Jane Bennet: A Fictional Narrative

Gripping tightly onto Elizabeth I bow my head over hers, providing as much coverage as possible. No matter how small it may be. I can feel the thump of the horse’s hooves hitting the ground, running through my chest. Feeling as if everything is in slow motion as the bridge looms in front of us. Growls and grunts echoing all around as thousands of zombies follow in our wake.

It has already passed sunrise. The bridge should have already been blown up. I can see the charges lining it as we get closer.

We’re not going to make it.

“Lizzy!” A shout rang out. Miss Jane Bennet was standing on the other side of the bridge near Bingley. Identical looks of horror as they also realise it’s too late.

The Bridge erupts in multiple explosions as rock and dirt are thrown into the air. We’re immediately engulfed in a cloud of smoke, and dirt. Feeling the horse falling with the bridge, I grab Elizabeth’s waist and shout.
Squeezing my eyes shut against the dirt and rubble hanging in the air. Panic flares in my chest as my eyes suddenly fly open as a secondary eruption forces us apart. Flame, and smoke filing my vision before I impact the ground, flinging me into darkness.

As I open my eyes, I realise only a few moments have passed since I struck the ground, for the bridge is still aflame and clouded in smoke. Tipping my head to see my surroundings, I locate Elizabeth lying only a few metres away.

Covered in dirt, and blood.