Steve Hockensmith: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls

“Yes, yes—the lady has them in abundance, and quite luscious they are, too,” Dr. Keckilpenny said. “‘Brains,’ he’s saying, Miss Bennet. Buhrain-uhz. I know it because I can hear the call, as well, though the plague hasn’t fully taken me yet. It’s really a rather delicious irony: It was your mind I was attracted to from the beginning. My longing’s just growing a little too literal.”

There was more commotion downstairs, and Elizabeth heard her father shout “Quadrangle of Death, if you please! Very nice!”

“It’s time,” Dr. Keckilpenny said, and he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head high. “I’d prefer it if you attended to me first.”

“Doctor . . . Bertram . . . I can’t—”

There was a sickening riiiiiiiip , and Mr. Smith barreled across the room. He’d freed himself from his chains—by freeing himself of his arms. They plopped to the floor still in the sleeves of his moldy coat as he charged at Elizabeth.

“Brrrrrrrrrraaaaaaiiiiinnnnsss!”

Elizabeth jumped back knowing she wouldn’t get the katana from its sheath in time. But then Mr. Smith suddenly had arms again—two long, thin ones, wrapped tight around his body from behind, dragging him to a halt.

“Do it!” Dr. Keckilpenny shouted. “Do it now!”

Mr. Smith turned his head and bit a huge, pulpy hunk from the man’s shoulder.

The doctor screamed but managed to hold on.

“What you feel doesn’t matter, Elizabeth! What you think doesn’t matter! Just do!”

She took off both their heads with one swing.

There wasn’t much blood left in Mr. Smith, but the same couldn’t be said of Dr. Keckilpenny. A geyser sprayed the room as he fell, and Elizabeth’s gown was dyed bright red.

Her father and sisters came up the stairs a moment later, moving quickly but quietly, the door behind them again closed and locked.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said when she saw the bodies lying near the top of the steps. “What—”

Mr. Bennet shushed her.

“Don’t speak,” he whispered. He paused to look all the girls in the eye, lingering longest on Lydia and Kitty. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Our lives depend upon it.”

And so they all stood there, utterly still, surrounded by silence.

Lydia and Kitty stared at each other, seeming to carry on a conversation purely through grimaces, shrugs, and waggling eyebrows.

Mary closed her eyes, her face blank and tranquil, as if she were rereading a favorite book in her head.

Jane and Mr. Bennet stared at Elizabeth.

She stared at nothing.

She was facing the window at the far end of the attic, looking directly into a light she didn’t really see. Even if they survived, she knew, a part of her had died and could never be resurrected. The part of her that would hesitate. The part that knew mercy. Perhaps the part that could fall in love.

She’d be better off without it. Just look at the men who’d loved her and Jane. All dead or ruined.

A world with zombies in it had no tolerance for softness or sentiment. The dreadfuls infected everything just by virtue of existing. To live in their world, one had to become like them. Dead inside.

So be it.

Something shuffled past the attic door. Then another something, moving faster. There were groans and more footsteps and the sounds of furniture being clumsily overturned.

“Mmm-hmm!” said Lydia, jerking her head at the stairs.

Mr. Bennet glared at her and put a finger to his lips.

“Mmm-hmm!” she said again, pointing downward.

Kitty’s eyes went wide, and she started pointing, too. “Mmm-hmm mmm-hmm!”

“Oh, no,” Jane murmured.

Dr. Keckilpenny’s blood had flowed over the floorboards to the stairs. The first step down was coated with it. The second, as well. The third and fourth and fifth, all progressively less. Yet a single scarlet trickle was still steadily working its way toward the bottom of the stairwell.

If they tried to stop it, to blot it up with a handkerchief or the hem of a skirt, they would surely be heard. All they could do was watch as it dripped down another step . . . then another . . . then another. . . .

All the way to—and finally under—the door.

Footfalls suddenly stopped in the hall.

The knob rattled. The wood shook.

The pounding began.

“Well,” Mr. Bennet said, “there you have it.”

Kitty began to whimper, but Lydia silenced her with a simple “Oh, don’t start in with that.”

“At least this way, our ruse will be more convincing,” Jane said. “The dreadfuls will find people alive in the house. Once they’re done up here, it’s doubly likely they’ll go away again satisfied.”

“Oh, hurrah—I get to satisfy a zombie!” Lydia rolled her eyes and stamped a foot. “Hmph!”

“We won’t really let them, um,” Mary blinked, then swallowed, “ eat us, will we, Papa?”

“We won’t let them do anything, child. We will fight. We certainly won’t take the easy way out, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mr. Bennet gave each of his daughters another long look. “You will die warriors, all of you. You’ve already passed the test that proves it: You chose to come out and face death with me. And in the choosing is the being.”

“That’s why you released us from our training the day of the ball,” Elizabeth said. “You wanted to see what choice we would make.”

Mr. Bennet nodded proudly. “Mary, Lydia, and Kitty came and found me as I helped with the evacuation of the village. And the next time I saw you, your sword was back at your side.”

“And what of me?” Jane asked. “I was dancing with the baron when you arrived with the dreadfuls at your heels.”

“Yes. But weren’t you just doing your duty as you understood it—staying close to the man you’d been told to protect? When it became obvious that man was unworthy of your protection, you removed it as only a true warrior would.”

Jane seemed relieved even as the banging on the door grew louder.

“I wanted to be certain you wouldn’t make the same mistake I did,” Mr. Bennet said, gazing at Jane, then Elizabeth. “Twenty years ago, I chose a passing fancy over my own honor. You have proved yourselves stronger than that. Stronger than I was . . . and am. I’m certain you would have become far greater—”

The door’s top panel splintered, and a bloody stump popped through. It was followed by clawing hands that ripped frantically at the wood, tearing it apart, splintered shard by splintered shard.

As the Bennets stepped back, spreading out across the attic, giving themselves room to fight, Elizabeth allowed herself one last glance at all her sisters. With them, at least, there could still be love, and she felt lucky, in a way, to die surrounded by it.

She was smiling when she looked again toward the top of the stairs and braced for the ghoulish faces that would appear there any second.

“Let’s make a game of it, shall we?” she said. “Whoever kills the most, wins.”

“I will kill twenty!” Lydia declared.

“I will kill thirty!” Kitty countered.

Mary paused for a moment of sober calculation.

“I will kill thirty-two,” she said.

“I will kill as long as I must,” said Jane.

“And I will kill as long as I can,” said Elizabeth.

The door gave way.

The whole house shook.

“What—” Lydia began.

The booms came then, so many of them in such quick succession they could have been rolling beats on some monstrous drum. Screams followed—high, whistling, eerie, neither human nor zombie.

“I can’t believe it,” Mr. Bennet said, and he burst into raucous laughter. “To hear it again now, after all these years! The most beautiful sound in creation!”