Rachel's gaze dropped back down - though deliberately not far enough so that the corpses on the ground would come into her field of vision. Her gaze darted back to inside the van, radio once again silent.
It spewed static when the Bloated was about to show up, and stopped after I killed it. It started up again when the Red Thing came to life and stopped again when I stomped on it. Is there some sort of connection - Rachel immediately stopped her mental processes, refusing to think about it further. No. No. I'm not thinking about it. I won't. I can't. A snowflake landed in her ear and Rachel shivered, suddenly aware of just how chilly it was. She looked around. There was nothing but snow and fog, but what did that mean? There could be any number of things just outside her vision. She couldn't stay here. They knew where her van was, it wasn't safe - the door couldn't even close now that the roof had been imploded.
Her grip on the tire iron tightened. She didn't need to check her watch anymore - night was not just close, it was here, the fog was turning from light gray to black. She lifted the flashlight and clicked it on. A strong beam of white light shone out and dissipated. Rachel clicked it off again, satisfied it worked - she didn't want to attract attention.
Something shifted behind her. Rachel pivoted, saw nothing, and started to move into the banks of dark gray, over expanses of crisp grass. She didn't dawdle.
0 0 0
Flickering fire off curved gold.
Fingertips gliding upon the engraved images.
Thumb walks the rims.
Holy robe. Lawful sword. Stretched gut. Anguished scream.
Murky earth.
Metal, clean.
Footsteps. It creaks, it closes, it locks.
Lonely wineglass, filled soon.
0 0 0
Rachel's foot hit the asphalt. Perhaps it was blind luck that Rachel hadn't seen anything else since the van, but she was grateful. Taking out the flashlight, she turned it on and directed the beam about. Directly across the street was a phone booth; and just behind it a small diner, windows dark.
Rachel didn't care about the booth - the phones didn't work, and by the looks of the town there wasn't anyone that she could talk to anyway. The diner wasn't much better, looking dingy and angled and weird. She didn't want to stay in one place anyway, someplace she could be tracked and cornered - she had to keep moving, she to just find some place big enough so she could hide but also move about if she had to. Maybe she could find a place out of this town - Her light was still hovering over the diner's wide windowed front, still as her mind wandered. She snapped back to reality though, when the light dimly illuminated something at the back of the dingy restaurant. She brought the light back and saw it, for sure this time - a first aid kit.
The door wasn't locked. Rachel stepped into the room, musty and stale air filling her nostrils. The building seemed smaller on the inside than on the outside, ceiling uncomfortably low and every wall just a few feet away. Hopping the counter, she grabbed the first aid kit off the wall, a rusty handle grating under her fingers. It was light - far too light to be carrying any first aid supplies. Concerned, Rachel shook it and was awarded with a quiet rattling sound. She pulled the rectangular kit open.
Nothing fell out. No bandages. No antiseptic. No ampoules.
Frantically Rachel turned the kit upside down and shook it. One solitary object fell out; small and metal, bouncing off the countertop and falling to the floor. Rachel dropped to her elbows and knees and plucked it off the tile floor.
A small, rusty key. Turning it over in her hands, Rachel spotted the letters LH embossed into one side, but nothing else. Some medicinal wonder.
All the same, there would be no telling when she would need it. Rachel fished about and realized she still had the keys to her van in her pocket. She clipped it onto her key ring without much hope and exited the restaurant. She cast an eye about, wary of -
The phone rang. Rachel nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sudden noise before she realized it had come from the booth beside her. She stared at it open-mouthed as it rang again, before she leapt for the booth and passed through its entrance.
She snatched the receiver off the hook and shouted into the receiver. "Hello? Hello? Yes?"
There was silence for a few seconds, and then a click and a hiss, as if a tape was being played. It hissed for another second before a fakely enthusiastic voice flattened by recording began to crow at her.
"Welcome to the town of Silent Hill, one of the oldest settlements in America! We are happy to have you. We here at Silent Hill want to do our best to make your visit the greatest that it can be! Whether you're just stopping for the night, spending spring break with in the greatest place on Earth or looking to put down roots, we're sure you'll find something in our fair town that will go far beyond whatever you expected.
"Many people that come to Silent Hill are taken back by its beauty. No one leaves this place exactly as they entered. There's something here for everyone! What will you like in our fair town? Will it be our giant amusement park, with our award-winning roller coaster and countless rides and attractions? Robbie the Rabbit awaits you in Lakeside! Or will it be our great lake? Whether for swimming, boating, or just watching the sunset from the shore, Toluca Lake is always tranquil, clear and beautiful. Our any number of our fantastic restaurants and establishments? The staff in Silent Hill is eager to serve you. And when you're finally ready to spend the night, we'll be happy to house in our four-star hotel Lion Heights! In our four-star hotel Lion Heights! In our four-star hotel Lion Heights!"
The tape, or whatever, was skipping. Rachel, on the other hand, was staggered. She slumped against the side of the booth as the falsely cheery voice repeated the name of the hotel repeatedly into her ear. Her eyes drifted upward and she saw something sitting on top of the phone. She stood up straight and grabbed it, turning it over in front of her eyes as she hung up the phone.
It was map of the city, Silent Hill.
Rachel's gaze darted back to the top of the phone. Was that there before? She opened up the map. It was mostly blue and brown, muted colours. A church represented by a faded pink tone, an odd black smudge - but a spot of bright red grabbed her eyes. It looked like a splash of ink, circling a street corner near the border of the city.
You are here, Rachel thought. She blinked and peered harder, turning the map over in her hands, looking for a clue, looking for some way this could be possible. She was still staring at the map when a gunshot rang out through the air.
Rachel whirled, staring out the booth, but saw nothing. The shot must have been around the corner somewhere. She jumped out and heard another shot. Now that she was ready for it, it was easier to tell where it had come from. She broke off into a run towards the sound.
Where there's gunshots there's people, more people to get me out - Rachel passed by an alleyway and would have kept on going, but a third gunshot rang out from the direction of said alleyway. She turned and dashed down it, eyes pointed towards the foggy opposite exit. She reached it and jumped out of the alleyway, looking about.
It didn't occur to Rachel that the gunshots would have to be actually at something until she saw a figure lurch inhumanly out of the fog to her right. She staggered back, but before she could grab at her tire iron a fourth and final gunshot rang out. The dark shape, indistinct in the fog but that it looked humanoid with something long and thin jutting from one arm, fell to the ground.
Rachel refused to look at its corpse, mind oblivious to anything but the thought of more people. She turned in the direction of the last gunshot and saw a man, standing on the raised porch of some indistinct building.
He was young, low to mid twenties. His red hair and shoulders were lightly dusted with the falling snow - like herself, she supposed. He was just a little overweight, the extension of his condition hidden under a white T-shirt and another shirt open overtop - black, with red and silver oriental-looking dragons crawling over the back. His blue jeans looked new and expensive, his hiking boots less so. He had a smattering of freckles under his wide blue eyes. These eyes moved and caught sight of Rachel and in a second he was turning and pointing his revolver at her with his right hand. He pulled the trigger.
Click. It was empty, a fact that probably saved the woman's life. His aggressive glare took a second to transform into one of confusion.
"Who are you?" he asked, eyebrows raised quizzically.
Rachel took a step backwards. She was intimidated by the gun; never mind that it was obviously empty, she could see straight down the barrel and it scared her.
"Uh - " The still lit flashlight beam waved back and forth in the air as Rachel's hands twirled independently. "Uh - Rachel Jones. I - I'm not going to hurt you."
The man's aim lowered. "I don't know you..."
"I'm from...out of town."
The man stared for a moment more, and then seemed to check himself. He lowered his head and put two fingers to his temple, then raised it again. Wherever the kid's mind had gone to protect itself from this town, it had snapped back to reality. The suspicious, aggressive look was gone. It had been replaced by an expression of repentant vulnerability, eyes huge and sorrowful and the guy in general looking about twelve years old.
"I'm so sorry," he began, licking his lips. The gun hung limply at his side. "I almost - oh my god, I almost shot you. If the gun had been loaded..."
"Yeah." Rachel did not want to think about it.
"I - my name's Bradley. Ernest, actually, but Bradley is my last name and I like it - I like it better. I was just - defending myself against that..." he gave a look over Rachel's shoulder at this, but she refused to turn around. "...thing. That thing. And when you came around the corner I just - well..." He gave a pathetic little shrug, looking miserable. He avoided her eyes. "I'm not - I'm about as tough as the name 'Ernest Bradley' implies, unfortunately."
"Yeah. Yeah, uh - do you know what's going on here, Bradley?" asked Rachel, hoping to find a more comfortable topic but not really knowing what to say.
"Err - no. Nothing. All I've been able to do so far is, well...survive, really. And I haven't been succeeding by a large margin, either, really, kind of." His voice cracked on the last syllable. He hit his chest lightly with his fist. "Ahem. Sorry. Err...do you? Do you have anything - know anything?"
Rachel shook her head. "Sorry. I - no, I don't. Nothing." The wearing off of adrenaline was making her wary of anyone live. He was staring at her.
"What are you doing here, Rachel Jones? Why are you here?"
"Me? Nothing. I've got no idea what's going on, I'm..." She crossed her arms, breathing shallow and fast. "Bad luck, I guess."
Bradley was leaning over the railing lining the porch, one hand supporting himself and the other holding the pistol. He looked helpless, innocent - it was just a natural question after all - "Are you sure, Rachel Jones? Absolutely nothing?" His eyes were wide and honest and he sounded like he wanted desperately to figure out something - his age was down to five years old, now, and it was starting to become amazing he could actually fire a gun - and Rachel at the moment couldn't think of anything that would be better right now than for the world to swallow her up.
"Nothing - nothing! I don't know!" Rachel swallowed her voice and took out her tire iron, as if expecting it to help. "I - uh - uh - nothing."
Bradley stared at her for another moment, then something seemed to flicker behind his big eyes. "There's one thing," he said, slowly.
"Yes?" Rachel didn't realize it, but she had just taken a half-step backwards.
"I'd...steer clear of the church, if I were you," he said hesitantly, almost guiltily. He shot a look up at the sky, at nothing Rachel could see. "I'm - I'm sorry," he mentioned once again.
"Don't be! I'm fine! No harm no foul!" Rachel was dimly aware she was shouting but saw very little reason to stop.
"Good luck, Rachel Jones. Be careful," was the last thing Bradley said, loading his revolver. He opened the door on the porch and crept inside, closing the door behind him. Rachel saw half of this at most. By the time he had said "good luck" she had turned and escaped at what was barely slow enough for a trot. She had switched off the flashlight in a subconscious attempt to keep him from following her.
It was two blocks later that she could get herself to slow down. She stood stock still in the street, eyes closed, breathing heavily, both hands on the tire iron. She could feel snowflakes landing on her burning flesh but didn't budge.