Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,21

find this road at all. Which way is Graceland?"

Undead Elvis pointed toward the far side of the canyon.

"Then that's the way we need to go. Somehow." She yawned so hard she thought she might split her head in two. "God, I'm so tired, I can't think. Will you watch me, Elvis? Watch me while I sleep?"

"Of course."

They found a protruding rock behind which lay a narrow strip of shade. Hope didn't mind the rough ground in the least as she flung herself down into the shadow. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, taking comfort from the fetal position. She fell asleep in between the inhalation and exhalation of her first deep breath.

Some time later, Hope opened her eyes. She had a terrible kink in her neck from the odd angle she'd held it in her sleep. Her back likewise felt like it had been remade from shattered glass. Nausea tickled in the pit of her stomach, and if she hadn't passed out before eating, she'd have vomited. She suffered through a couple of retches and spat against the rock before she felt human enough to move herself into a seated position.

Undead Elvis sat with his back to her, legs crossed in front of him and wrists wresting upon his knees. He almost looked like he was meditating.

"Hey." Hope brushed sleep-stiffened hair from her face. "What are you doing?"

"I wish I had a guitar," he said. "I can think better when I've got one in my hands."

"Maybe we'll find one."

"Maybe."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Graceland."

"What's it like?"

"It's beautiful. Green grass. Tall trees. Lush gardens. Fieldstone walls and fences, wrought iron, and white columns. It's as close a place to Heaven as there may ever be in this world."

"It sounds lovely."

"It is."

The oppressive silence settled upon the two travelers, offset only by the faint moan of displaced air that circled slow and heavy through the canyon below. No hiss of river or whisper of sand broke the flatline of the world, no buzz of fly or song of cicada. Hope picked up a small stone and flung it out into the void between the cliff walls. They listened to its clattering journey downward into silence.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Awhile."

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" Hope shaded her eyes to look up at the sun, still frozen in space and time like a derailed locomotive.

"Not really, no. Did you sleep well, Li'l lady?"

Hope nodded. "I feel much better. Let's eat something and then maybe we can figure out what to do about this bridge."

It didn't seem like there was as much fruit as they'd saved from the paradise oasis. Hope wondered if some of it might have disappeared anyway. She ate an apple and a pear and a handful of cherries. She chased them with a few swallows of tepid water from the gallon jug, still afraid that they might not find anymore. She'd been almost dead from dehydration once already and wasn't anxious to repeat the experience on the next leg of the journey. Undead Elvis ate nothing.

"Have you decided what to do next?" asked Undead Elvis after Hope tossed the apple core and cherry pits into the canyon. She thought that if water ever again flowed through it, they might someday sprout into an orchard. If it did, and she was still around, she'd come visit it.

"Not really." Hope walked to the edge of the bridge, where the center spans had broken away. The opposite end, broken at a similar angle, sat maybe a hundred feet away. A hundred feet might as well have been a hundred miles, but Hope had dreamed, and awakened with a number on the tip of her tongue.

105.

She'd rolled it around for awhile, trying to decipher its meaning. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it imprinted on the back of her eyelids, white on black. It was surrounded by other numbers, but the only one which stood out for her was that mysterious 105. It meant something important, if she could only think what it was. It had to be a message of some kind, didn't it? She didn't often remember dreams, and when she did they were fleeting, quick to disappear without a trace. Never did she remember something as clearly as that number.

She went to sit in The Way, for sometimes she could think better behind the wheel. After slipping into the driver's seat, and putting her hands up on the plastic