Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,33

forward, eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. "Good people wouldn't do this."

Hope reached back for the Shepherds' pistol. It fit in her hand like it had been made for her. She raised it toward Mercy. "I can't. I'm not a killer."

"Hope…" Undead Elvis startled her by using her name. "Look at her. She's dead already. You need to set her soul free."

Hope wiped her eyes and nodded. Since Mercy couldn't cry, Hope would cry for her. "Who was your companion, Mercy?"

"Her name was J-Justice. We were… traveling together."

"I understand." Hope stepped over to stand beside the burned woman. "I'm going to set you free now."

"Thank you. I… I love you." Mercy choked out the words. Despite her profession to not feel any pain, Hope could tell the woman was in agony. She raised the pistol up and placed it underneath Mercy's chin. Before she gave herself any more time to think it over, she pulled the trigger.

Mercy's skull and the tissue within it muffled the gun's report, but the black birds squawked and flew away nevertheless. The woman slumped forward, her life extinguished at last.

The pistol dropped from Hope's nerveless fingers. It made a small puff of ash where it hit the ground.

Hope collapsed, sobbing. "It's me, isn't it?"

"What is?" Undead Elvis knelt beside her and touched her cheek with an intimate tenderness.

"All these people, they're all dying because of me. The Shepherds, Gabe, Asher, and now Mercy and Justice."

"Justice was already dead when you got here." Undead Elvis stroked her face as if he could caress away her tears.

"And I killed Mercy myself. Oh God, Elvis, I never believed. I never believed in God or Jesus or any of that crap and look at me. Look at me now." She raised her eyes and saw her reflection in his sunglasses. Her face was streaked black like the horrible monstrosity that she felt she'd become. "I'm the Angel of Death. Everywhere I go, I bring death to those who look upon me. The world has ended, and I'm left behind to mop up the remainder."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds." Hope's voice was bitter. "Everyone, everything around me dies. Even you, Elvis. You're a goddamn walking dead man. What am I doing? What did I do wrong?"

She jumped up and ran to the top of a hill. Ash clouded in her wake like the eddies behind a boat. She raised her fists and screamed at the sky. "Why me? What did I do? Did I offend you, somehow? Is this some kind of lesson? I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry for everything I ever did wrong. I'm sorry for never going to church, and for cussing, and for being a fucking stripper. I'm sorry for my mistakes, and I'm sorry for never believing." She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Her throat stung from the smoky air and her lungs ached. She'd have killed for a cigarette.

Of course she would; she was the Angel of Death. Such a callous, simple turn of phrase, and yet now it meant something new that it never had for her before. It struck her as funny, and her gasps turned into odd, braying laughter. It was a joke, all a joke that someone was playing on her.

Well, she knew how to deal with that.

Still laughing, she ran back down the hill, past Undead Elvis, and picked up the Shepherds' pistol. The barrel was still warm from killing Mercy. That pun set her off into fresh peals of amusement. She raised the gun underneath her own chin, looked up, and shouted, "Is this what you want? Is this what you want me to do? Because I will. I'll fucking do it. I'll blow my brains out right here and you can find someone else to do your goddamn dirty work and bear your goddamn baby!"

Undead Elvis said, "Please, don't."

Chapter Fourteen

Hope and the Righteous Flame

"Please don't pull that trigger, Li'l lady," said Undead Elvis. He stood well away from Hope.

"Why not?" she asked in a tone full of bitterness and anger. "What's one more body among the ashes? This—" She motioned with her free hand out at the burned and ruined landscape. "This fire may as well have burned up the whole world. Why bother saving it when everyone is dead?"

"Not everyone is dead. You're not."

"I should be, don't you see? It's not right that I lived when everyone else didn't. I don't even know if this is real.