Hope And Undead Elvis Part 2

"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 pa.s.sed." Undead Elvis walked up the side of a dune.

"Maybe that's the opposite of what happened to you. Maybe your body pa.s.sed 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 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 panels. It was one of those half-pickup, half-cars that had been popular before Hope had been born. She couldn't remember what they were called. El-something. It had an old burgundy and white Arizona license plate that read "BURRO."

Having been a hitchhiker before, she knew what was expected of her. She bent down to the pa.s.senger window, arms placed in strategic position to maximize her cleavage for the man behind the wheel. It was always a man. Women drivers never stopped for hitchhikers. Hope couldn't blame them; she wouldn't either. Men usually stopped, though, especially those who knew the routine. Sometimes they were nice, and Hope would consent to a b.l.o.w.j.o.b. Others were rude, or ugly, and they would only get a handjob as payment.

She didn't enjoy either one, but it had kept her from ever being raped.

The car's driver was so attractive that her pleasuring payment might not be so bad. He had short, curly hair the color of a cloudy night with a white kerchief tied around his forehead to keep the sweat from his eyes. Eyes like water-filled quarries with cool, seductive depths that beckoned to children on hot days. Strong jaw. Aquiline nose. His lips were full and pouting, and they curved into a delicious smile. He looked like a magazine model except for the sparks of humor and intelligence that danced in those eternal pools of his eyes.

Hope's carefully-rehea.r.s.ed speech flew away as if it had never been part of her repertoire, and she stammered like a gawky teenager.

"Where you headed?" he asked over the rumble of his car's poorly-tuned engine. He had a voice like a mariachi singer that made Hope's knees weaken.

As she leaned on the car for support, her eyes fell on the bobble-head doll glued to his dashboard. Elvis. She took it as an omen and smiled at the driver, attempting to regain her sense of self in spite of her cracked lips. "Far as you'll take me, handsome."

"Sure, hop in, senorita. We survivors got to stick together."

Hope hesitated, her hand on the door handle. "Listen, about that. My friend, uh, can he come too?"

The man looked around. "I don't see no-one."

Hope glanced to either side and saw no sign of Undead Elvis. He wouldn't have left her behind and gone off on his own way; of that she was certain. But if the sands had become jealous and vengeful after she'd robbed them of him once before...

"He's here. Yeah." Hope raised her voice. "Elvis? Where are you hiding at?"

He stood up from behind a nearby dune. "I'm right here, Li'l lady. Didn't wanna startle the fella."

Hope pasted a desperate grin across her face and turned back to the driver.

"So what do you say?"

"Is that really Elvis?"

"I sure do apologize, mister," said Undead Elvis, leaning down to stick his bluish face in the window. "I know I don't look my best these days, but I am The King."

The driver scratched the back of his head. "I was sure you were dead."

"I was, sir."

"Please, mister, I'll do anything." Hope felt herself on the verge of a panic breakdown. If this man wouldn't take them as pa.s.sengers, she'd lay down and wait to die. "Anything, you understand? Just don't leave us here." A single tear, all her body dared release, cut a path down the dirt on her face. She wondered if it was the last of her water and if she'd crumble into dust right there.

The driver smiled. "I couldn't say no to such a pretty girl. And you can see that I'm an Elvis fan." He flicked his bobble-head doll for emphasis. "Get in, senorita." He looked at Undead Elvis. "Lo siento, senor. I only have the two seats. Do you mind riding in the back?"

Undead Elvis smiled. "Not at all, friend." But Hope heard, under his breath, "I ain't nothin' but a hound dog." He climbed aboard. Hope looked back through the broken rear window and saw a fifty-five-gallon drum on its side filled a good chunk of the cargo bed. Braided steel hoses ran from the bottom of one end to disappear underneath the cab. She realized it was probably the car's gas tank and wondered how far they could go if it was full.

The driver dropped the shifter into gear and the car roared away from the shoulder in a great cloud of blue oil smoke. Hot, dusty air blew in through the open windows, and Undead Elvis could hunch down and stick his head into the back window, which was broken.

"I'm Gabrial. Gabrial Esparza," called the driver over the noisy engine. "My friends call me Gabe."

"Hope," said Hope. The let-down of being rescued made her feel worn out and she thought about fainting.

"You look like you had a rough day, senorita. There's a gallon jug of water down by your feet. You're welcome to have some."

"G.o.d, you are an angel." Hope bent down and fumbled by her feet until she found the smooth plastic, only a little cooler than the surrounding air temperature. She didn't care. She opened the lid.

"Don't chug it, Li'l lady," said Undead Elvis, "or it'll all come right back up."

"I won't," she said. She forced herself to sip. Her body was so parched that her first few mouthfuls didn't even make it to her stomach; her mouth and throat absorbed them.

The tepid water trickled down Hope's throat like the sweetest nectar. Her stomach clenched and threatened to expel it, but she clamped her teeth together and refused to give in to the nausea.

"Feeling better?" asked Gabe.

Hope nodded. She held the jug in her lap, afraid that if she released it, it might vanish like so many other things. She looked behind her where Elvis sat with his back against the huge fuel tank. "Do you want some?"

"I'm just fine, Li'l lady, but thanks."

Hope marveled at the way her parched tissues soaked up the water with greedy abandon. She felt like a deflated balloon given the breath of life. More water splashed past her lips as she watched Gabe. As he drove, he kept his left arm in the window and steered with the fingertips of his right hand against the bottom of the wheel. His lips pursed in a soft whistle of some melody only he could hear, stolen by the rushing wind the moment it escaped his mouth.

Hope asked, "Is this your car?"

"It is now."

"Was it... before?"

Gabe didn't answer. Instead he took his eyes from the road for a moment to smile at Hope, and then returned to his whistling.

"Are you from Arizona?"

"Most recently."

"But not originally?"

Gabe smiled again. "Is this an interview?"

Hope felt her cheeks grow hot.

"It's all right. May as well get to know each other, senorita. It may be a long time before we have any other company."

Undead Elvis poked his head into the window. "I'm sorry to interrupt y'all's conversation, but I'm seein' some smoke up ahead."

"I see it too. It's a long way off, senor. We'll get there eventually."

Hope squinted through the windshield. She saw a slender dark smudge against the blue sky. She'd have missed it had Undead Elvis not pointed it out. "I wonder what's burning?"

Gabe shrugged. "Hard to say. I seen some things that stuck around after, but it's been a long time."

"How can you tell? It's like time has stopped."

"Near as I can figure it, senorita, it has."

"What do you think happened to everything?"

"It ended."

"But why are we left? Why this road, this car?"

"Prob'ly because we're supposed to be here."

"I wish I wasn't here. I hate this desert." Hope took another sip of water. Her stomach reminded her it hadn't had any food for a lengthy period either.

"The desert ain't so bad."

"Do you have any food, Gabe?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, senorita. I haven't found any yet. I'm pretty hungry."

"I saw some black birds earlier. Maybe we'll see more of them."