Light.

Ding… ding…

Fog.

Pain.

Ding… ding… ding…

Murdoc's eyes struggled open

His head rolled on the sticky steering wheel. His vision burst in and out in blinding, white cuts as he tried to pull himself up. A groan leaked out of him as he lifted his head, the brightness settling to a cloudy hum. He blinked slow. The world was an unbearable white blur of ten thousand ringing bells.

Pain washed over him in throbbing waves as he pawed for the door handle. His hands fumbled against the metal, throwing the door open. His hand came up to touch his face and came back covered in something wet. He focused his eyes through the blur. His palm was covered in red. He stared down at it, unable to register the blood was coming from him.

He heaved back slowly, and threw himself from the car, crawling on his hands and knees out onto the pavement. He smacked his lips, the taste of metal filling his mouth.

It was day, and through the glowing fog he saw the car behind him. The hood was driven into the guard rail like a wedge. A gurgle-snort popped out of his nose, and he could feel something dripping down his lips.

He collapsed back onto the wet road.

"Hey…" he called in a soft, hoarse voice that sounded far away. He licked his cracked lips and swallowed blood. "Russ…"

No answer.

He rolled onto his front and the world spun. He blinked his eyes clear and looked up into the car. Empty. Russel was gone. The door was thrown open, and the steady 'ding…ding…ding' of the door-ajar-alert was the only sound besides his own heavy breathing. The drummer was nowhere in sight.

"2D… Noodle…"

He heaved himself upwards and slammed his numb body against the door, peering into the backseat—empty too. His heart banged against his ribs. Murdoc scrambled along the side of the car, stumbling over his swollen feet to the passenger side.

He glanced down, swaying his weight against the side of the car. A trail of blood led away from the open door.

The red stain went down along the seat, pooled at the road, and disappeared in a line into the fog. Murdoc buckled against the car, gulping big, greedy swallows of air into his chest.

"R-Russ!" he called out, his throat burning, the taste of blood bubbling back up in his mouth. "Noodle! 'D! Anybody?!"

He fumbled for his pocket, nearly dropping his phone in his slick hands as he called 2D on his speeddial. It went straight to voicemail. He turned on his heel, eyes darting from empty space to empty space, listening to 2D prattle on about reaching him on his land line. The tone asked him to kindly leave a message.

"Dullard! Where the hell are you?!" He coughed in a shudder. "Did you… did you ditch me here?! I can't remember… what happened. If you and Russ left me here, I'll wring your goddamn necks! If yer in the hospital… then… then why didn't they get me…"

He stared off into the fog, his mind racing to a hundred variable outcomes as he looked at the blood.

"Call me. NOW."

Every fiber of his body told him to get in the car and try to drive back to Brahms, but he couldn't make himself get in. His wavered from one foot to the other, wobbling on rickety ankles and scuffed boot heels.

He clutched his phone like a cross, eyes locked on the blood, and went to dial Russel—voicemail. Panic set in—that familiar rush of breathless fear and shaking that shook bones and shredded reason.

"Tusspot!" he yelled out, his voice echoing along the road. "Russ!"

The closeness of the fog made him shiver—it was so quiet. One last dial. Noodle's number.

"Pick up," he pleaded in a high tone he didn't recognize. "Pick… pick up."

It rang.

It rang twice.

He froze—a soft, twinkling melody whispered through the fog.

The melody grew louder the closer he grew to the car, until he could hear it leaking like oil from under the Grand Am. He bent down on hands and knees, peering underneath.

Noodle was in a crumpled heap between the rear wheels. She looked as if she were sleeping. He reached out, grabbing the girl by the shoulder and yanking as hard as he could manage.

"Noods! Noodle, wake up!"

Her limp body felt lifeless and weak, nothing like her. He pulled back, leaving a red handprint on her white shirt. He wriggled under the suspension, grabbing both ankles and pulling hard, straining the already twisted ropes of his muscles. He pulled again and again, until white ate at his eyes and he could taste metal. Murdoc dragged her into his lap, pushing hair out of her face as his ragged breath came back in gunts. Her hair was bloody, scrapes and bruises riddled her arms and legs. He shook her.

"Hey! Hey! Noodle, get up! Come on!"

Her head rolled back, limp against his arm, her mouth lolling open in a noiseless scream. A cold shock ran through him.

He leaned down, pressing an ear to her scrawny chest. A tiny breath shuddered through her and he let out a long groan of relief. She wasn't dead. He tried everything to wake her up—smacked her cheeks, shook her, screamed, pinched, but she was out cold.

He dialed 911, muttering every curse he could remember under his breath. Static spilled out from the receiver.

"Fuck," he snarled, tucking the phone back into his jacket.

The world was silent and he was alone.

Pushing Noodle's head up into his shoulder, he glanced to the blood trail, then up to a rusty sign barely hanging onto its pole on the roadside.

'BRAHAM'S – 13 MILES'

'PALEVILLE – 3 MILES'

'SILENT HILL – 2 MILES'

Logical and horrible ideas popped in and out of his brain in numbing speed. Tightening his grip on her arm, he pulled with every inch of strength in his body to work Noodle's limp body onto his shoulders. She started to slide, like a wet fur coat, down his back, and he struggled to keep her balanced. He wrapped his arms around her legs, nearly falling backwards under her weight, her head falling slack against him. She was eleven when he'd last given her a ride on his back, and she had been much shorter and he had been much younger.

He trembled up on sore feet, craning over in a hook, with her head rolling about on his shoulder. He took one shaky step, then another, until he was able to keep his balance.

"Alright," he muttered. "Okay. You can do this Muds. Walk in the park. Only two fucking miles, not a goddamn problem."

He glanced back at the smashed-in car every few steps, eaten by the fog as he disappeared into the mist. He kept looking back until it was a muted black shape in the distance. He breathed in deep through his plugged-up nose and spat red onto the road.

"2D!" he called out, pulling Noodle higher onto his back. "Russ!"

It was so quiet—not even the sound of birds or cars on the road. Not even the echo of space. Nothing.

Murdoc tried to hurry along with unsure steps, gripping Noodle's legs tight to keep her from slipping, which she still did with every movement.

The numbness began to ebb away and pain shot through every limb relentlessly. His ribs constricted every breath in deep aching throbs, and as he continued on shaky legs, he became very aware of a sharp, nagging pain in his left ankle. He went from stumbling to limping to ease his foot. His face and neck hurt the most, and as Noodle weighed down on his spine, the pain grew from bothersome, to crippling, to torture. He grunted with an open mouth under the strain, shifting her side to side to keep the pressure off of the small of his neck. With every half-step, his left foot cramped under the twisted muscles. He wanted to drop her, but he held tight, his sharp sinking like knives into his cut lip.

He squinted through the mist. In the distance, barely there like a plume of smoke, a figure moved. Leaning to one side, he cleared his throat and swallowed down blood.

"Russ?"

No, he realized as the word left his mouth, the figure was too thin, too tall.

"Tusspot!" he decided in a rage. "Get over here! I think Noodle's hurt I can't keep—are you listening you little shit?! I said get over here!"

The figure stopped.

Murdoc nearly dropped Noodle straight off his back as he galloped into the thick mist, the clack, clack of his boots echoing in the road. He panted hard, his lungs aching against his bruised ribs, clenching down hard in a vice grip so that his breaths were shallow and short. The figure was tantalizingly close, but it seemed as if he were no closer to closing the distance.

He fell to his knees, grinding his jeans into the pavement so roughly that he felt his skin rub raw underneath. Murdoc gasped for breath, glancing up into the fog. There was the tall shadow—lingering, just out of sight.

"2…D, get… Noodle!" he called out, sucking in air through his broken nose.

A hiss of breath in his ear nearly caused him to piss himself. Noodle's head moved slightly. Her jaw and cheek wriggled against his shoulder, her mouth getting close to his ear.

"Shit, Noodle, I thought you were a goner. Sweet Satan, you really had me going, you little—"

"Don't… " she breathed in a whisper.

His smirk faded into an open-mouthed stare. His eyes slid over to the figure, still hovering in the fog, rocking from side to side.

"Noodle…" he said in a low voice.

Her chest rose and fell with a strangled noise, wheezing into his ear.

"Killer…"

Color drained from his face. He glanced down under his knees—the bloody trail he'd nearly forgotten smeared to a sudden end below him. The figure stared.

Trembling, he got to his feet, stepping backwards as silently as he possibly could, ignoring the stinging pain of his ankle.

"Can't go back," Noodle managed, coughing quietly. "Tried… Road… is gone"

"What the bloody hell do you want me to do?" he whispered, still backing away.

The figure slunk forward, gaining a step for each he took back. His body shook.

"Run."