Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,88

treadmill. His eyes were rolled back in his head, like a dead man who hadn't realized his life was already over.

The man called Chris sat at a desk, resting his feet upon it and paging through a coverless paperback by candlelight. His eyes glittered in the darkness like a crow's.

"Please," whispered a voice from one of the workers. "A chip. Anything. Save me."

Hope shuddered and hurried on to the end of the hall. She felt a terrible, pressing need to help these people, slaves to the Casino, but didn't know how. Someone behind her stumbled and fell off a treadmill, causing Chris to rise from his lazy vigilance. "Goddammit, Himmel, you ain't been workin' even two hours yet. Get your lazy ass back up." The sound of a booted foot hitting flesh drawn tight from starvation and fatigue shook Hope like a gunshot.

She reached the end of the hall and with a quaking hand she could barely see, pushed open the door.

There he was, in a pool of light from a cold fluorescent bulb. His jumpsuit, once pristine, was torn and stained, and his bluish flesh looked like it had begun to decay at last. His perfectly-coiffed hair hung around his lowered head like filthy rags as he trudged onward, never stopping as the treadmill turned a generator. A chain ran from one wrist to the treadmill handle, binding him without rest or reprieve. Hope gasped in surprise and horror. "Elvis!"

She heard a horrifying hiss behind her and spun to see a great black bird perched on a shelf with its wings spread wide.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hope and Shades

Hope screamed as the bird flapped its wings and hissed at her again. It dove from its perch and flew toward her with its talons outstretched, seeking soft tissue to rend.

She fell backward against the door, unmindful of everything except protecting her baby. The bird squawked in surprise as its momentum was checked. Undead Elvis had flung out his free hand to snag the bird's leg. He swung it around hard into the wall. It exploded into a puff of black sand that scattered across the floor.

For a moment, Hope was frozen, her heart pounding and clutching at her belly. Then she was at Undead Elvis's side, her arms around him, openly weeping. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Li'l lady. I'm glad you found me."

Hope reached up to her head and removed the sunglasses which had perched there for months. "I found these. They're yours, aren't they? I saved them for you." She handed them to him.

Undead Elvis smiled. "There they are." He put them on and a remarkable transformation came over him. His jumpsuit became whole and as shiny as when Hope had first met him. His skin repaired itself. His hair became perfect once more. "That's more like it. Uh-huh."

The door burst open, followed by Chris with the other guard, their guns drawn. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Please, you have to let him go," said Hope.

"He ain't goin' nowhere," said the first guard. "He's a machine, that one."

"We checked," said Chris. "You ain't supposed to be down here at all, bun in the oven or not."

"No, you don't understand," cried Hope. "You have to let him go. He's supposed to come with me!" She grabbed the chain holding Undead Elvis to the treadmill and rattled it, as if doing so would release it.

"Knock it off, girl," said the other guard. "You best come with us."

"No! You have to free him!" Hope grasped Undead Elvis like he was a life preserver and she was drowning. She hadn't come so far, lived through so much, just to lose him again. "Please!"

"Take her to Shades," said Chris. "Don't bother The Deuce at this time of night."

"All right," said the other guard. They wrestled Hope away from Undead Elvis until she could do nothing but scream in miserable fury. They pulled her away, as rough as they dared to be with her burgeoning belly.

"I'll come back for you," screamed Hope. "I'll come back—oh!" A sudden, sharp pain tore through her abdomen, sending shockwaves to the ends of her figures and toes. She stopped fighting the men and instead clutched at them for support. As quickly as the pain had come on, it subsided, leaving her gasping for breath.

It was a contraction. It had to be. But it wasn't time yet for her baby to come. Her anguish and stress was carrying over to him, and if she didn't