Hope and Undead Elvis Read Free

phone cord. The way the world had changed and gone all wonky in the past few minutes, she wouldn't have been surprised in the least.
    "Huh," said Undead Elvis. He poked an unnatural finger at the sand and looked at the few tenacious grains that clung to his skin. "That ain't natural."
    "Says the undead guy."
    Undead Elvis didn't reply. Instead, he yanked on one of the beer taps by the bar. Damp sand splattered into the drain tray. He went down the line: Coors, Coors Light, Budweiser, Bud Light, Miller High Life, Miller Lite, and Fat Tire. Every single tap released sand. As Hope watched, the trickles became torrents that didn't shut off when Undead Elvis let go of the taps.
    Hope took a step back from the bar as sand overflowed the drain tray and spilled onto the floor. "What's going on?"
    A wave of sand pushed out from the bathroom door. They retreated from its onslaught. Inside the bathroom, through the dust in the air, Hope could see fountains of sand spewing from every spigot and every drain. She looked at Undead Elvis in real fear. Behind him, sand was trickling out of an outlet on the wall and the windows were beginning to darken from the bottoms up.
    "I think we all oughtta get out of here," he said.
    Hip-deep sand poured in through the front door of the bar as Hope yanked it open. It was like the desert was trying to eat them. Choking dust filled the air, making Hope's eyes sting and her lungs burn.
    Beside her, Undead Elvis pulled a microphone from somewhere inside his sparkling jumpsuit.
    Hope coughed. "What are you doing?"
    "I move better with a mic in hand." He cocked his hips in that way only Elvis could. "Uh-huh!"
    "Oh, for God's sake!" Hope grabbed his outstretched hand and plunged into the onrushing sand. It was like trying to wade through deep snow. She knew somewhere above her was sun and clear air. The entire world couldn't be turning to sand, could it? She held fast to that belief as sand blinded her and tried to force itself into her nostrils. Undead Elvis's hand was like her compass; as long as she could feel his weight behind her, she knew she was still heading in the right direction.
    Then instead of climbing, she was crawling, pulling herself up the side of a slippery sand slope as Yancy Cleveland's sank without complaint beneath the silica tide. The rushing hiss of the sand lessened to a whisper and Hope wasn't being pulled downward any longer. She gasped for air and coughed grain after grain of sand out of her lungs. At last, she rolled onto her back, eyes streaming from being scratched and felt like she ought to cry.
    A moment later, she sat bolt upright. "Elvis?"
    There was no sign of the undead man who'd been right behind her.
    "Oh, Jesus. Elvis? Where are you? Can you hear me? Make a noise if you can hear me!" The only sound was blood thundering in her ears.
    She dug.
    Her nails broke and her fingers cracked and split as she flung away handfuls of the pernicious sand.
    Nothing. He wasn't there. He couldn't be that much below the surface, could he? A frisson of terror shook Hope to the ends of her hair. She wondered if he'd disappeared the same as everything else had.
    Alone. Her skin rippled with goosebumps in spite of the heat. What should she do? What could she do?
    Just then, a blue-green hand clutching a microphone burst out of the sand only a few feet from her. Hope shrieked something wordless and flopped across the sand to close her hands around Undead Elvis's wrist. His other hand emerged from the sand to grasp one of hers. She pulled, straining against the greedy sand. Her feet started to dig in and for a moment she thought it had her as her ankles, then calves disappeared beneath the yellow mass.
    Even as Hope sank into the sand, Undead Elvis came out, inch by inch. His head uncovered and his first words to her were "Don't y'all worry about a thing, Li'l lady. I got you."
    "Yeah," gasped Hope. "But who's got you?" Nevertheless, she tugged and heaved and with a sucking sound, Undead