Hope and Undead Elvis

chapter Nine

Hope and the Bridge





At one point, the bridge would have crossed a canyon lined by rocks in a thousand shades of red from pale salmon to dark cherry. The central span had collapsed, leaving only the steel ramps and miscellaneous torn support structure on either side of the chasm.

Hope shut off The Way and got out. Undead Elvis followed her to the cliff edge and they looked into the canyon in silence. The air was cooler than it had been amid the sands, but as still as ever. The unmoving sun beating down upon them was tolerable instead of miserable. The myriad colors in the rocks felt like a vacation for Hope's eyes after the unending golden blur of the desert below.

A pale stripe along the canyon floor, hundreds of feet below, suggested whatever river had carved such a gash in the world had dried up to leave only more sand behind. Hope toed a small rock over the edge. It clattered down the face, dislodging a few pebbles along the way. She watched it fall until she lost sight of it.

Hope said, "When I was a kid, my mom took me to the Grand Canyon. I remember standing with my face pressed against a guard rail, looking down into it, and thinking that giants must have made it because nothing else could make such a deep hole. It might have been ten times as deep and wide as this. It was beautiful. This one here just breaks my heart." She looked over at the broken bridge. "What do we do now?"

"Things fall apart. The center cannot hold."

"What does that mean?"

"Just a line from a poem. Seemed like an apt metaphor for our situation, Li'l lady."

"I don't need a metaphor, Elvis, I need a bridge. What do we do now? We can't go along the edge looking for another way across. This could go on for hundreds of miles, and The Way can't drive along that edge." She motioned to the jagged rocks that made up the landscape to either side of the road.

"We could go back and try to find another way."

"What if there isn't one?"

"What if there is?"

Hope stamped her foot. "You're not helping. We were lucky to find this road at all. Which way is Graceland?"

Undead Elvis pointed toward the far side of the canyon.

"Then that's the way we need to go. Somehow." She yawned so hard she thought she might split her head in two. "God, I'm so tired, I can't think. Will you watch me, Elvis? Watch me while I sleep?"

"Of course."

They found a protruding rock behind which lay a narrow strip of shade. Hope didn't mind the rough ground in the least as she flung herself down into the shadow. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, taking comfort from the fetal position. She fell asleep in between the inhalation and exhalation of her first deep breath.

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 f*cked 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.