint hum as the dull yellow lights faded in. I wasn’t sure what impressed me more, that the Nazis were still paying their electricity bill 80 years after they lost the war or that they built a train station under a mountain!

I gaped. The lights ran up the cavern's vaulted ceiling high above me, providing a dim illumination of a train platform, train tracks and a black, cylinder-shaped locomotive. Attached to the train were multiple carriages. I approached the train, running my hand along the cool metal, just making sure what I saw was real and I wasn’t having a fever dream while stuck under the ice like Captain America.

On the front of the train was a giant swastika and I padded up the platform steps, my boots echoing on the timber, and walked along the platform. There were giant crates scattered about, like they were tossed around by a child and a ramp led down the centre of the platform. Beyond it was an overturned forklift, with another two parked nearby and three flatbed trucks.

I breathed out in awe at this discovery. It was some kind of Nazi underground transport. Right beneath the Italian alps!

But what were they transporting? I passed the train and examined the carriages. The first one was a box carriage made of wood and iron bars. It reminded me of animal transport trains from the early 1900s. I stopped before the second carriage, it was the same as the first except there was something in it.

I squinted in the dim light and moved closer. So close my forehead was touching the cool iron bars, and then I stepped back involuntarily.

It was a skeleton.

And not a human skeleton.

It lay sitting against the bars, like it was taking a nap. The skull was human-like but elongated, with four long tusks protruding from its jaws. The bones were thick and long, and I saw the familiar long talons and absently touched my thigh where one of its brethren swiped me. It was one of the creatures. A yeti or sasquatch or whatever.

I shivered, thinking about the rage-fuelled beasts chasing me through the snow. The bridge collapsing. I took a last look at the remains, it looked vaguely human to me.

“What are you?” I murmured. 

The third carriage was a tray carriage with a truck strapped down on it and the next one was another animal transport carriage, except the bars on this one was mangled, bent and torn away. Like something tore them apart trying to get out.

I glanced back at the second carriage with the remains.

Were the Nazis transporting the creatures out of here?

The next carriage, the last one before the platform ended, was a carriage with tables and bench seats. The carriages continued, extending out into the darkness. I leapt onto the flat carriage with the truck and examined it. It was an Opel Blitz pickup truck with the swastika painted on the doors. I opened the driver's side door and sat on the dust covered seats with a soft whump. 

I put my hands on the dusty steering wheel, thinking back 80 years. Trying to imagine what any of this was like. There was a key in the ignition, and I knew I had to do it. I had to try. I would go to my grave wondering if I didn’t do it.

I turned the key.

The engine coughed and choked, trying to engage.

I tried again with the same result.

“Come on, baby,” I cooed and turned the key again.

The engine coughed, spluttered…then roared to life with a thunderous sound of diesel entering the engine, the crankshaft rotating, the pistons pumping. The cavern echoed as I let the engine idle, purring like a highly satisfied cat. While the cabin rumbled, I checked the console and found some papers written in German, they looked like a manifest of some sort. I put them in the satchel and as I did, I noticed a key at the bottom of the satchel.

It was a thick, brass key. I held it up in the dim light, wondering what it opened.

A reflection caught my attention and out the window I saw a huge metal double door. It was easily three stories high and the width of four cars. I pushed open the door, and leaving the truck idling, jumped off the carriage and headed over, noticing cables bolted to the floor heading in the same direction. The cables ran up the wall next to the door, some of them entering another switch box, while the rest went into the wall and presumably to whatever was on the other side.

I stood before the door, gaping at the size of it.

How did they build this?

A thick metal bar lay across the door, preventing anyone from opening it and there were familiar deep gouges in the metal. The metal was twisted and rusted, looking like mangled teeth. Whatever is behind here, they really wanted to get to it.

I turned to the switch box, it was similar to the one from before except instead of a switch, there was a keyhole.

Flipping open the satchel cover, I pulled out the key and slotted it in.

I was about to turn it, but I hesitated. I looked at the giant door and the claw marks. Whatever was behind here, the yetis wanted in, and the Nazis wanted no one to see.

I really should take the truck and go, follow the tracks and hope it leads me out of here. 

“Screw it,” I said and turned the key.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then a loud metallic thunk and a klaxon alarm blared out. The deafening alert echoed off the chamber walls and there was another metallic thunk. The metal barricade lifted on a mechanical hinge, the rusted metal squealing in protest. The barricade was meant to lift up like the barricades at a railway crossing but the metal was rusted so badly it snapped off midway up. I dodged back just as it crashed to the ground with a metallic clang. 

The mechanism controlling the barricade continued, the rusted stump still attached to the wall continued to rotate until it was fully upright. 

The doors groaned, slowly opening until they hit the fallen barricade that lay at the entrance. The mechanism whined, straining to open the doors but the barricade was too heavy. The whining reached a high pitch and then the switch box sparked and exploded, wisps of smoke trailing from it. 

I checked the doors; they were slightly open, and I peered in. Seeing the coast was clear, I entered.

And wished I didn’t.

I was in a chamber, the lights brighter and in front of me was a long table filled with papers, folders, and tools. I saw callipers, hammers, chisels, pliers and all sorts of other strange devices. 

There were a dozen skeletons here, all but one was human. They were laying about, their bones were crushed or split and broken, laying in destroyed furniture. The other skeleton was that of a yeti. It lay face down behind the table and I wondered what sort of carnage it unleashed in here, locked in here like a cornered fox. I found another yeti skeleton attached to a vertical table. Strong leather cuffs bound its wrist and ankles, with thick chains around the body and head. Surrounding the table were giant tanks filled with a sickly green liquid with breathing apparatuses, like a scuba divers’ regulator, coming in from the top.

Two of the tanks were broken, the glass smashed, and some others were empty, but five of them had bodies in them. They were all in different states of decay and they hung, suspended in the green liquid, eyes closed. One was human, one was a yeti and the other three were in between. I gasped, my stomach almost betraying me as I saw a human with four elongated teeth, another with longer arms, white fur growing all over its body, and a third that was almost a completely transformed yeti except the head was still human.

“What…the…hell…,” I murmured. Did they create the yetis? What have I stumbled into?

A thunderous roar echoed in the cavern behind me, and I jumped in shock.

Oh no.

A second one followed and then another and another.

Shitshitshit! 

The roars continued and they were getting louder and closer with each one. I was about to head out of the lab when I noticed something on the far end of the table. It was a jar of green liquid, similar to the stuff in the tanks. I picked it up, it was surprisingly heavy and moved around like sludge, written on the jar was the word: Azoth.

Maybe this stuff was key to this whole science lab of horrors. I found a piece of cloth on the table and wrapped it around the jar, almost dropping it when another roar echoed from the cavern behind me. I carefully put the sludge in the satchel and then gathered up all the papers I could. Some of them were torn, others disintegrated at my touch. Whatever could fit I put it in.

Satisfied I had all I could, I headed back to the metal doors and poked my head through. In the dull light, I saw half a dozen yetis standing around the idling pickup truck.

Cursing my stupidity, I looked around for another way out. I figured the train tracks had to lead somewhere, hopefully out of these mountains, but without the truck I had no hope. I couldn’t outrun the creatures, and I had no idea how far the train tracks went before leaving these mountains. For all I knew they went all the way to Germany.

I needed the truck and I had to create a distraction.

The yetis had gathered around the truck, watching it. They looked almost curious. One of them pushed it, the chassis rocked, and it jumped back and growled.

I realised then it was the noise that had their attention. I needed to make more noise. Something louder that would get them away from the truck.

I searched the cavern, but in the dim light I couldn’t see anything. Especially on the far side because of the train.

Wait a minute. The train!

If the truck could start, maybe the train could. If the train could start, maybe it would distract the yetis enough I could sneak into the truck and get out of here.

Securing my satchel I headed for the train.

I scurried past tables and ducked behind crates, but the yetis were preoccupied with the truck that I could have moonwalked to the cab. I entered the cab and was greeted with a million buttons, pipes, gauges, wheels and levers, all labelled in German. I searched the buttons and switches, pressing one labelled starten. The engine coughed and I heard the yetis roar in surprise. I pressed it again, flicking some nearby switches and the engine coughed and spluttered. Lights flicked on and gauges flicked back and forth. 

The engine hummed to life.

The yeti’s roared again. I looked out to see one of them bounding my way. I leapt out of the opposite door just as the creature hurtled into the cab door with a loud thud.

I ducked behind a crate, peering around the corner, silently praying for the others to follow. The engine got louder, thrumming as it warmed up, and the yetis roared again. One-by-one they left the truck and headed over to examine the train. This was probably the most interesting thing to happen to them in decades.

Once they were all there, I headed over to the truck as quietly as I could and pulled open the door. I slid inside and closed the door.

With the engine idling I put my hands on the wheel, grabbed the gearstick and paused. I groaned, realising my mistake.

There was no way off the carriage.

“Shitshitshit,” I cursed, looking around as if I would magically find a way off. There was a stack of boxes next to the carriage and an idea came to me.

A crazy idea. But an idea, nonetheless.

“Screw it,” I said, putting the truck in reverse. The gear stick grinded, sounding like a gunshot in the cavern, and one of the yetis’ heads perked up like a meerkat.

I reversed the truck back as far as I could, the engine grunting as I edged it into the corner of the carriage platform, careful not to tip it over the side. Once I was in position, I shifted into first and hit the accelerator. The truck roared and took off, I was aiming for the other corner, where the boxes were. I figured I could maybe use them as enough of a cushion to let the truck land on its wheels and not tip over.

I figured it would work. 

I never got a chance to find out.

Just as I reached the edge of the carriage, a yeti slammed into the side of the truck with a loud thud. A second yeti followed, slamming into the passenger-side door and the truck tipped over the edge.

My world tumbled and rolled as the truck crashed on its side, and then rolled onto the roof, me rolling with it. It skidded across the cavern floor with the sound of screeching metal before coming to a rest.

I blinked, trying to clear the fogginess away. I was lying on an awkward angle, my head and neck bent awkwardly against the roof and my legs stuck against the steering wheel.

The yeti’s roared in celebration and then jumped on the truck, ripping at the tires and the underside, ripping at the sides with their sharp claws.

I frantically searched for a way out, but I was trapped.

With a screech of metal, a yeti ripped open the passenger’s side door. The cabin echoed with it’s roar and it reached in, claws out, ready to rip me to shreds.

“Oh no.”