Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Make way on the bridge!

Battle arms, engage!

It is a truth universally acknowledged

that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

Never was this truth more plain

than in the recent attacks at Netherfield Park,

in which an entire household was slaughtered

by a horde of the living dead during a whist party.

Who goes there?

Who goes there?

Darcy.

Colonel Darcy.

No zombie bite marks on this pristine, young body.

Father.

How were you able to discern that the wound on my rib was from fencing?

Been at this a long time, my son.

I have no wound.

Lovely bid, Mr. Kingston!

More sherry for Mr. Kingston please!

Mrs. Featherstone.

I'm afraid Mr. Darcy's here to see you, ma'am.

Darcy?

Carry on.

We have absolutely nothing to hide.

Please, everyone. Enjoy.

Mr. Darcy.

Colonel Darcy, Mrs. Featherstone. I'm here on official business.

There's been a report that somebody here has been bitten.

Surely not.

There hasn't been a zombie incident in Hertfordshire for over two years.

I assure you, we've taken every precaution.

A newly-infected zombie is almost impossible to detect.

Until they've ingested their first human brains,

at which point, the transformation accelerates with every subsequent kill.

Yes. We are all well aware of how it works, Colonel Darcy.

Well, are you quite satisfied?

Quite.

- Might I play a hand? - Of course.

Good evening.

So, shall We?

A potion?

Flies, ma'am.

I beg your pardon?

Carrion flies.

They are in possession of but one truly enviable talent.

The ability to detect dead flesh.

Well, I've won the trick.

Very crafty play, Mr. Kingston.

I dare say, the buzzing is frightfully loud.

It's not the buzzing that should concern you, madam.

But rather, when the buzzing stops.

Oh, dear.

One-nil, Darcy.

I'm going to be faint.

Is there anyone else present

whom he would have had the opportunity to infect?

A family member, perhaps?

Good evening.

Who would dare just leave a zombie head

in the middle of the floor?

It's his head!

Get it away from me.

But Mr. Kingston's niece is here.

There was no need to put that girl through Mr. Darcy's interrogation!

Cassandra, come back!

Annabelle?

Where are you?

Annabelle?

It wasn't always like this, my dear daughters.

As the century began,

Britannia was rich with the fruits of worldwide trade.

From the colonies there came not just silks and spices,

but a virulent and abominable plague.

Naturally, many suspected the French were to blame.

Definitely the French.

- Are you surprised? - No.

Once bitten,

the newly-infected were filled with an insatiable hunger

for the brains of the living.

Millions perished,

only to rise again as legions of implacable undead.

So certain did it seem the end of days had come

that even the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

are said to have ascended from Hell.

To protect the living, the Grand Barrier was built,

a 100-foot wall encircling London.

Then excavation began on the Royal Canal,

a vast moat 30 fathoms deep

surrounding both the city and its walls.

The land twixt the two fortifications became known

- as The In-Between. The In-Between.

At this time, it became fashionable

to study the deadly arts of the Orient.

Japan for the wealthy.

China for the wise.

In the Second Battle of Kent,

one of the bridges across the Royal Canal was breached.

Ravenous zombie hordes massacred every villager of The In-Between.

It was said, the sight of this slaughter drove young King George mad.

When the battle was finally won, he ordered the destruction of all the bridges, save one.

Hingham Bridge,

which to this day, remains the only means by which to cross the Royal Canal.

There's Lady Catherine.

Many believed the enemy was finally vanquished.

The gentry began to leave the safe confines of London's defenses

for their newly-fortified country estates.

But vigilance is still of the essence.

Remember this, keep your swords as sharp as your wit.

For the ultimate battle between the living and the undead

has yet to be staged.

Mr. Bennet!

Mr. Bennet!

Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park is occupied again?

By a Mr. Bingley.

A young, single man of large fortune.

Mrs. Long says his income is four or five thousand a year.

He is attending the village dance tonight.

How does this concern our warrior daughters?

Oh, how can you be so tiresome?

You know I mean for him to marry one of them.

Daughters do not dance well with masticated brains, Mrs. Bennet.

You, sir, have already put them at a decided social disadvantage

by insisting they do their combat training in China as opposed to Japan!

The Chinese deadly arts have no equal.

I, for one, would trade nothing for my Shaolin training.

You mustn't speak like that, Lizzy.

I should like to go to the dance.

Do you think Mr. Bingley's handsome?

With his income, Lydia,

you'd think him handsome if he had half a zombie face.

- Sorry. - You'll make me very, very happy.

Well, I suppose, if we all go...

No! I don't care to be paraded like a herd of heifers at a farm auction.

That's because you're the cow who's least proficient

in the art of tempting the other sex.

Moo.

Do not mistake my indulgence for a relaxation in discipline!

They must find husbands, Mr. Bennet.

For as you know too well, they shall inherit nothing when you pass.

Their immediate survival is my present concern.

Pish.

Well, I'd say you're easily five times as beautiful

as any other woman in this room.

Stop it, Liz.

It's true.

These girls don't stand a chance.

They say Mr. Bingley brought a tribe of London dandies with him.

- Smile, Liz. - I will later.

There's the handsome new master of Netherfield.

- Oh! - Where?

It was my understanding that Captain Bingley was in want of a wife.

Oh, he is. Those are his sisters, Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst.

They say he inherited nearly £100,000.

What a magnificent husband he'd make.

Charlotte Lucas, do you think of nothing else?

Zombies or no zombies, all women must think of marriage, Lizzy.

I shall never relinquish my sword for a ring.

For the right man, you would.

The right man wouldn't ask me to.

Mr. Darcy. Rather an imposing presence.

Owns half of Derbyshire. £10,000 a year, at least.

WOMAN; What?

Back to your own family, Charlotte Lucas.

Now, Liz, you look very nice.

- Well, thank you. - Don't act so surprised.

Out, out. Out. Smile.

Welcome, dear friend.

- How are you? - How are you, Charles?

I'm very well. How was the journey from Derbyshire?

- Fine. - Good.

So this is Meryton?

She's the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.

She smiles too much.

She... She's an angel.

Oh, my word.

Charles Bingley, pleased to make your acquaintance.

Mrs. Bennet. We've heard so much about you, Mr. Bingley.

My daughters, all of impeccable character.

Well... May I introduce my friend, Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire!

Are you enjoying Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley?

Very much.

I've heard the library at Netherfield is one of the finest.

Library? ls it?

Miss Bennet, may I be so bold as to request the next two dances?

If you are not otherwise engaged.

I am not engaged.

Good for you, Mr. Bingley. You chose the loveliest of my daughters.

- Mother! - Well...

I consider dancing to be the first refinement of polished society.

Don't you agree, Mr. Darcy?

No. Every savage can dance.

Why, I imagine even zombies could do it to some degree of success.

Good evening.

You know, I love to read, too, actually.

I have read.

Please don't forget our next dance, Miss Bennet.

Darcy, I hate to see you just standing there. You must dance.

Oh, you know I detest it when I'm not acquainted with my partner.

- Oh, well... - Darcy.

You are dancing with the only handsome girl here.