"You won the race but he got the girl. I still don't see why he's held a grudge all these years."
"Me neither."
I drove further. The mountains grew a little more distinct. The silhouettes crept downward and I started to see rocks near their bases.
"You might want to slow down." Graham lowered the GPS device and lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "According to this, we're directly on top of the anomaly."
My fingers started to feel slippery on the steering wheel. The snow increased in volume.
"I wonder …" Graham extended his finger, pointing at a spot in the distance. "Do you see that?"
The blizzard obscured my view. But I still got a good look at the landscape. "No, that can't be right. That can't be the anomaly."
I drove a little further, hoping for a miracle. But it was the anomaly. There was no mistaking it.
"A glacier." I slammed the brakes. "We came all this way for a damn glacier."
Chapter 25
"We're here," Graham said. "We might as well take a look at it."
"I know. It's just …" I sighed. "I was sure this was it."
He nodded.
I jumped out of the Sno-Cat and walked swiftly across the ice. My back ached from the long, bumpy ride. My toes stung. My fingers hurt. My ears felt cold.
A ghostly apparition appeared in front of me. The glacier formation was shaped like a crushed box. Each side measured about one hundred feet long. It stood about fifty feet tall at its highest point.
I studied it for a moment. "What do you think?"
Graham shrugged.
"Lots of straight lines. Right angles too."
"Doesn't mean anything."
"Right angles don't exist in nature."
"Sure they do. They're not some secret invention of mankind."
"Maybe not." My heart beat a little faster. "But nature isn't biased toward the right angle. Mankind, on the other hand, uses it all the time."
I walked a little closer. The glacier looked like a squashed gingerbread house. All it needed was a graham cracker roof and some gumdrops in the front yard.
My spine prickled. I didn't know why. Maybe it was the sheer size of the glacier. Or maybe it was the strange way it seemed to absorb the snow without growing an inch in any direction.
I brushed away some powder. Underneath it, I found a thick layer of ice. I unsheathed my machete and poked it at the glacier. Bits of ice chipped away. Gradually, a small hole took shape.
I pushed harder. Ice fragmented and broke under my sharp blade. Large chunks dislodged and fell to the ground.
The blade pinged as it struck something hard. I peered into the small hole. "It's concrete."
"There's a building under there?"
"Not just any building." My pulse quickened. "Werwolfsschanze."
I jabbed my blade at the ice. More concrete came into view. It was cracked and broken. Individual sections varied in condition, ranging from dilapidated to ramshackle.
I circled around the ruins. On the opposite side, I came across a section of thick ice. It jutted away from the rest of the structure.
I chipped at it. Slowly, the top half of a metal door appeared. It was heavily warped and appeared to plunge straight into the ground.
Wind assailed the ruins. My ears started to ring. I carved up more ice, revealing the knob. Twisting it, I shoved the exposed door. It didn't open.
I jabbed my blade into the doorjamb. My muscles strained as I tried to pry the door open. It didn't budge.
I maneuvered my boots, sweeping collected snow away from the area. Then I slammed my shoulder into the door. The impact nearly wrenched my shoulder right out of its socket. But the door stood fast.
I lay down on my back and kicked out. My boots slammed into the metal. Pain shot through my legs, followed by an unpleasant tingling sensation. But the door remained shut.
Graham walked around the corner. "Won't open, huh?"
"Not yet."
"I've got an idea. Come with me."
I followed him around to the north side. It looked similar to the east side, albeit with a more sloping snow bank.
"See what I mean?" he said. "It's shorter over here. Plus, the snow is much more compact. You might be able to climb it."
Sheathing my machete, I trudged closer to the ruins. I bent my knees and coiled my body. Then I jumped.
My fingers caught hold of a thick ridge. Muscles straining, I pulled myself into the air. Then I climbed onto the roof. It was uneven and slanted to the north. A thick layer of snow covered it.
Suddenly, the snow caved under my feet. White powder shot into my face. I thrust out my hands, searching for something to grab.
But all they touched was air.
My feet slammed into concrete. My knees buckled and I rolled. I tried to stand up. But my left leg couldn't hold the weight. Slowly, I crumpled to the ground.
"Cy?" Graham's voice sounded distant. "Where the hell did you go?"
I winced. "There's a hole in the roof."
"So, you're inside? Well, hurry up and open the door already. It's cold out here."
Grumbling, I turned on my flashlight. A soft glow permeated the dark corners of the small room. The concrete floor was broken and twisted in numerous places, probably due to shifting ice. Tables, sawhorses, and machinery were lined up against the crumbling walls. Wood, metal slabs, and other raw materials lay scattered throughout the space.
I limped to the door and cleared away some large chunks of concrete. Then I grasped the knob and pulled with all of my strength. The door opened, scraping loudly over the concrete floor.
A wall of ice blocked the doorframe's lower half. So, Graham got down on his belly and crawled through the open space. "This is Werwolfsschanze?" he asked as he lowered himself to the floor.
I pointed my beam around the room. "Yeah, it's not exactly what I pictured either."
"I've seen bunkers like this one. The Nazis built them all over Europe. Lots of them are still standing." He looked around. "What's all this stuff?"
"Raw materials and tools from the looks of it."
"Werwolfsschanze was a workshop?"
"This part of it was." I aimed my beam at the south wall. The light glittered dangerously as it touched a metal surface. "But there's another door over there."
"That's not the only thing."
I followed his flashlight beam. In the southwest corner, I saw a shadowy silhouette. It was buried under a mountain of rusty tools.
I hiked to the corner and removed a broken shovel. Carefully, I examined some red splatter on it. "Could be paint."
"I wouldn't bet on it."
I tossed away a bunch of tools and shifted some concrete blocks. Graham pointed his beam at the pile. It illuminated the face of a middle-aged man. Judging from the thick layer of frost on his skin, he'd been in the room for a long time.
"How'd he die?" Graham asked.
"I don't know. We need a closer look." I pulled a rusty pickaxe out of the pile. Large pieces of concrete shifted. Dust shot into the air. A coughing fit seized me.
As the dust settled down again, I studied the man's uniform. His armband was black and adorned with a white symbol. "He's definitely a Nazi. But that's not an ordinary swastika."
Graham leaned in for a closer look. "It's a horizontal Wolfsangel, with a crossbar running down the middle. Wolfsangel was an ancient German rune. It resembles a wolf-hook, a device once used to hunt wolves."
"How do you know that?"
"You weren't the only one who did research." He leaned in for a closer look. "This particular version of Wolfsangel was created in the mid-1940s. It represented the Werwolf Freischärler. Translated loosely, that means Werwolf guerrillas."