I raced out into the night, into the manicured grounds of Pemberley Estate. Around me I could hear the approaching howls of the Stricken. The Horde was drawing near. Darcy's commands echoed across the night. The shouts of his men. The crack of muskets.

The battle had started which meant I had very little time.

Shortly after our marriage, Darcy had constructed a small replica of the Shaolin temple where I could go to meditate. Inside I kept a collection of oriental incense, the carved stone Buddha and atop an altar sat the mahogany box Master Lao had gifted me upon completion of my training. Inside was a bronze amulet much like his. A sacred artifact only the purest of those trained in the Shoalin arts were worthy of possessing.

"Coming events cast their shadows before them; should you find yourself cast beneath a shadow too great, too dark, call upon the Spirits of our Shaolin Fathers and they will heed your prayers." 

Entering the temple, I fell to my knees and lit the sacred incense. Opening the mahogany box, I fumbled for the amulet and pulled the delicate chain over my head. Reciting the sacred words Master Lao taught me, I said the Prayer and called upon the Spirits of the Shaolin Fathers.

Around me the air stilled, sound vanished—leaving a silence too thick to bear and I knew, without logic or reason, that time itself had stopped.

Opening my eyes, I gasped as I no longer knelt within the walls of my temple, but now stood in an emptiness surrounded by the ghostly apparitions. Hundreds upon hundreds with silver gazes all pinned to me.

<Rise.> The figure closest to me spoke without speaking and swept a ghostly hand through the air. <Ask.>

Swallowing deeply, I took a quick breath before finding my voice. "I call upon you to send me warriors to help vanquish a great evil."

Silver eyes didn't waver. <Warriors, you say. Cost. Payment.>

"What do you want?"

<Sacrifice.>

I swallowed again. "...me? My life?"

Laughter rattled around me but no faces rippled with mirth. <No. Love. Someone you love. Darcy.>

My heart clutched, terror filled me. "You want my husband's life?"

The apparition's head angled. <Love for life. For all lives? Would you sacrifice?>

I thought of Darcy. I thought of my fierce, proud husband and though it pained me greatly, I knew what he would say if he were here. He would stand next to me, without hesitation or question, and offer to fall on his sword if that's what it took. So would I.

For the greater good.

I chose my next words carefully. "I will pay whatever price I must, but cannot make such a choice for another. Take what you will from me, all that I am--all that I have—I give gladly to save my people. My country."

Silence swelled and my heart rose into my throat. The first flicker of emotion rippled across the apparition's face, splitting his lips into a smile and turning his silver eyes into half moons.

<Worthy,> he whispered. <Warriors you shall have. For the rise and fall of one moon and no longer. Go.>

The ground gave way beneath me and before a scream could break through my lips, I'd slammed back down into my body, into the weight of gravity. The world rocked around me and I became whole again. Gasping, I looked to the incense to see it had been reduced to ash. Beyond me light shone. And grew. A silver, opalescent glow too white to be from the sun.

Rising, I turned into that harsh glare and staggered through the doors. It was there only for a moment, and then receded with a crackle of energy leaving nothing and yet...there were people. Unlike any I'd ever seen before with strange...contraptions. Metal beasts in shimmering hues of white, blue and one of lacquered black straddled by a man holding a crossbow.

"Where the fuck..."

I approached them in equal disbelief and awe. A Nubian goddess, impressively built, with a focused gaze and a lethal katana poised in her right hand. She skirted around me in slow, measured strides--her footing light but confident. The warrior side of me was impressed and recognized a formidable opponent in this woman.

"Where are we?" she asked with a flick of her sword point in my direction.

Warriors. All of them. The Spirits of the Shaolin Fathers had answered my prayers.

"I will explain, gladly, but for now we must all hasten inside."

The leader, as I could only assume by the fierceness of his gaze and raw power of his presence drew a pistol and aimed the barrel straight between my eyes. "We have questions and we will have answers."

"Certainly," I said. "Keep your weapons handy if you must and if it makes you feel safe. But please, follow me." I did not wait for a response, but spun quickly and ran as fast I could manage. The cries of the Stricken grew louder, the bars of the gates rattled beneath their hands and I knew that time moved swiftly against us.

A small gathering of Stricken shambled through a gap in the gates where the bars had given way. Already our guard clamoured to stop them and as I altered course to assist. Seeing Lydia braced in the doorway, I called to her to help and with an aggrieved roll of her eyes, she hitched up her skirts to unsheath the twin daggers at her thighs.

Blades drawn, together we charged the undead. The way was narrow allowing only a few to slither in at a time; keeping their numbers meagre and within control. But a few had overcome one of the guard, and between their greedy hands his skull shattered. Blood fountained as they gathered his brains into ravenous mouths.

Lydia streaked past me to plough a gloved fist into the creature's decomposed face. "THIS DRESS," she screamed, punctuating every ragged cry with a furious blow of fist to face, "CAME ALL THE WAY FROM PARIS!"

Behind us I heard the grunts and curses of the warriors as they quickly dispatched of the few who'd slipped through our defenses. Together we gathered the part of the gate that had broken away and with a bit of determination and ingenuity, sealed it up as best we could.

"That won't hold the next wave," the leader warned, blue eyes hard as diamonds.

"I know. Follow me." I said and once more hastened to Pemberley. Once we were tucked away safe within the estate walls, I escorted them into Darcy's study with Lydia at my side, too intrigued by the strangers to give us the privacy I had requested.

"I am Elizabeth Darcy. My husband, unfortunately, is detained outside, managing our meager defenses. But may I present my youngest sister, Lydia Bennett." Lydia bobbed with a slight curtsey. "What are your names?"

The leader exhaled heavily then jerked a head at his companions. "From the left--Carol, Maggie and her husband Glen, Daryl, Michonne, Sergeant Abraham, I'm Rick and this," he slapped a hand on the shoulder of the young boy at his side, "is my son, Cooooooorl."

I frowned, struggling to dissect the name through Rick's boorish accent. "Coral?"

"No," he grunted, annoyed at my blunder. "Cooooorl."

"Lizzie," Lydia leaned in with a whisper. "I do believe what he means to say is 'Carl' but is inadvertently muddling the pronunciation with his primitive accent." 

"Ah," I said and then offered a quick, apologetic smile. "Right. Carl. It is a pleasure to meet you all."

"Now that we're done with the name game," the dark-skinned female Michonne spoke up, sword still drawn. "Where are we and how did we get here?"

I summarized as best I was able, filling in as much detail with as few choice words as needed to complete a rather incomprehensible picture.

"Time travel?" The oriental youth scoffed. "Rick, this is bullshit."

"I do not comprehend your meaning, sir. I made no mention of a bull that shits."

"I meant this isn't real," he said, sweeping his arms around us. "You expect us to believe you spoke some mystical words over an amulet and transported us all back in time?"

Never having been one to handle such inappropriate address in my life, I folded my arms across my chest to keep from striking the fellow in the nose. "Have you another explanation to make sense of your present circumstances? No? Look around you—you saw the dead salivating at our gates as we made our way inside. Whether you like the truth or not means little to me, the facts remain: a Horde has come to slaughter us all and we have but moments to plan how to defeat them."

"I don't know what to believe but all I know is one minute we're clearing out Negan's bunker of goods – and the next we're...here..." Rick spun around slowly, taking in the fine art on the walls and tapestries, the lit tapers and elegant furniture. Judging their attire alone, I could tell that this sort of wealth not only baffled them but was far beyond anything they considered...normal.

"As for your...problem, what I saw outside isn't enough to bring those walls down, not yet," Rick continued, hip cocked and arms folded. "I think you're being tested. And toyed with."

I nodded, confirming his suspicious. "Wickham is a master of cat and mouse. He will not wish to rush things. He knows we're cornered. He wants us broken before we're beaten."

"Why should we help you?"

"Of course. Payment. My husband is a wealthy man. Our coffers are full. We could pay you handsomely."

Rick waved the offer aside. "We have no need of money in our world. Food. Weapons. Clothing. Those are things we could use."

"If that's all you require than consider it done. We have a cache large enough to see through five years. I am happy to carve out of a third. Wheat, barley, grain -- sugar! Heads of cattle, horses, pigs and chicken. Help me kill Wickham---help us survive--and I will see you part from our world with more provisions than you've ever dreamed of."

"Are we really going to do this?" the one named Michonne asked, stepping forward. "We just took out Negan's men...are we ready to handle an army of Walkers?"

"We don't have a choice," Rick said, holstering his pistol. "Our people need us, alright. We're starving. If the only way to get what we need is by clearing out this problem, so be it." He thrust out a hand between us. Guessing he wanted to seal the matter, I took hold of it and he shook firmly before letting go. "If you betray us, I'll come for your head."

"I would do the same, but on the life of my sister's unborn child, I vow to not play you false. Are you sure you can handle the Stricken?"

"We've got a similar problem in our world," Maggie, a stunning brunette with large eyes and a generous smile said. "We call them Walkers. And yes, we can handle them. Our people have been tested many times, many different ways and we always pull through. We can do this."

"I'm assuming things work differently here," Rick interjected. "How does the infection spread, can it be contained? What are their strengths and weaknesses?" I listed what I knew of our undead and watched the collective nods of heads to confirm our plights were not all that dissimilar aside from one crucial element.

Abraham grunted, arms crossed his burly chest. "Brains, eh? In our world, the Walkers would strip a corpse bare."

A shocked sound tore from Lydia's chest as she gasped in abhorrent disgust. "What ghastly world is that?"

Straightening, Rick's blue gaze flickered to hers. "AMC."