With a heavy pull, the hiker managed to swing the metal hatch open. Instead of water rushing in to fill a void, he saw a narrow, dry shaft leading downward.
A set of rusted spiral stairs descended into the darkness beneath the river. A strange, metallic smell drifted up, preserved for decades.
The fisherman watched from the boat, his eyes wide with disbelief. The hiker clicked on his flashlight and began the slow descent.
As he reached the bottom, the beam of his light hit a concrete wall. There, etched into the surface, were four numbers: 1942.
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