Two:
Another few blocks, and Arthur had finally reached the lake's edge. Behind him, the town of Silent Hill stretched out, quiet and still beneath a blanket of all encompassing fog. The miasma swirled and roiled in places, stirred by unseen movement.
Ahead, the lake appeared to be a glassy black slab of stone rather than water. No wind stirred the surface. No birds cried out in the trees lining the shore. To the left, up Nathan Avenue, he could vaguely make out the Silent Hill Histroical Society, outlined in silver and grey.
To the right, he could see the clustered pines of Rosewater Park, the tall walls blocking out all but the top of each tree. It was a small park, with a memorial at the lake's edge. He had never figured out what the memorial was for. According to local legend it involved a witch burning in the 1670s.
Arthur turned east on Nathan, riding past the park. To his surprise, the gates were closed and chained. He'd never seen the park locked before, and it was strange to find it so on such an unusual day.
He turned his attention back to the road, and found another dog crossing his path. He slowed and watched it disappear into the trees bordering the lake. Coasting silently past the tree line, he could make out a moving outline beyond.
Low and hunched, the dog resembled a Rottweiler in profile. He hadn't gotten a very good look. The fog had masked the creature, blurring it's outline and washing out the colors. It had seemed to be limping. Upon closer inspection, Arthur could see streaks of blood on the asphalt beneath his tires.
Must be wounded. Not my problem, though. Last thing I need is an angry Rottweiler on me.
Without a second thought, Arthur turned off of Nathan and into the alley between the Lucky Jade Restaurant and the Woodside Apartments.
Although the alley was uncomfortably claustrophobic and dark, it was a shortcut that never had any form of foot or road traffic. He'd used it to get to work several times in the past, when a traffic light had sputtered out, or when he spotted one of the creepy locals walking down Neely.
The locals weren't so bad most of the time, but there were a few spooks who could make your blood run a little colder without even speaking. According to rumors around town, they were involved with some religion that had a church somewhere in town. Then there were the rumors of drugs being sold by several of the locals...
Like that freak, Dahlia. That woman's a serious whack job...And so's that fucked up Vincent who works out of the hospital...
Dahlia was an old woman. Or so she seemed. She could've been anywhere between fifty and eighty, and Arthur could've never told. And then there was Vincent...A creepy teenager who worked up at the hospital in some capacity or another. He'd been assisting the doctor that had treated his shoulder, Kaufman, Kaffman, something along those lines. He was bad with names, but faces he could remember. None of those three could have ever left his memory.
Dahlia's sunken, eerie eyes and eternal frown. Vincent's unsettling grin and coke bottle glasses. And the Doctor...Greasy, ugly. A big man, with a bad attitude. Like a used car salesman with a serious problem.
Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts as he rode out into the fog again. He had completely ignored the dirty Woodside Apartment Building and the Restaurant on the way through the alley. It opened out onto Katz Street, turning east once more. He'd stop by Neely's and ask Garrison about what was happening. Maybe old Gare knew something.
To Arthur's surprise, a city bus had been parked across the intersection of Katz and Neely street. It appeared to have been in an accident. The front end had crumpled slightly, the remains of a power line laying across the top, a telephone pole snapped nearly in two. The worst of the damage seemed to have been spread out across it's side.
Deep tears in the metal and exploded glass. An unpleasant looking red streak down one side. And...Bullet holes? Arthur flicked his kick stand down and hopped off of the bike, approaching the bus and leaning in to examine a series of holes.
They really WERE bullet holes. He could make out several slugs still buried in the surface.
Jesus...What if it's not a power outage? What if there's been some major police shootout? Escaped cons...Terrorists...Something.
Arthur had to get to Neely's. He turned back to his bike, mounting it once more and putting all of his muscle into pedaling. Riding past the abandoned bus, he turned south-east and made for the bar, situated on the nearby street corner.