Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,6

the cloudless sky. The sun must have moved. It hadn't been in that spot the whole time, had it? "I think you're wrong. There just aren't any landmarks. It's got to be moving." She paused. "Doesn't it?"

Undead Elvis didn't reply.

They walked.

Time passed, but Hope had no way to measure it except her growing weariness. She'd finally accepted that the Sun wasn't moving across the sky anymore. It was like when the world ended, time stopped. "Hey, Elvis. You know that saying about falling trees making no sound if nobody's around to hear them?"

"Uh-huh."

"You think time passes if nobody's around to watch it?"

"I dunno."

"I'm really thirsty."

"I'm sorry, Li'l lady. I wish I had something to give you to drink."

"You're not thirsty?"

"I'm undead. I'll be all right."

They walked.

Hope felt dizzy. Her head reeled with every step as dehydration took its merciless toll upon her body. She wondered if she was the last living creature in the remnants of the world; an epilogue, a coda. When she died, the world might no longer exist at all, because why keep it up if no living eyes could gaze upon it? She would have cried if she had any tears left.

"I'm dying, Elvis." Her voice had transformed from its pleasant contralto to the croak of an ancient crone. The act of swallowing made her tonsils stick together. "Promise me… promise you won't leave me here in the sand. I want… to be buried… somewhere green."

"I promise." Even Undead Elvis sounded subdued, as if he too were about to surrender to the elements.

Hope couldn't walk anymore. Her legs folded and she dropped to the sand with a dull thud. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I can carry you," said Undead Elvis. He leaned down and his arms went underneath her. He lifted her up like a father carrying a sleepy child. His skin was cool and dry, and Hope laid her cheek against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and thought about dying.

The motion of Undead Elvis's body as he trudged through the sand soothed Hope, but she knew if she gave in to unconsciousness, she would never again awaken. Such finality didn't bother her as much as it might have before the world's end. She could resign herself to whatever fate had been left her in the cruelty of her survival.

Undead Elvis started to hum as he walked. The tune was haunting and familiar to Hope. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "What is that song?"

"Can't Help Falling in Love," he said. "Wise men say only fools rush in… But I can't help falling in love with you." His singing voice was as strong as ever, and he gave each word such nuanced vibrato and feeling that Hope felt a little of her strength return.

"You sing it beautifully," she said.

"Thankya, thankyaverymuch."

"You're not, are you?"

"I'm not what?"

"Falling in love with me."

"No, Li'l lady, I'm afraid not. Dead men don't love."

"How about undead men?"

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. "You don't seem dead, or undead, or whatever. I've met people who had a lot less life in them than you. People who gave up and died years ago and were just going through the motions."

"What happened to them?"

"I don't know. Maybe they disappeared with the rest of the world."

"It's hard for a body to continue when the spirit has passed." Undead Elvis walked up the side of a dune.

"Maybe that's the opposite of what happened to you. Maybe your body passed but your spirit never did, and that's why you came back."

"Maybe so." He trudged down the other side. Hope bounced in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I never really listened to a lot of your music. It wasn't real popular for, you know, dancing in clubs."

"Lots of folks didn't like my singin' when I was alive."

"Elvis, would you sing to me now?"

"Li'l lady, it would be my honor."

Undead Elvis walked, and sang song after song for Hope. She rested her cheek against his shoulder as he strode the sands, keeping her eyes shut against the glare of the unmoving sun. The sound of his voice helped to alleviate the worst of her discomfort, but the gnawing ache of thirst and exhaustion circled around her like wolves beyond the light of a campfire.

She drifted off into a fitful sleep, his voice her only lifeline to the desert of reality. She was too tired to dream; instead, her consciousness absorbed his high baritone and she found herself feeling at peace for perhaps the first time in her life. It saddened her that it had