Excerpt
from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls
by Steve Hockensmith
Chapter 1
Walking out in the middle of a funeral would be, of course, bad form. So attempting to walk out on one's own was beyond the pale.
When the service began, Mr. Ford was as well behaved as any corpse could be expected to be. In fact, he lay stretched out on the bier looking almost as stiff and expressionless in death as he had in life, and Oscar Bennet, gazing upon his not-so-dearly departed neighbor, could but think to himself, You lucky sod.
It was Mr. Bennet who longed to escape the church then, and the black oblivion of death seemed infinitely preferable to the torments he was suffering. At the pulpit, the Reverend Mr. Cummings was reading (and reading and reading and reading) from the Book of Common Prayer with all the verve and passion of a man mumbling in his sleep, while the pews were filled with statues -- the good people of Meryton, Hertfordshire, competing to see who could remain motionless the longest while wearing the most somber look of solemnity.
This contest had long since been forfeited by one party in particular: Mr. Bennet's. Mrs. Bennet couldn't resist sharing her (insufficiently) whispered appraisal of the casket's handles and plaque. ("Brass? For shame! Why, Mrs. Morrison had gold last week, and her people don't have two guineas to rub together.") Lydia and Kitty, the youngest of the Bennets' five daughters, were ever erupting into titters for reasons known only to themselves. Meanwhile, the middle daughter, fourteen-year-old Mary, insisted on loudly shushing her giggling sisters no matter how many times her reproaches were ignored, for she considered herself second only to the Reverend Mr. Cummings -- and perhaps Christ Himself -- as Meryton's foremost arbiter of virtue.
At least the Bennets' eldest, Jane, was as serene and sweet countenanced as ever, even if her dress was a trifle heavy on décolletage for a funeral. ("Display, my dear, display!" Mrs. Bennet had harped at her that morning. "Lord Lumpley might be there!") And, of course, Mr. Bennet knew he need fear no embarrassment from Elizabeth, second to Jane in age and beauty but first in spirit and wit. He leaned forward to look down the pew at her, his favorite -- and found her gaping at the front of the church, a look of horror on her face.
Mr. Bennet followed her line of sight.
What he saw was a luxury, hard won and now so easily taken for
granted: a man about to be buried with his head still on his
shoulders.
That head, though -- wasn't there more
of a loll to the left to it now? Weren't the lips drawn more taut,
and the eyelids less so? In fact, weren't those eyes even now
beginning to --
Yes. Yes, they were.
Mr. Bennet felt an icy cold inside him
where there should have been fire, and his tingling fingers fumbled
for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there.
Mr. Ford sat up and opened his eyes.
The first person to leap into action
was Mrs. Bennet. Unfortunately, the action she leapt to was shrieking
loud enough to wake the dead (presuming any in the vicinity were
still sleeping) and wrapping herself around her husband with force
sufficient to snap a man with less backbone in two.
"Get a hold of yourself, woman!"
Mr. Bennet said.
She merely maintained her hold on him,
though, her redoubled howls sparking Kitty and Lydia to similar
hysterics.
At the front of the church, Mrs. Ford
staggered to her feet and started toward the bier.
"Martin!" she cried. "Martin, my
beloved, you're alive!"
"I think not, Madam!" Mr. Bennet
called out (while placing a firm hand over his wife's mouth)."If
someone would restrain the lady, please!" Most of the congregation
was busy screeching or fleeing or both at once, yet a few hardy souls
managed to grab Mrs. Ford before she could shower her newly returned
husband with kisses.
"Thank you!" Mr. Bennet said.
He
spent the next moments trying to disentangle himself from his wife's
clutches. When he found he couldn't, he simply stepped sideways into
the aisle, dragging her with him.
"I will be walking that way, Mrs.
Bennet." He jerked his head at Mr. Ford, who was struggling to haul
himself out of his casket. "If you choose to join me, so be it."
Mrs. Bennet let go and, after carefully
checking to make sure Jane was still behind her, swooned backward
into her eldest daughter's arms.
"Get her out of here," Mr. Bennet
told Jane. "Lydia and Kitty, as well."
He turned his attention then to the next two girls down the pew: Elizabeth and Mary. The latter was deep in conversation with her younger sisters.
"The dreadfuls have returned!" Kitty screamed.
"Calm yourself, sister," Mary said, her voice dead. She was either keeping a cool head or had retreated into catatonia, it was hard to tell which. "We should not be hasty in our judgments."
"Hasty? Hasty?" Lydia pointed at
the very undead Mr. Ford. "He's sitting up in his coffin!"
Mary stared back at her blankly. "We don't know he's a dreadful, though."
But Elizabeth did know. Mr. Bennet could see it in her eyes -- because now she was staring at him.
She didn't grasp the whole truth
of it. How could she, when he'd been forced to keep it from her for
so long? Yet this much would be obvious to a clear-thinking,
level-headed girl like her: The dreadfuls had returned, and
there was
more to be done about it than scream. More her father intended to
do.
What she couldn't have
guessed -- couldn't have possibly dreamed -- was that she herself
would be part of the doing.
"Elizabeth," Mr. Bennet said. "Mary. If you would come with me, please."
And he turned away and started toward
the altar.
Toward the zombie.
The above is an excerpt from the book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith. The above excerpt is a digitally scanned reproduction of text from print. Although this excerpt has been proofread, occasional errors may appear due to the scanning process. Please refer to the finished book for accuracy.
Copyright © 2010 Steve Hockensmith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls