Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,7

taken the end of the world to find that feeling.

He stopped singing, and the silence brought her back to some level of consciousness. "What happened? Why did you stop?" she croaked.

"I'm finished," he said. "I sang them all."

"You sang every song you know?"

"I did."

"But that must have taken hours."

"I imagine so."

Hope coughed. She had no spit left, no tears left, not even any sweat. She imagined she was nothing but a dry leaf, ready to spin away on a gentle breeze or crumble under the incautious hands of a child. She forced open her eyes against the crust that sealed them. The bright blur of the ended world resolved into cloudless blue sky, overhead sun, and sand dunes.

And a bird.

At first she thought she was hallucinating as she looked back over Undead Elvis's shoulder, but there it was as plain as day. The dark feathers shone like polished hardwood in the sunlight as the creature wheeled about.

"Bird," she said in a dry whisper, all she could manage.

Undead Elvis stopped in his measured gait and turned to look. The avian flitted to and fro like a child's toy airplane. It approached close enough once that Hope could see the sparkle of its dark eyes above its black beak. It cawed at them, the first sound Hope had heard not made by her or Elvis in hours.

An answering chorus of caws sounded from somewhere off to the side. When Hope turned to look, she saw a tall wooden cross sticking up into the sky some distance away. Black birds crowded along the crossbeam. They shuffled along the beam, jockeying for position. One dove from the beam to flutter around the shaft before returning to force its way back, drawing caws of ire from its fellows.

"Down," said Hope.

Undead Elvis set her gently onto the sand. She swayed and clutched at him for support as she stared at the cross. It was a familiar shape, rife with religious connotations and symbolism, but something more urgent worried at her. Those gray nubs along the crossbeam meant something. So did that gray cylinder affixed to the shaft. Her mind drew black curvy lines extending from it and she realized it was a telephone pole. She didn't know why this particular pole still stood when it seemed like the rest of mankind's works had been absorbed by the ubiquitous sands, but along with the knowledge of its name came another important datum.

Telephone poles were beside roads.

She raised a hand, shaking with fatigue. "Road," she whispered.

Undead Elvis swept her up into his arms once more and carried her across the sea of dunes. She struggled to keep her eyes on the telephone pole, terrified it might suddenly vanish into the sand or thin air, but it remained in place even when Undead Elvis stopped in the narrow band of shade it provided and set Hope down beside it.

She reached out to touch it. The wood was old, splintering, and soaked in oil to keep it from rotting away. The sharp smell of creosote was like the delicate bouquet of fresh-cut flowers to Hope. It was a real scent; something in which she could believe. She turned her head to press her cheek against the warm wood and there it was.

A silvery gray ribbon cut through the sand like a line on a map. The sand threatened to encroach upon its edges, but somehow the ribbon kept itself clear but for the broken yellow line painted along its center.

"Someone's coming," said Undead Elvis. A cloud of dust loomed on the western horizon and something flashed in the distance. "They ain't gonna stop just for me, Li'l lady, what with me being dead and all."

Hope had no strength left, but nevertheless she crawled to the edge of the road. When she put a hand down on the asphalt, all the birds shrieked and flapped away in a mad rush of black feathers. The sound jolted Hope and helped her to stagger to her feet. The distant vehicle drew closer and she could hear its engine over the fleeing birds.

She forced her face into a rictus of a smile and stuck out a thumb.

Chapter Four

Hope and Gabrial

The car rumbled to a stop atop squeaking brakes. It might have been white long ago, but much of the original paint had flaked and rusted away. Whoever had owned it hadn't been willing to part with it so easily, and large patches of Bondo covered with flat gray primer decorated the hood and quarter