pride And prejudice And zombies: dawn of the dreadfuls

chapter 2

AT FIRST, it wasn't just difficult for Elizabeth to follow her father. It was impossible.

With her mother aswoon at one end of the pew and Kitty and Lydia shrieking hysterically at the other, both paths to the aisle were blocked. Elizabeth and Jane couldn't induce them to any movement more gainful than mere flailing, and eventually Mary resorted to a sobering slap across Kitty's cheek. The gambit actually paid off to this extent: Kitty stopped screaming and tried to slap her back.

A moan from the front of the church broke up the tussle. It started low, almost literally so, as if bubbling up from the depths of the earth, a distant wail from Hell itself. Then it built to a high, piercing howl that rattled glass and emptied bladders all through the chapel. It was a cry that hadn't been heard in Hertfordshire for years, yet nearly everyone there knew what it was.

The zombie wail.

The mourners shot for the doors like a great black arrow, and with miraculous speed Mrs. Bennet regained her footing and found the strength to join them in flight. Jane went with her, but not before pausing for a doleful glance back at Elizabeth and Mary, who were holding their ground in the aisle even as Kitty and Lydia and a host of other parishioners poured around them.

Elizabeth could go after her father now. But would she? Should she, when reason surely said to flee, and fast?

The debate raged for all of a second.

Run! said Fear.

Obey, said Duty.

And then a third voice chimed in, one Elizabeth didn't even recognize at first, so well trained were proper young ladies in ignoring it. The voice of Self.

Oh, go on, it said. You know you've always wondered . . . .

Elizabeth turned toward the front of the church, facing the throng rushing at and past her, and began walking against the flow. Each face flying by looked more terror stricken than the last. Yet when Elizabeth felt their panic worming its way inside her, threatening to infect her, she simply willed herself to stop seeing them. Everyone and everything merged into a great, dark blur, so much so that she didn't even notice when her Aunt Philips flashed past, crying, "Lizzy, what are you doing? This way! This way!"

Elizabeth didn't let herself truly see again until she was almost at the end of the aisle. She looked back, wondering if Mary had come, too, and found her younger sister right behind her, so close that her steps brushed the hem of Elizabeth's skirts.

Elizabeth felt such relief she actually smiled. It was a compliment Mary wasn't willing to accept.

"I was simply following you," she said.

When Elizabeth looked ahead again, she saw her father watching them from beside the bier. He wasn't smiling, though there was a curl to his lip and a gleam in his eye that suggested droll satisfaction, as when he and she shared a private joke at her mother's expense. Only three other people had dared gather with him near (but not too near) the casket: Mrs. Ford; her brother, Mr. Elliot; and the Reverend Mr. Cummings.

Of course, Mr. Ford was there, as well, but he didn't count as "other people" anymore.

"Come closer, girls. He won't bite," Mr. Bennet said. "Not so long as you stay out of range."

With slow, uncertain steps, Elizabeth and Mary joined their father. Mr. Ford turned toward them as they approached, watching with empty eyes. It comforted Elizabeth somewhat that the expression seemed so familiar: Mr. Ford never had been the friendliest of her neighbors, hoarding his small store of cheer for those more likely to bring him business.