The graveyard beyond the gate holds no immediate answers, and the fog is nearly thick enough to obscure the far wall, the tiny shack with what appears to be a jury-rigged bell 'tower', the pond to one side that laps restlessly at the dead grass.<br/><br/>No, wait.  Movement!  Movement that resolves itself, after a moment, into someone by a headstone: someone who had been kneeling, but now stands and turns toward Deacon and Scott, long white-blond hair framing a narrow face, collar on her overcoat turned against the cold and damp...sunglasses that she doesn't need.<br/><br/>"More victims," she says, her voice tinged with mingled angst and wonder.  "Does it never end?"<br/><br/>+++<br/><br/>Zach's arm slowly comes back to life, new agony following the end of numb tingling.  A few minutes of walking brings him to a public notice board, which boasts a map of relative utility--it's the simplified, tourist-friendly 'you are here' sort, sure to mention various useful places for the casual traveler.  Maybe it's what he's looking for?<br/><br/>But someone has been here with the red paint as well, and there's a big wet 'x' marking the broken road he found earlier.  There's also a circle sloppily laid out around some place called the Silent Hill Historical Society, up by the lake.<br/><br/>+++<br/><br/>"Coffee?  That stuff'll stunt your growth!  But there's stronger stuff at a little slice of paradise a ways up the road.  It's called Heaven's Night, and they won't let me in.  Something about a minimum age."  She giggles.  "Coffee you can find at the gas station across from the bowling alley."<br/><br/>She twirls in place, bouncing up and down on her toes energetically.<br/><br/>"Are you crazy?  The man said everyone who comes here is a little bit crazy."<br/><br/>