Chapter Eight

"Are you completely out of your mind!" Rose's desperate voice cried out when she realized just what Cybil had done. She pulled against the restraints, the cuff having been attached low to the ground so as to allow her to sit without having her arm drawn up into the air in a decidedly uncomfortable manner—or so she assumed. Her blue eyes careened wildly about the area, the heart in her chest pulsing and trembling with what was quite obviously to be deemed fear; here she was locked to a structure which wasn't easily to be broken, whilst injured and lacking any sort of weapon that might otherwise have been used to defend herself, save for the presence of the officer—the one who had hooked her to the fence in the first place. "If that thing's still alive, or if another one shows up, how exactly are you planning on making sure I get away?" The mother's voice was toned with panic, and she struggled harder against her bonds.

Cybil, who had been facing away from her so as to examine the little surrounding area that was visible, pivoted on one thick, black, rubber heel and strode up to the woman, shoving her in a particularly ungentle manner into a sitting position. "Just relax will you Rose? I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Hence why you're cuffed to the fence in the first place. I can't have you running off and getting yourself killed." Her expression wasn't angry, but rather displaying a sort of anxious fatigue, though it was nearly hidden; now that she was clearly the designated lookout, she certainly wouldn't be able to rest, as she planned on allowing Rose to do. She did however, take the liberty of sliding down with her back against the fence to sit beside Rose, one leg drawn up slightly and the other straight. The pistol, already present in her hand, was stripped of its safety, and the flashlight was swung about so as to be sure no entities were within range as of current. An instant later and the two were plunged into almost complete darkness, when Cybil turned the flashlight off, mumbling something about saving power.

Rose now refused to look at the cop, caught up in her own insecurities and frustrations; but then again, anyone who had just been handcuffed was bound to feel similar emotions. Her scarred face was turned fiercely away, and she unconsciously trembled in her place, likely from fright, the motions causing the links of the cuffs to clank against one another, until Cybil at last grabbed her wrist; Rose's head turned before she could stop herself.

"You're certainly not helping the situation by freaking out," Cybil told her sternly, and released her.

'Twas then at which Rose chose to eject several words used once before on the officer—probably more than once, actually—and her frustrations were plainly seen. The tone used was harsh, but possessed the lightest quality of defeat, as if she knew her words would ultimately have no effect in aiding them, even if they did succeed in releasing some small amount of her fury.

"Fuck you, you stupid cop."

Before Cybil could come up with a response, the creature that lay only a few meters away began to swell in its entirety, the flesh having not already been dissolved by the acidic interior of itself bubbled and tore; the stench, once so unbearable, took on the scent of singed tissues as the corpse literally shredded before their eyes, rising into the air and drifting about; when the woman looked again, the carcass had entirely disintegrated and vanished, and the darkness with it. Once the world was light again, both Rose and Cybil instinctively got to their feet; Rose clanked against the metal of the fence and cast Cybil a particularly heated glare as she continued forward to examine the charred piece of earth signifying the past existence of the demon. A series of tiny but deep holes speckled the area, splashes of the odorous, revolting acid presumably being the culprit.

"Let me out of these things Cybil," Rose called from her place by the fencerow. The cop rounded on her, pulling the keys from her belt, and proceeded to release her friend from the cold metal ring about her wrist. The mother massaged the affected area with her other hand, ignoring the flash of pain which shot through the injured wrist as she did so. When she next looked up, the blonde haired cop was a good fifty feet away from her, the sooty pistol held out before her like a shield, as she darted from place to place, undoubtedly searching for any signs of most unwelcome life. Rose reacted in such a way as any human left alone in such a place would react—she hurried up to match stride after ground-eating stride with her friend, ignoring the additional pain of her knee. How was it she could be so far physically damaged when the two hadn't even begun the worst of their journey? Her mind was cast back to the moments on the bridge; it came to understand just what would have happened to her had she been making said journey alone; unconscious as she likely would have been, assuming the crash had occurred in the same way, she would have lain in the vehicle until it had been hurled off the edge of the bridge by the spring-loaded guardrails; as it went down, she would have still been unconscious, and would no doubt have met her end. Sharon would have been orphaned, lost in the unfamiliar territory of her room, locked within it and barred within it, unable to escape or find help—both due to her entrapment, and the lack of life.

Quite abruptly the mother stepped into Cybil's path, impeding further movement, and threw her arms around the other woman who, looking thoroughly shocked, placed the unarmed palm between the blade's of Rose's shoulder and patted twice in a reassuring manner; Rose jumped away an instant later, apparently realizing the spontaneity of her actions, and sputtered out an apology.

"S—Sorry—But I was just thinking of what would have happened to me if you hadn't pulled me out of my truck."

"Yes…I was kind of surprised considering you were just cursing me a moment ago."

Color found its way into Rose's dirtied face, and for a brief moment she looked truly uncomfortable, ducking her cerulean eyes to the ashen surface upon which her weight lay distributed via two slightly heeled boots, their mahogany surfaces dull and scraped and in the areas of them not protected by the shreds of blue flares, a thick, gritty, clay-like substance found home; when she again looked up, Cybil was grinning down at her from her slightly taller height, but her face returned to its typical stern appearance within a moment. As they began walking again, and passed the open gate in the fence, Rose stuck close behind the woman with the gun, doing her best to keep up on her sore leg. She half wondered what had happened to the rifle—she would have felt much safer if she herself had a weapon—and then realized that it had probably been in the truck, which by this point was either a raging inferno of twisted steel and iron, emitting black smoke from burning rubber, or was still falling into the seemingly bottomless gorge beneath the bridge. Rose became lost in thought a second time, pondering just what she was going to do about the lost vehicle, and how she was going to get back home. The Da Silva's town was a good three hours from Silent Hill, and their house was on the far side of that town. She certainly couldn't walk that distance—assuming she made it out of this place alive.

"…Rose? Rose!"

The mother swung her head around as a shout arose from her left, and froze in her tracks at the sight of an enormous mass of sizzling black goop, into which Cybil had apparently placed foot, and by the looks of things, couldn't get out.

"Rose! Get your ass over here and help me!" the cop cried, holding the gun up in the air as she reached down and tried to pull her foot from the sticky mess. Fumbling, Rose's arms flailed out subconsciously as she dashed toward her friend, who proceeded to hand her the gun, ordering her to shoot the puddle, which was gradually winding its way up the leather boots, and causing the material to boil; a shrill cry was expelled when the substance managed to boil away a particularly thin place in the leather, and touch bare skin; Rose, unquestioning, closed her eyes and aimed the gun at what she presumed to be the ground, pulling the trigger. A short yelp followed immediately after the bullet reached its target.

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