The silence concerns Jones. All has fallen still. Whatever lay in wait at the Lakeside Amusement Park wanted his progress to remain unimpeded. The monsters slink around in the shadows, no longer concerned by his presence. He was no longer their business.
The thin, grated metal floor had now been replaced by soft, fleshy ground. It feels like walking through a pit of melted marshmallow. His eyes remain focused on the Ferris wheel, illuminated by the lighthouse, each step growing more agonising than the last. This mystery, this nightmarish delusion, would soon reach its conclusion. Or at least, that's what he hoped.
He stops dead in his tracks. The sound is clear, the theme of a clown, that of a carousel. His head turns and he spots a sign lit up in dancing lights: 'Lakeside Amusement Park'.
He stares hard at the open gate and beyond. Something moves within but what, more of these hellish creatures? He shuts his eyes and forces the sound away, trying to strengthen his nerve. Ignore it. Move on.
No sooner has he opened his eyes, Jones finds himself on the ground, recoiling from a fierce blow to the jaw. He bypasses the pain, rolling back onto his feet, reaching instantly for his pistol. The attacker knocks it away from his grip and he's left unarmed, staring into the face of a familiar enemy. He makes a mental note of where the gun landed.
There are two of them this time, dressed in blood stained mechanic's uniforms, one white one yellow. They stand still and eye him, waiting for his next move.
"Who the hell are you?" Jones cries.
White steps forward, readying his spiked baseball bat, "Your women cried like whores, you know that? Now it's your turn,"
Jones is bewildered by this odd comment but quickly readies himself for further combat.
Yellow darts forward and with an outstretched arm, pulls his colleague back.
"There has been enough sin on our part. Perhaps we can resolve this like gentlemen?" he croaks, "Let's talk,"
"Talk?" Jones scoffs, "I got a lump on my head that proves you ain't the gentlemanly kind,"
"It's his fault we're in this mess!" the white remarks.
"Step back," yellow, his assumedly higher rank, demands.
"I'll ask again, who are you?" Jones questions, his voice full of tension.
"It isn't important anymore. We're doomed, just like you. We made an agreement to stop anyone from entering the town. Should someone slip passed our net, we would enter in and smite them down, before he could do his work. Even if it meant the end of our lives,"
"He…?"
"It's
over for us, there is only one way to escape his wrath. Let's all
go quietly, dignified,"
"You mean…" Jones swallows hard,
"… suicide?"
"At this point, you may prefer to call it self-sacrifice,"
"No!" Jones snaps, "I'd never succumb to that. Not while I've still got a job to do,"
"Job?"
the spokesman in yellow snorts, "Your old life is over. Nothing
from our world matters out here!"
"Get out of my way," Jones
demands.
"You don't understand. We made a promise to each other. We made a promise to our families that have died in this place. No one gets through,"
White lunges at Jones, swiping at his face, rusty nails narrowly missing scraping out an eye. He knocks the man off balance with a blow to the stomach, and dives to the right, grabbing his gun from the ground.
Jones remains on the floor, and White is upon him quickly, following through with a fierce downwards swipe, scraping Jones across the arm. The pain is sharp but it doesn't break his concentration, jolting out two feet, sending white sprawling backwards. He doesn't quite go down, not until Jones unloads two bullets into his chest.
Yellow slumps at the side of his fallen comrade, "… Brother,"
His gaze turns to meet Jones, the barrel of his pistol still smoking from the kill. Even through the mask, Jones can detect the pain.
"Attack!" yellow cries.
The air rips as bullets tear passed his ears. Jones dives behind a nearby tree trunk and waits for the volley of hot lead to dissipate. He peers around the tree to see the man in yellow, and three more dressed in white fleeing into the amusement park. It's only now he realises the pain coursing through his left arm. The cuts aren't as deep as he feared. He bites down hard, forcing the hurt away.
He could leave now, search for another way out. But Cole is nearby, he knows it. What if they got to him first? He couldn't allow that to happen. He'd come here to save the doctor and no matter how crazy things had turned out, his duties still remained.
"Protect and serve," he mutters, before making his way along the fence towards the park entrance.
The music of the carousel still plays, only now it's accompanied by a abnormal metallic grating sound and a faint hint of laughter. Jones shakes his head. It doesn't mean anything, force it out of your mind!
He tries to remember his training but nothing comes out prevalent. Train as he might, in the heat of the moment, instinct would always take over.
The park is quiet, metallic and cold. Jones points his gun furiously as clanking sounds fill his ears from all directions. On a bench nearby, a man-sized rabbit suit sits upright, its mouth smattered with blood. It observes him with a piercing stare, its arm extended, pointing at him menacingly. It almost feels alive.
A waste bin clatters to the ground nearby. Jones spins around and instinctively fires a shot. With a muffled groan, a man in white slumps to his knees, clutching the bullet wound in his stomach.
"Thank you," he gasps, before slumping to the ground, lifeless.
That's two down.
Suddenly, lights begin to flicker into life and the park becomes dimly illuminated. In this new found luminosity, Jones spots another of the men crouching on the roof of a hotdog vending booth. A straight shot hits the target, puncturing a hole on the left side of his throat. He climbs to his feet, blood gushing furiously from the hole, attempting to point his pistol. Before he can extend his arm straight and pull the trigger, Jones buries another shot, this time in his attacker's chest, and he flies backwards, landing awkwardly in a nearby hedge.
Two to go.
The lights stay lit and Jones get the odd impression that someone is helping him. He hears someone laughing, amused by the bloody scene but no one stands near.
With a strident grinding of metal, a nearby conveyor belt starts up.
A speaker system fizzles into life, "Crazy Joe's target range: win money, win prizes; earn respect!"
Jones watches in horror as various body parts pass by on the belt. The deep, guttural laughter increases in volume, all the while the chirpy clown music repeating, taunting him. Whatever was watching, its amusement was palpable.
A loud whoosh passes by, as rusty old ride springs into life, a Victorian style carriage on a metallic track shooting up into the air. Humanoid creatures stand inside, watching him, ascending and descending on a loop. Oversized arms hang out of broken windows, pointing towards the illuminated Ferris wheel.
The wheel stands on a section of land cut off by a deep, black river. Jones passes over a rickety bridge extending towards a strange formation of rocks. A signboard reads, 'Dare ye enter Captain Quill's cavern? Reward, ye say? Piratey goodness, of course! Ferris wheel's a pirate ships as far as the eye can see!'
A disclaimer, scrawled roughly in crimson colour, follows; 'Passengers are advised to keep their arms inside the carriage at all times, or they may die,'
There's an automated transport system that bypasses the cavern but all the boats seem to have giant holes in them, capsized. Jones swallows his fear, passing into the darkness.
A pulsating green hue illuminates the cavern, but it's hardly enough to help Jones see clearly. A neon sign sputters into life, 'Have a fun ride!'
Jones gets the feeling it's not a request, it's a demand. An arrow points down from the sign, insisting he climb into the carriage seated on the tracks.
He scoffs at the thought and decides to walk instead, fearing the carriage might somehow swallow him alive. It wouldn't surprise him in this hellish place. His pocket torch helps him see a little further, the light it excretes eating away at the darkness. He grips his pistol tightly, thoroughly expecting an ambush.
The sound of a metallic pressure cooker echoes through the cavern, indicating a generator has fired on somewhere. Chilling organ music blasts through the speakers, like something from an old fashioned horror movie. The carriage he left behind comes whirring up behind him, so he jumps onto the wooden walkway to avoid being crushed in its path.
He has no time to react as a mechanic in white tackles him hard, the battling men falling into the passing carriage. It continues its automated journey as the Jones blocks various blows from a wooden bat. From an arms-crossed position, Jones strikes the man across the face with both knuckles.
The carriage begins to move at a speed beyond its design, as Jones grows startled by the flashing lights whizzing by, trying to balance his efforts between fighting and staying aboard the haywire transport. If he fell off at this speed it would cause him a whole world of hurt.
His pistol is on the floor below. In this position, he can't reach it. He furiously searches for a handbrake on the side of the carriage but it isn't going to be that easy. The tracks wind and meander, sending both men off balance. Jones tries to take the opportunity, but the mechanic quickly retains his dominant position, landing blow after blow against Jones' defending forearms.
From behind the man in white, Jones spies a light source rapidly approaching. He braces for impact as best he can.
The carriage collides heavily with a mound of rocks at the end of the line, sending both men hurtling forward. Jones feels a rough crack in his ribs as he lands awkwardly on the dusty ground. Though the pain is immense, he's fights to remain conscious. After expelling a mouthful of blood, he spies his opponent desperately trying to clamber to his feet, the metal spike jutting out of his stomach keeping him down.
Jones explodes into action, jumping to his feet and kicking the mechanic hard in the ribs. He slumps onto his back, screaming in pain. Jones picks up his gun and examines the magazine. Only one bullet left.
"My final bullet," he mutters, dropping the weapon on the ground.
Jones gives offers his foe no mercy, climbing on top of him, constantly landing fist after fist against the feeble cloth mask. Though the screaming stops quickly, Jones continues to strike until all that is left is a bloody mess of a man, the 'Brahams Pit-stop' uniform the only remaining method of identification. Four down, one to go.
"You too have sinned," the man in yellow says,
On the dusty ground, Jones scrambles desperately for his pistol.
"You won't need it," the leader says, "I'm done,"
Jones pauses and looks across to the man. He sits on the ground, holding his stomach, blood pouring from multiple orifices.
"I didn't hit you…" Jones mumbles, his tone questioning.
"Can't you see them?" yellow asks.
Jones whips his head around. Nothing lurks within the darkness.
"My sins run deep," yellow says, "For me, the nightmare is unrepentant,"
Jones eyes the pistol near the mechanic's right hand.
"Promise me one thing," he asks, "Don't succumb to her lies,"
"What so you mean?" Jones questions.
"The Gillespie woman," yellow croaks, "She speaks on his behalf,"
Jones climbs off the corpse and gingerly approaches the wounded man, the pain in his ribs slowing him down to a snail's pace.
"I have sinned and…" he hesitates, strong emotions swelling within him, "I apologise for your loss. What we did was hideous but necessary, I hope you understand…"
"What you did?" Jones mutters. What did he mean?
"This place, it feeds off your sins, makes your fears manifest. But there's one thing deep inside it cannot touch. It's our free will that makes us what we are. Without it, we'd be mindless cattle, just like the creatures trapped in this town. You still have time. Make the right choice, before your mind is no longer yours to control. There is only one way to escape,"
He lifts the pistol and places it firmly under his chin.
"Wait, no!" Jones shouts, "What are you doing?"
With the sickening crack of an exploded jaw, the man in yellow slumps to the ground, his 'self-sacrifice' completed. Jones averts his eyes from the sad mess.
Beyond the scene of murder and chaos, the illuminated Ferris wheel stands still. No wind blows its carriages, no sound can be heard. At the foot of the great structure, an elevator rises and stops at the surface, punctuating its arrival with a polite ding. The doors slide open. Conclusion awaits.