Hope and Undead Elvis

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 passenger 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 blowjob. 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-rehearsed 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, señorita. 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 passengers, 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, señorita." He looked at Undead Elvis. "Lo siento, señor. 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, señorita. There's a gallon jug of water down by your feet. You're welcome to have some."

"God, 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, señorita. 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, señor. 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, señorita, 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, señorita. I haven't found any yet. I'm pretty hungry."

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

Gabe shivered. "I saw them too. I don't think I could be hungry enough to eat one of them."

"I could." Hope's stomach growled in agreement.

"Those birds didn't seem right to me," said Undead Elvis. "Like they didn't belong here."

"How can you tell what belongs here? How can you tell anything? It's like the rules don't apply anymore." Hope surprised herself by bursting into tears. Her great, braying sobs got the better of her and she started to retch.

Gabe braked hard and the car skidded to a stop. Hope fell out of the passenger door and heaved up water onto the sand beside the road. Gentle hands the color of seawater held her hair back from getting soiled. When she was finished, she was too weak to do anything except clutch at Undead Elvis's legs and bawl. He knelt down beside her and put his arms around her. She shrank into them, her chest hitching.

Tall sand dunes on either side of the road made it feel as if they were in a canyon. A gentle breeze ruffled Undead Elvis's cape and made an errant lock of Hope's hair flutter around her nose.

Gabe stood off to one side, staying quiet and letting Hope finish her cry. He could have climbed back into his car and left them behind, but instead he waited.

Hope's crying jag wound itself down as she huddled in Undead Elvis's arms. The tears stopped and she wiped her eyes and looked around. Her eyes fixed on the chromed plastic logo on the side of Gabe's car: El Camino. She sniffled and stared at the letters, as if they had something important to tell her. "What does that mean, el camino?"

"It means the way, señorita."

"I like that. On The Way. We're taking The Way home."

Undead Elvis chuckled. "I like that too, Li'l lady."

Gabe reached down and offered her his hand. She took it and let him help her to her feet. "I'm sorry I freaked out," she said. "This whole weird end of the world thing has me so on edge. I don't know whether to stand my ground or run like hell."

"Run from what?" asked Undead Elvis.

Hope pointed to the back of The Way.

A black bird perched on the tailgate and watched them with beady eyes like polished obsidian. Gabe stepped back and crossed himself. Even Undead Elvis looked startled. "Go on, get out of here," he shouted. The bird canted its head to one side and blinked, but didn't move.

Hope didn't have a rock handy, but she did have some sand that had clumped from her vomit. She tried not to think about it as she picked up a handful of gritty wet sand and threw it at the bird. It squawked its indignation at her and flapped away.

"We'd better get going before more of them birds show up," said Gabe. "They scare me."

"Yeah, those birds are bad news in my book," said Undead Elvis. "That was a sharp throw, Li'l lady."

Hope wiped her hand dry on clean sand. "I used to play catch with my brother." A lump formed in her throat. "I haven't talked to him in years, and he's probably gone now. God, I miss him. I didn't miss him before all this happened."

Undead Elvis climbed into the back of The Way. "Maybe he'll come on back. I did."

Gabe started the car. "Even if he doesn't, señorita, he's probably happy to know you're thinking of him."

"Wherever he is, he's probably in a better place than this," said Hope. "Stupid desert."

"What makes the desert beautiful is somewhere it hides a well," said Gabe. "Antoine de Saint-Exupery said that."

"We could use a well right now. And a drive-through." Hope's abused stomach turned over. She wished she had some crackers or bread or anything to help settle the gnawing emptiness.

The Way topped a rise in the road and beyond it they saw the source of the smoke. The smoldering remains of an overturned minivan lay in the middle of the road.