Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls

CHAPTER 18

MR. BENNET’S LIBRARY—his private sanctuary, his refuge from foolishness and chatter and, in short, Everyone Else—had never felt more crowded. The captain’s Limbs were, by necessity, big, burly men, being beasts of a very peculiar burden (and one which weighed no less than fifteen stone). Standing at attention bracketing the captain, they blocked off an entire bookcase.

It was somewhat unsettling to find so many soldiers facing him across the top of his desk: It made Mr. Bennet feel a little like he was facing a firing squad. Yet the one thing that would have perturbed almost any other gentleman—the fact that the guest seated directly across from him had nary a (lowercase l) limb left—was, for Mr. Bennet, a much-welcome comfort. There was no need to ask the captain whether he’d served during The Troubles. Lydia and Kitty had described how the other soldiers broke ranks and ran from a single charging dreadful, but their commander was obviously a man of experience—hard, hellish experience. And that was precisely the kind all England needed to call on now.

Mr. Bennet told the captain all that had happened since he’d sent word of the dreadfuls’ return to the War Office in London. Some of it, he learned, Elizabeth had already passed along. There was much his daughter didn’t know, however, perceptive though she was. Much Mr. Bennet had been holding back for just this moment, when there would be no questions, no gasps. Just much-needed action.

“As I’m sure you noticed when you marched past St. Chad’s,” he said, “we haven’t taken the necessary measures at the cemetery. Until now, I’ve lacked both the manpower and the standing for such a step. I thought I might have an ally: a peer with an estate near here. Unfortunately—and unsurprisingly—he proved unreliable. In fact, I don’t think he’s so much as set foot outside his manor house since catching sight of his first unmentionable. And without his influence. . . .” Mr. Bennet shook his head and sighed. “People have forgotten what once was necessary. That’s especially true in a quiet little hamlet like this that never saw the worst of it even when half the Midlands was feasting on the other half’s brains. Of course, there are strategic advantages to such naiveté. I’m sure you remember well the danger posed by panic en masse. But now that you and the rest of your regiment are here, I think we can safely—”

“There is no regiment,” Capt. Cannon said.

Mr. Bennet cocked an ear, as if he’d simply misheard what the man had said as opposed to disbelieving it.

“Pardon?”

“My company is attached to no regiment,” the captain said. “We are here alone. One hundred men, all told.”

“But . . . surely you must realize . . . if it’s all beginning again . . . beginning here in Hertfordshire, this time. . . .”

Capt. Cannon simply stared back at his host with an air of imperturbable composure Mr. Bennet found both admirable and infuriating.

“Damn it, man, the Burial Act’s been repealed five years now!” he snapped. “Five years we’ve been letting people bury their dead with their heads on their necks! Which means this very moment there’s probably a pack of zombies tunneling around under St. Chad’s cemetery like so many moles! Have you any idea how many men—well-trained, disciplined men—it will take to deal with that? And how many more will be needed to secure the roads and patrol the countryside?”

“The War Office felt a company of a hundred would be sufficient for the task at hand here,” the captain said coolly.

“The only thing a company of a hundred will be sufficient for, Captain, is hors d’oeuvres! It’s been weeks since the first unmentionable sat up in his coffin. You know what could be coming next. A thousand men would be hard pressed to do what needs done in time!”

“Nevertheless,” Capt. Cannon said, “we have one hundred.”

“Why, by God? No more could be spared?”

“No more are being made available,” the captain said, and his expression finally changed. No longer was it simply impassive. Now it was a wall of cold stone.

This far and no further, the look said.

Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath. First the Order let him down by sending such a young master—and one, he was discovering, who was prone to diversion. Now his old comrades in the War Office had disappointed him, as well. More than disappointed him. Thrown him and his family to the undead wolves.

“You know, Captain,” he sighed, “the only reason I hadn’t lost hope entirely was because the army was on its way. Now, however . . .”

“I would take it as a great favor, Mr. Bennet, if you didn’t panic quite yet.”

Mr. Bennet searched Capt. Cannon’s face for any sign he was being insulted. Yet the other man’s expression had softened, as had his voice, and it was quickly clear no slight was intended. He’d merely been reminding Mr. Bennet of something he’d lost sight of: that the soldiers were being thrown to the wolves, too, and the captain might need his help as much as vice versa.

“Agreed,” he said with a slight, wry smile. “I won’t panic . . . yet. There will be plenty of time for that later, I’ll wager.”

The captain nodded. “Indeed, there will.”

The two old warriors meditated for a moment on what might be in store for them. Then Capt. Cannon broke the gloomy silence by lifting his chin and saying, “Right Limb. Nose. Itch.”

“Well,” Mr. Bennet said as the Limb leaned in to scratch at the captain’s bulbous nose, “I had been counting on the sway a full regimental colonel would have. There will be resistance when we make our first move, and that will be more difficult to overcome now. Much more difficult, I’m afraid.”

“Lower. Over. Harder. Not that hard!” The captain dismissed Right Limb with a jerk of the head. “Mr. Bennet, you are a man of great cleverness, I’ve been told. A man of courage and honor. Unfortunately, what we need is a man of rank. Someone whose name—or, preferably, title—could ease the way for us in the days ahead. This nobleman you spoke of, for instance. . . .”

Mr. Bennet nodded glumly.

“Yes, yes. I was just thinking the same thing,” he said. “And believe me, you don’t find it half so unfortunate as do I.”