Chapter 9: St. Lazarus
Darcy rode with haste to St. Lazarus, approaching the unforthcoming church just before sundown. From a distance he could hear the bells tolling from the stone steeple, signaling the imminent commencement of nightly mass. The church would be filled with undead aristocrats quenching their zombie urges on the brains of slaughtered pigs. Darcy could not have timed it more perfectly. If he could sneak in and switch the pig communion with that of real human brains, he could ignite a frenzy that may allow him time to free Lydia and grant her a means of escape.
Passing the wooden pig stalls on the rear of the church, undoubtedly holding the creatures waiting to be eradicated for the next suppression meal, he slowed Combat down, dismounted, and guided his horse discretely round the side of the church. The structure was as grey as the sky and, upon further inspection, rundown from ill repair. Orange and black rust stains decorated the sides of the church, fading the further down they fell. There were also tremendous gaps in the steeple and sides of the church from missing stones. Birds had nested in the great heights, taking advantage of the shelter.
Male and female undead, all dressed in black, were still entering through the front doors of the church. Four men in top hats with their backs to Darcy stood like statues watching the procession enter past them. He spotted a small intricate black grate along the side half of St. Lazarus and tied Combat's reigns around the low bars, as it would almost certainly be their means of escape. Knowing Wickham, Lydia would be in the heart of the church- the cellar- where exits were limited and any attempt to escape would be arduous. Combat was undeniably strong enough to disengage it however, should he be spooked enough by the undead horde.
Darcy rubbed his right hand on Combat's mane a few times before surreptitiously peaking around the stoned corner of the church towards the front entrance. Only the four men in top hats remained. As if sensing Darcy's presence, the man standing closest to his position began slowly turning his head in Darcy's direction. Darcy moved out of view once more, automatically wrapping his right hand against the hilt of his katana in the event the man decided to investigate. If he was even a man… for they all wore golden masks that covered their entire face, concealing whether they were undead or of the living.
After waiting several moments, Darcy rationalized that he had indeed not been spotted and walked over to Combat. Reaching towards his saddle, he removed his musket, placing it in his weapon's belt along with an axe he had brought last-minute, and then proceeded to untie the sack containing the human brains he had dissected earlier that afternoon. Blood dripped from the bottom of the bag as he covertly snuck his way into a side entrance of the church.
He walked through a dark corridor that ran alongside the length of the large sanctuary. Archways lead into the sanctuary every few yards and he paused before each one, glancing around to ensure no one would spot him before pressing on. He paused before one archway as the priest and altar boys proceeded down the candlelight aisle towards the altar to begin the mass. Creeping through the shadows, Darcy made his way to the back of the altar to where the communion was being stored. The pig's brains and blood were encased in golden goblets and communion bowls until it was to be brought out at the end of mass and distributed to the undead congregants. Darcy swiftly removed the pig contents and replaced it with the dripping human brains.
Disposing of the bag underneath the white tablecloth that was draped on the table, he glanced at his watch to estimate a time frame as to when the feast would be served and then began searching for a door leading to the catacombs beneath the church. After several failed attempts, he finally located a wooden door through which were stairs descending to a lower level. Darcy quietly closed the door behind him and peeked over the railing. Down below, in the first gated interior area, was Lydia. Melted candles were scattered around the cell in candelabras and on the ground, serving as the only light in the vast room. In the warm glow, he saw she sat on the floor, head downcast, with her back leaning against the iron wall for support.
Darcy used his vantage point to glance around the rest of the room. The cell housing Lydia had alternating intricate ironwork embellishments between every other sequence of bars with black rods spanning all the way to the ceiling. Two iron doors with iron detailing that outlined the entrance served as the only way in or out of the confinement, a single latch keeping it closed. The iron structure caged Lydia on three sides, the fourth being a stoned exterior wall of the church, and there was a darkened stoned hallway around the various cells in the cellar. Darcy listened intently for any signs indicating that another soul was present in the space. After not hearing any audible warning of another presence, he deftly began descending the stairs, making his way towards the iron doors.
Darcy raised the latch and opened the door, movements that created a deafening noise in the otherwise silent room. Upon closing the door and replacing the lock, he made his way to Lydia, who had not stirred once during the commotion. His concern grew for her well-being, given her lethargic state. Darcy knelt down next to her. Lydia immediately turned towards him upon sensing his presence. She stared at him with a glazed expression. Lydia had lost the shine in her eyes and lively demeanor that made her stand out from the rest of her sisters. He prayed Wickham had not ruined her. He saw chains wrapped around her feet and wrists, keeping her in place against one of the ironed walls. Darcy wondered the last time she had eaten or drank, and he wished he had some way of tending to her basic needs.
"Mr. Darcy!" whispered Lydia in surprise. She reached her bound hands out towards him but they slowly began falling back towards her lap for all the strength had left her. Darcy quickly extended his own hands and guided hers gently down towards her lap.
"It's alright," responded Darcy, examining the shackles.
"He said you'd come," she sobbed out. "Wickham said you'd come."
Lydia started to shiver and tears streamed down her pale face. Darcy abruptly stood, determined more than ever to free her from her bindings, and began tugging at the end of the chain, which was attached to the top of the iron encasing. Alas it would not budge.
"Mr. Darcy!" Lydia whispered in warning for his efforts were drawing too much attention. The metal clanking was still echoing against the stoned walls. Darcy grunted with one last attempt and then slowly dropped the chain, determined to discover another way of freeing Elizabeth's sister.
The cell was quite large and housed various tables and other old pieces of furniture. He moved deeper into the enclosing and saw the same iron grate he attached Combat's reigns to- escape was possible. Various maps also scattered the walls. One of which housed a map of London that read "The London Offensive: Plan of Attack" scribbled across it in blood red. The palace and both houses were circled and given a numerical sequence, detailing the order in which the locations were to be attacked. Wickham was behind the undead uniting together in London and the subsequent attacks.
"Bastard," Darcy said angrily under his breath enraged.
"My god you're so predictable," said a haughty voice behind Darcy. "I knew by taking young Lydia you'd have to protect the Bennets' honor."
Wickham emerged from the shadowed hallway and moved closer towards the doors leading into the cell. Darcy turned slowly around to face him, his face stern.
"So," said Wickham after Darcy remained silent, "come to kill me then, Fitz?"
"On the contrary," replied Darcy in the same confident manner. "I've come to make you an offer."
Darcy removed his father's pocket watch. He had to stall Wickham until the horde completed the transformation and distracted the leftenant. At that moment, he could break free Lydia free of her binds and escape through the grate.
"The Bennets' have authorized me to offer you a commission of £10,000 to return Lydia and leave England for good," negotiated Darcy.
"How very noble of you to deliver the Bennets' offer, Fitz," retorted Wickham, "but I'm afraid my answer is no."
"And is there no financial inducement that could convince you to do the honorable thing, George?" inquired Darcy.
"None," responded George. "You see money is of no use to me now."
Darcy glanced down at his pocket watch again. The aristocrats upstairs would be served their communion momentarily. Darcy would only have to delay Wickham for a few more moments before they descended upon the room, grasping for any living being within reach.
"Is that your father's watch?" Wickham suddenly asked.
"Yes," responded Darcy matter-of-factly.
"Give it to me," demanded Wickham, raising his musket and aiming it at Darcy's head.
Darcy took a few steps to the left until one of the iron embellishment columns was placed between him and Wickham. If George decided to shoot, he would now have to aim between twisted rods of metal to get a clean shot.
"No," said Darcy defiantly.
If this is the way the good Lord wished him to meet his end, he would face his destiny without complaint, but Darcy firmly believed this was not how he was meant to leave this earth. For men like Wickham were not meant to flourish.
Wickham chuckled at Darcy's tenacity and pulled the trigger. The bullet made contact with iron and the sound reverberated within the room.
"Bloody hell!" shouted Wickham in frustration as he quickly attempted to reload his weapon to make another try of it. Shouts could then be heard from up above.
Darcy glanced upward towards the door and smirked.
Wickham paused upon realizing what was happening up above and began slowly backing away from the stairway just as the door at the top of the stairs was flung open and unbridled, ravenous undead poured into the room.
Darcy watched from within the safety of the ironed walls as Wickham struggled to reload his weapon as the zombies descended down the stairs and made their way towards him. With Wickham distracted, Darcy rushed towards Lydia's side once more, pulling at the chains again in an attempt to free her from her confinements.
Undead were leaning over the bannister, reaching towards Lydia and Darcy, hoping to make contact with flesh. Darcy continued pulling relentlessly on the chains until they final gave way, separating from the ironed wall. Darcy knelt down and began removing the braces from Lydia's wrists and ankles. He then heard another ruckus coming from the stoned wall opposite them. Combat had successfully separated the iron grate from the stoned wall, giving them a small window of escape from within the cell.
Darcy carried a hysterical Lydia towards the window just as the snarling horde approached the ironed doors, reaching through their bars with their hands, arms and heads, endeavoring to reach the potential feast. Blood from the officer brains still clung to their chins, hands, and mouths. The dignified undead were no more.
The opening was some ways up, so Darcy placed Lydia on a ledge just below the window and encouraged her to crawl through as he hoisted himself up next to her.
"What have you done, Darcy?!" shouted Wickham.
Darcy turned around and saw Wickham was being pulled every which way by undead.
"I fed them!" Darcy called back with a smirk. "Godspeed, Georgie!" he mocked as he lifted himself up and exited the window, pleased to know George Wickham would not last the night.
Lydia still lay on the damp ground as he crawled out the window.
"Lydia," he said softly. After she did not respond, he gently shook her, and she opened her eyes slowly to look at him. "I need you to stay awake. Can you stand?"
She nodded groggily, and he guided her over towards Combat. Helping her up, Darcy untied the reigns from the iron grate and handed them to Lydia. He then began guiding them through the dark woods surrounding St. Lazarus, in the direction of Hingham Bridge.
Undead began running towards the bridge as well, and Darcy knew he had to stay. Not only to fend off as many undead as possible but also to ensure Wickham was surely dead. He had entered his life so arbitrarily in the past, Darcy was not willing to risk another instance in the future in which he could ruin yet another family. Darcy glanced up at Lydia.
"Lydia listen to me," he said to the weary girl, "you have to get across Hingham Bridge."
"Mr. Darcy you have to come with…" she protested.
"As long as Wickham lives, England is in peril," he retorted ignoring her. "Go Lydia!"
With that, he urged Combat on, and his noble horse took off into the night. He silently prayed she would make it back.
Undead began emerging from the wood behind him, alerting him with their snarls. Quickly grabbing his axe from his weapons belt, Darcy turned and flung his weapon upward under the first undead's chin, knocking him to the ground. He then spun around on two more zombies to his right, slicing the first across the face and the second through the back of the scalp. One zombie made his way towards Darcy and he jerked his axe forward and struck the undead to the ground.
Darcy stared down at his latest conquests, his bloodied axe wielded in the air, ready for the next victim.
"I conquered London, Darcy," said Wickham from behind him. He emerged from the dark woods and slowly walked towards him. "Did you really think you could defeat me?"
Naturally Wickham would have managed to escape the horde inside the church, but the situation had allowed Darcy the opportunity he always hoped for: Vengeance for his sister. His father. Elizabeth. He threw his axe on the ground, and retorted arrogantly, "I always have."
Darcy then withdrew his katana and removed his weapons belt, flinging it on the ground away from him. He rotated the blade skillfully in the air to reacquaint himself with the weight of his blade just as Wickham decided to strike.
With a cry, Wickham ran towards Darcy, his own katana in the air. Wickham's blade came down where Darcy stood. Their weapons met briefly for Darcy had ducked and missed the brunt of Wickham's initial attack. Both men turned round quickly to face the other once more, and immediately raised their katanas, springing for another assault. Wickham attempted several swipes at Darcy's chest, which Darcy narrowly avoided.
Darcy's hands held fast onto his weapon, whipping it towards one of Wickham's arms. It met Wickham's blade defiantly. The two parted and Wickham made an overhanded strike attempt on him. Seeing Wickham size up, Darcy spun around, knees bent, and evaded Wickham's effort. Glancing coldly at Wickham, Darcy proceeded to unarm his opponent, but Wickham matched him at every endeavor. Both men were grunting at the exertion.
Attempting a kill strike, he struck for Wickham's torso, but Wickham turned and the pair found themselves back to back. Many straggling zombies were running past them, still rushing towards the bridge.
"You're a traitor, George," seethed Darcy. He breathed heavily from the exertion and could see his breath in the cold night air with every attempt to refill his lungs.
"No, Fitz," shouted Wickham, "I'm the king!" With that, he pushed off Darcy's back and the men prepared for another violent onslaught. Darcy glared at the dark face across from him. He couldn't help but acknowledge that the two were equally matched, however Wickham was appearing not tiring out as quickly as he was, despite the continuous hours of fighting.
Wickham's eyes narrowed and Darcy knew he was about to attack. He sprang with his katana wielded in his right hand, coming at Darcy's left side. Darcy moved his katana, secured with both hands, round his body and aimed the blade down, meeting Wickham's mere moments before it would have made contact with his skin. Wickham pushed his blade forcefully up, making Darcy lose balance. He then took the opportunity to strike Darcy's face with the hilt of his blade. Wickham never did fight fair.
Rage surged through Darcy. He quickly recovered and met Wickham blow-by-blow, speeding up the fighting pace. He noticed the sky gradually growing lighter and hoped Lydia had made it safely to the bridge. Surely Bingley would blow the structure at any moment for the horde was en route and dawn would soon break.
He focused, waiting for the opportune moment to deliver a killing strike to Wickham. He swung his blade over his head, gaining momentum, and slashed at Wickham's head. Wickham raised his blade with both hands, his own katana almost making contact with the bridge of his nose.
Wickham pushed Darcy's blade off and raised his high in the air, striking low towards Darcy's left side. Darcy locked his blade with Wickham's and raised them both in the air, then promptly delivered a swift kick to Wickham's stomach in his vulnerable state. Wickham teetered back and Darcy advanced on him. Catching Wickham off guard, he raised his blade once more and slashed at Wickham's head. Wickham placed his katana horizontally in the air in a desperate attempt to evade Darcy's blade. Wickham moved his blade to the left, angling it downward, making Darcy lose contact. Wickham hit Darcy in the face once more with the hilt of his blade.
Darcy stumbled backwards several steps before recovering. He promptly slashed his blade upwards from right to left, meeting Wickham by his right shoulder, and then down again, meeting his opponent's blade once more. Darcy then brought his arms in and charged his blade at Wickham's face, slicing his cheek. Darcy drove his shoulder into Wickham's, knocking him away. Wickham roared with rage.
Raising his katana, Darcy aimed once again for Wickham's head. His blade blocked Darcy's once more. This time, however, Wickham held the hilt of his blade in his right hand and the tip in his left palm in a desperate attempt to evade Darcy's katana. Wickham's mouth formed in a hard line, and he wrapped his hand around the blade, trying to push it up against Darcy's efforts. Darcy gritted his teeth and pushed harder, forcing Wickham to his knees, and then kicked him in the face. Wickham managed to maintain his position however and, upon realizing Darcy now only had the strength of one hand behind his blade, mustered up the might to push against Darcy's katana and rise to his feet. They were both on equal footing once more.
Wickham knocked Darcy's katana away from his own and sprang at him again. Darcy met his blade and the two made several more attempts to outflank the other. Wickham extended his right arm towards Darcy, who brought his own weapon downward with both hands. Their blades met and released quickly. Wickham then sliced his blade towards Darcy's head. He promptly ducked and seized Wickham's vulnerable moment to spring forward and drive his katana through his opponent's heart. Triumph was his.
Darcy stared smirking at Wickham, elation, pride and liberation all coursing through his body. His chest was rising and falling rapidly from exertion, and it felt like he was breathing for the first time in months. He had avenged his sister and father and Elizabeth's family. This man would no longer prey on the living. Darcy then realized he could go home. See his sister. Bingley. Elizabeth. If he could find another horse, he may be able to make it to Hingham Bridge on time for he had not yet heard the explosion separating the In-Between from the rest of England.
Wickham slowly lowered his katana in his right hand, the power leaving his body. The blade fell from his hand, and he began slumping to the ground. His left hand clasped around Darcy's right arm, which was still grasping the punctured hilt of his own katana. Instead of falling to the ground, however, Wickham rose up and his left hand began inching towards Darcy's neck. He took a step forward and soon his hand was tight around Darcy's throat, blocking his ability to breathe. Darcy's right hand covered the hand at his neck, but his attempts were futile. He then began grasping at Wickham, in any attempt to free himself. The katana still punctured his chest- how was he still alive? How did he have strength?
Darcy's vision began darkening on the sides. He gasped for breaths and clutched Wickham's overcoat for both support and in desperation. Darcy started falling to the ground, all his strength leaving him. He took Wickham's shirt with him as he collapsed to his knees, tearing it open to reveal a zombie bite on the right side of Wickham's chest. Darcy was paralyzed in astonishment. Suddenly everything made sense.
"You fool! I've been one of them all along," shouted Wickham. "If I had the living your father intended me, I never would have been in the Army. I never would have been infected. This is your doing, Darcy! Suppressing my hunger was easy- I had my hatred of you to sustain me. The Four Horsemen have risen from hell. The Zombie Apocalypse is here. I am the one the undead have been waiting for. The one to lead them."
Wickham swiftly removed the katana from his chest and held it in the air, readying the weapon to make a subsequent killing strike. Darcy's life to be taken by his own blade. How ironic, he thought. Surely Wickham's plan all along was to have Darcy's own brains as his first feed. First Wickham's hatred sustained him, and now Darcy's innards…
Darcy chose not to dwell on what was to come. Instead he thought of Georgiana. The estate would pass to his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he would protect her as if she was his own sister. Gi was most certainly able to defend herself, but Darcy knew losing him, the last of her immediate family, the one who she looked up to like a father, would break her heart. Darcy thought of Bingley. His good-natured, affable friend. The one man who had been there for him for most of his life. They had trained together, laughed together, confided in each other. Thank goodness he was safe and had found happiness with Jane. Lastly, he thought of Elizabeth. The beautiful, brazen Elizabeth. How he hated lying to her in their last moments together. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. She had pierced his soul with her sweet stubbornness. Oh how he was an arrogant fool the first time he proposed. She deserved so much more. And he hoped that she could endeavor to forgive him in time and think of him fondly after he was gone.
"Every life I take, every atrocity I commit, is on your head," said Wickham. He began bringing his arm down.
Darcy caught a brief movement in his peripheral vision and suddenly Darcy's katana was flying through the air, Wickham's severed hand still wrapped around the hilt. Darcy placed both palms on the ground and gasped in deep breaths for Wickham's hold on his throat had finally lifted. He wearily raised his head, and thorough the fog Darcy could make out a white horse with a rider rearing back towards Wickham. Wickham whirled around in astonishment just as the horse trampled him. He lay still and silent. Darcy glanced up at the rider and made out the form of Elizabeth Bennet. She had come for him. She had saved him. Again.
His vision was blurry, but he could make out the determined look he had come to love flooding her face, and it was now paired with what appeared to be adoration. He closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to rid himself of the headache and dizziness he was experiencing. Upon opening them again two mounted Elizabeth's now plagued his vision. He tried to right himself and opened his mouth to speak, but his body was too weary from his standoff with Wickham.
"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth shouted, quickly dismounting and rushing to his aid upon realizing his condition.
She placed her arm around his torso and gazed steadily at his face, silently communicating with him what he already knew- they needed to make for Hingham Bridge. With her help, he mounted the white steed behind Elizabeth and wrapped his arms around her frame. Elizabeth urged the horse on and they both prayed they would not be too late.
After only a short time did they catch up to the spot where London and congregant zombies merge in their assault on Hingham Bridge. The horse flew through the mass, dodging undead men, women and children. The snarling noise rising up around them was unbearable. Darcy's head collapsed against Elizabeth's back in agony and it took the rest of his strength to stay on the saddle.
He could see the bridge at a distance, and he was pleased they were close, that Elizabeth would soon be out of danger. A sharp pain raced through his head. In a bold move, he leaned his head against Elizabeth's back and squeezed his arms a little tighter around her, in an attempt to assuage the discomfort. She removed her left hand from the reign and placed it over one of his, squeezing it gently before taking the reins once more.
"Hold on," she said quietly, "we're almost there."
Now they were in front of the horde. The thousands of zombies were tight on their heels and the bridge was still intact. The white steed galloped over the beginning of the bridge, and Darcy could hear one of the soldiers counting down from the other side.
"Three... Two… One…"
With that, the ground below them began rumbling and the bridge started to give way. The horse drove on through the explosions that followed, but soon all three were engulfed in smoke and debris. The final explosion sent Elizabeth and Darcy flying into the air.
When he regained consciousness, Darcy realized he could not move or speak. He lay paralyzed not knowing where he was. If he was still living. If this was the afterlife. He tried to open his eyes, but his body rejected all movement. The air smelled like burning flesh and smoke. He could hear shouting in the distance and fire crackling.
His body was suddenly moving, but not from his own will. Someone was pulling him onto his back. He could make out whimpering.
"Mr. Darcy?" cried a soft voice. Elizabeth.
He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her. Tell her he loved her. But once again, the one thing he desired most in the world was just out of reach.
He could feel her attempts to awaken him, but it seemed fortune once again sought to keep them apart. He could hear her whimpering subsiding.
"The very first moment I beheld you," she sobbed quietly, "my heart was irrevocably gone."
He felt her gloved hands caressing his face and hair. Then Elizabeth's soft lips were upon his. Her tears fell down the sides of his cheeks and he felt her sobs shudder through her body. Then everything faded to black.