Hope and Undead Elvis - By Ian Thomas Healy Page 0,99

others were either burned out or smashed. The truck wove an erratic course across the lot, making for the Casino.

"What the hell is that?" muttered Josh.

Before Hope could answer, the truck clipped one of the few cars parked or abandoned in the lot. A great cloud of black birds rose up into the air, as if they'd been roosting by the car and the collision startled them. They swirled around the truck for a moment, an amoebic cloud of cells moving in tandem, before dispersing into the sky.

"No," whispered Hope. "They can't be here now."

"Who?" asked Josh.

But there weren't any people staggering along behind the fire truck. No fuel truck followed in its wake. Hope couldn't see anyone except a driver, whose head lolled from side to side with the same rhythm of the truck's weaving.

"Somebody stop that thing," shouted Duce from where he stood, still holding Shades with a gun against his head.

Nobody moved. It was as if they were all transfixed by the sight of the approaching truck.

Its front wheels bumped over the curb of the dividing island between the lot and the carport, but the idling engine couldn't pull the rest of the heavy truck over the obstruction. The engine stalled, leaving only the single rotating light as the only sign the vehicle had ever moved. It had grown so quiet around the Casino that Hope could hear the ticking as the truck's engine started to cool. When the driver's side door opened, everyone watching jumped.

The driver fell out into a heap on the ground. For a moment, Hope thought he had fallen dead where he lay, for he wasn't moving and didn't even seem to be breathing. He was naked, with his skin sporting a mixture of suppurating open wounds and charred, blackened flesh. Then he moved, working up to his hands and knees in a slow, laborious fashion. He left an extra human arm on the ground where he'd fallen, and Hope saw with horror that it had been gnawed upon. He was whispering something through his cracked and burnt lips.

One of the onlookers turned away and vomited. Hope couldn't blame him; the wreck of a man before her reeked of soot and sweat and overcooked pork. He had something pink clutched in his hand. At first, Hope was afraid it was a finger, but then he started flicking at it with his thumb and she realized it was a disposable cigarette lighter.

"Burn?? His voice was hoarse. "Burn the world." The lighter made sparks as he spun the wheel but no flame appeared at its tip. And still he flicked it. The clicking sound seemed to fill the whole world.

Or at least, what of it he hadn't yet burned.

The Shepherds' pistol appeared in Hope's hand with such fluid grace and speed that she had no memory of pulling it from her pocket. She pointed at the crawling man as he shambled toward a dry bush, still clicking his lighter.

"Drop that gun," shouted Duce. "That man is hurt, for God's sake!"

"He's not a man, he's a monster," cried Hope. "He'll burn you all down if you let him." Why just one? Where were all the others? Maybe he was the last of the Righteous Flame, having eaten all the others. There was no sign of the big fuel truck or any of the people staggering along behind it. Had they all burned themselves up in the name of their broken, twisted faith?

"Drop the gun, or I'm putting the first bullet in your daddy and the second one in you."

"You do and the next bullet goes in your head," called Margaret. She had her rifle up and trained on Duce.

The sadistic basement guard Chris appeared to one side of Duce with his own rifle up and pointed at Margaret. He was smudged from fighting the fire but a fierce pride burned in his eyes. "Want me to do the cripple, boss?"

Josh raised his own pistol at Chris. "Real nice, Chris."

"You don't have any ammo for that relic," said Chris. "You're bluffing."

"Actually, I've got one bullet," said Josh. "And that's enough to put a big hole in your day." He canted his head toward Hope without looking away from Chris. "I took one of yours. I'm sorry. It's an uncommon size."

"That's all right," said Hope. "What happens now?"

"I don't know."

The man with the lighter managed to start a fire, but not the dry bush. Somehow he managed to set his own hand on fire. He dropped the lighter