Hope and Undead Elvis (9 page)

Some time later, Hope opened her eyes. She had a terrible kink in her neck from the odd angle she'd held it in her sleep. Her back likewise felt like it had been remade from shattered glass. Nausea tickled in the pit of her stomach, and if she hadn't passed out before eating, she'd have vomited. She suffered through a couple of retches and spat against the rock before she felt human enough to move herself into a seated position.

Undead Elvis sat with his back to her, legs crossed in front of him and wrists wresting upon his knees. He almost looked like he was meditating.

"Hey." Hope brushed sleep-stiffened hair from her face. "What are you doing?"

"I wish I had a guitar," he said. "I can think better when I've got one in my hands."

"Maybe we'll find one."

"Maybe."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Graceland."

"What's it like?"

"It's beautiful. Green grass. Tall trees. Lush gardens. Fieldstone walls and fences, wrought iron, and white columns. It's as close a place to Heaven as there may ever be in this world."

"It sounds lovely."

"It is."

The oppressive silence settled upon the two travelers, offset only by the faint moan of displaced air that circled slow and heavy through the canyon below. No hiss of river or whisper of sand broke the flatline of the world, no buzz of fly or song of cicada. Hope picked up a small stone and flung it out into the void between the cliff walls. They listened to its clattering journey downward into silence.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Awhile."

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" Hope shaded her eyes to look up at the sun, still frozen in space and time like a derailed locomotive.

"Not really, no. Did you sleep well, Li'l lady?"

Hope nodded. "I feel much better. Let's eat something and then maybe we can figure out what to do about this bridge."

It didn't seem like there was as much fruit as they'd saved from the paradise oasis. Hope wondered if some of it might have disappeared anyway. She ate an apple and a pear and a handful of cherries. She chased them with a few swallows of tepid water from the gallon jug, still afraid that they might not find anymore. She'd been almost dead from dehydration once already and wasn't anxious to repeat the experience on the next leg of the journey. Undead Elvis ate nothing.

"Have you decided what to do next?" asked Undead Elvis after Hope tossed the apple core and cherry pits into the canyon. She thought that if water ever again flowed through it, they might someday sprout into an orchard. If it did, and she was still around, she'd come visit it.

"Not really." Hope walked to the edge of the bridge, where the center spans had broken away. The opposite end, broken at a similar angle, sat maybe a hundred feet away. A hundred feet might as well have been a hundred miles, but Hope had dreamed, and awakened with a number on the tip of her tongue.

105
.

She'd rolled it around for awhile, trying to decipher its meaning. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it imprinted on the back of her eyelids, white on black. It was surrounded by other numbers, but the only one which stood out for her was that mysterious
105
. It meant something important, if she could only think what it was. It had to be a message of some kind, didn't it? She didn't often remember dreams, and when she did they were fleeting, quick to disappear without a trace. Never did she remember something as clearly as that number.

She went to sit in The Way, for sometimes she could think better behind the wheel. After slipping into the driver's seat, and putting her hands up on the plastic wheel, she saw it: her magic number, sandwiched between
85
and
125
in white numbers on the black face of the speedometer. It looked exactly like her dream. One hundred and five miles per hour.

Frightening realization dawned, and Hope's breath caught as she looked up through the windshield. Where she'd stopped the car, she was looking right across the chasm at the far end of the bridge. Was this her test? Her hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to cramp and she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat.

"E-Elvis?"

"Yes, Li'l lady?" He bent down to look in the window, his blue countenance as dry as the surrounding landscape.

"I think… I think maybe we're supposed to j-jump across it."

Undead Elvis looked across the gap and whistled. "That's a long ways. Uh-huh."

"I just think that it's the direction we need to go, so we might as well try it."

"I don't think
try
is the right word there. Either we make it, or we don't. If we don't make it—"

"If we don't make it, then the world is fucked anyway, right?" Hope made herself let go of the wheel. Her knuckles throbbed in pace to her heart. "I don't see any other alternative. I don't want to just stay here, waiting to starve or be killed by those bird man things."

"You ever jump a car before?"

"N-no."

"Me either. I wonder how fast you'd need to go to clear that distance."

"A hundred and five."

"Are you sure?"

Hope pressed her hands together and touched her fingertips to her lips, as if in prayer. She didn't look away from the bridge. She couldn't. "Yes," she whispered. "I have to be."

"Well all right." Undead Elvis went through the bed of The Way, tying down and bracing everything he could. He took what fruit remained and secreted it in the cab, either in the glove compartment, door panels, or beneath the seat. Soon, he decided he'd done all he could to prepare the car for a rough landing.

Hope made an awkward five-point turn to face the car back the direction they'd come. She didn't know how much time The Way would need to get up to speed, but wanted as much cushion as she could give it. After a couple of minutes, she slowed and turned around again. Both she and Undead Elvis stepped out to look up the road toward the bridge.

"You think that's enough room?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," he said. "Though if you change your mind, you ain't gonna have enough time to stop and try again."

"I know." Hope shivered despite the hot sun overhead. She turned to him. "Hold me."

He wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face against the dazzling white of his jumpsuit. She wished he smelled like sweat, or dirt, or anything, but she couldn't detect any scents not her own. It was like being held by a ghost.

Ghost or not, his arms were strong and Hope felt his strength flow into her as gentle as a warm morning breeze. He was tall, and she had to stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"What was that for, Li'l lady?"

"For everything. Thank you. I couldn't have made it this far without you, Elvis."

"My pleasure."

"What was that song about fools rushing in?"

"
Wise men say only fools rush in
," he sang.

"I guess that makes us a couple of fools." She looked up the road toward the bridge. She wished it were much further away. She wished it was whole. She wished the world was unbroken. "Let's go, before I talk myself out of this."

She trailed her fingertips along the hood of The Way as she returned to her seat, caressing it in the hope that it wouldn't let her down. She buckled her seat belt. Undead Elvis handed her a chunk of wood that looked like it might have come from a broom handle.

"What's this?"

"Pop that sucker in your mouth and bite down on it. You don't wanna accidentally bite off your own tongue."

"Well, what about your tongue?"

Undead Elvis only smiled.

Hope shrugged and slipped the lump lengthwise between her lips and clamped down on it. It tasted dusty, with overtones of a sharp petroleum scent. She didn't care; one way or another, she'd only have to suffer it for a minute. She looked at Undead Elvis and nodded. He nodded back at her.

She started hard. The tires shrieked and left twin black streaks of smoking rubber down the center of the pavement. The Way blasted forward as Hope hammered it through the gear changes, keeping one eye on the road and one on the speedometer. Forty… sixty miles per hour.

The Way hugged the inside lane as they rounded the last curve on the ascending straightaway toward the near end of the bridge. Rocks along the roadside blurred into a pastiche of red and pink. Seventy… eighty…

Something black and feathery dove at the speeding car, but Hope didn't slow for it at all. The bird splattered against the grill in a cloud of feathers and gore. Dust billowed out behind The Way, swirling eddies of crimson and gold. Gravel kicked up by the tires pattered against the car's underbody like rain. Ninety… ninety-five…

Hope screamed against the wood clutched in her mouth. They weren't going to make it. They were going too fast to stop. Every instinct told her to slam both feet on the brake and pray they'd skid to a stop in time. One hundred…

The Way's front wheels hit the lip of the bridge just as the speedometer needle slipped past the
105
mark, and the car flew into open space over the canyon.

Chapter Ten

Hope and the Night

The Way sailed through open air, much slower than seemed possible to Hope. She watched in shock as the shadows shifted inside the cab, not because of their motion, but because the sun was, at last, moving through the sky. As the car reached the zenith of its flight, the sun dropped low behind them and Hope had to shut her eyes against the reflection in the rear view mirror. And still the car flew on, its nose beginning to dip as the heavy engine pulled it down.

Hope didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to see the landing, but didn't dare land blind. She forced them open and saw The Way was still drifting toward the far bridge section at a gentle pace. A fat white moon popped up from behind the horizon as the last lingering bit of sunlight vanished into the night. Surprised that she even had time, Hope reached down and turned on the headlights.

The lights snapped on and it was like a trigger for the world to move back at full speed once more. The Way hit the bridge with a terrific crash, jerking the wheel out of Hope's hand. Something hit her hard in the face and she couldn't see. Her flailing feet found the brake pedal and she stomped it down as hard as she could. The car slewed sideways and the nose dipped as if they'd dropped into a ditch. Sand and dust flew in through Undead Elvis's window in a choking cloud.

Then it was quiet but for the sound of hot oil dripping into The Way's pan and the blood thundering in Hope's ears.

She tried to open her eyes but couldn't see anything except a shadowy blur. She coughed. "Elvis?"

"I'm here." His voice was soothing. "I got sand in my jumpsuit."

The simple phrase made Hope snort, then break into full-fledged laughter. "Oh God," she said and gasped for breath. "That's funny. Why is that so funny?"

"Because you're alive to laugh at it."

Hope giggled. "I am. I can't see, but I did it. I jumped a car. Over a bridge."

Brightness flooded the cabin as Undead Elvis flipped on the dome light. Hope tried to focus on him, but her eyes were flooded with pain tears and her head throbbed like a bass drum. "Man, oh man," said Undead Elvis. "Looks like maybe your forehead bounced off the steering wheel. You've got a welt like a crescent moon up there."

Hope touched her forehead with her fingertips. It was swelling fast, pulling the skin taut around her eyes and bridge of her nose. The shoulder belt had snapped right by the latch, which explained how she'd bounced forward.

The rear view mirror sported a fresh crack down its center, and one corner of the silvered glass had broken away. The fresh damage didn't make Hope's face look any better. "God," she whispered. "I wonder if I got a concussion. I fell off a stage once in Mesquite. Some asshole spilled his drink and didn't see it. I slipped and went right off the edge. Hit my head on the floor. I was sick for days after that. Couldn't dance, couldn't do anything except sleep and throw up." She gave a wry, painful smile to Undead Elvis. "In hindsight, it was kind of like being pregnant is."

Undead Elvis chuckled.

Hope undid her remaining seat belt. "Come on, let's see how bad we messed up the car."

"We're not gonna see too much in the dark."

"There's a full moon. We can at least see how bad we're stuck, because I'm not driving anymore tonight." Hope rubbed her head and opened the door.

Undead Elvis couldn't open his; too much sand had piled up against it, so he slid across the seat and followed Hope.

The Way had slid corner first into a sand dune. The right front wheel was submerged and dislodged sand had swarmed along the passenger side, spilling into the bed and side window. Besides being buried, Hope couldn't see any obvious damage to the car except for a few wrinkles in the sheet metal. She and Undead Elvis looked at each other in the bluish light of the moon.