Let the Steampunk Zombies Roll: Review

Dreadnought by Cherie Priest

Cherie Priest has written a total of three books (Dreadnought,Clementine, and Boneshaker) that take place in the “Clockwork Century.” While each book contains characters and references in the other books, they can still be read independently from one another without missing the overall plot or context of the story. The protagonists of these books are all women; they are strong, independent, and above all, willing to blow away a zombie head or two.

Vinita “Mercy” Lynch is working as a nurse in a war hospital in Richmond, Virginia, when she learns that her husband has died in a POW camp. Then she receives a telegram from her estranged father, who is dying  in the frontier town of Seattle, and wants desperately to reconnect with her. With little else keeping her in Virginia, she embarks on the long and arduous journey to the distant Western Territories.

Priest conjures an alternate history in which the Civil War has lasted for nearly twenty long years, and slavery is no more. There are airships, steam-powered robots, and fortress-like trains capable of leveling entire forests. Oh, and there are zombies: hordes upon hordes of flesh craving, gore-covered, rotting zombies.

Mercy’s journey through the war torn Border States is fraught with danger, and she barely makes it to the Mississippi River. In St. Louis, her trip takes a turn for the worse as she boards the only train headed out west: the monstrous Union steam engine known as the Dreadnought. It supposedly carries deceased Union soldiers to their final resting places, but Mercy learns that the Dreadnought also carries a mysterious cargo, which draws considerable Confederate attention, ranging from rebel bushwhackers to diabolical mechanized walkers.

Something far worse than outlaws awaits Mercy out west, and it could spell the end for not only those aboard the Dreadnought, but also the entire United States as well.

Priest does an excellent job of balancing Mercy’s mental and physical journey. The grief of losing her husband, as well as the painful possibility of reconnecting with (and then possibly losing) her long lost father.

Dreadnought carries a sort of Steampunk vibe, and because of that, it doesn’t seem unreasonable that there are robots or flying machines, as they are all defined by technologies that existed at that time. Discussing the zombies will give away some of the plot, but her reasoning for their existence is not unbelievable, and she easily places a horror element into a sub genre that very rarely has any.

The only flaw one may find with Dreadnought is that Priest creates such a fantastic world, but only examines a small portion of it. The book reads rather quickly, and will most likely leave the reader wanting to know more.
Dreadnought is an excellent read set in a unique world that is unlike most anything in Science Fiction today.  Reading this novel will most definitely spur you to pick up another one of Cherie Priest’s books, just so you can revisit “The Clockwork Century.”
Authors after Dark has nominated Dreadnought for steampunk novel of the year.

These Vampires Don't Sparkle: American Vampire -Review

Let’s face it, the vampire is no longer feared. What once was an evil, blood-sucking demon from hell, has deteriorated into a brooding, sensitive pretty-boy who pines for romance and has renounced drinking the blood of humans. Dracula would be ashamed to call himself a vampire in today’s Twilight age.

Fortunately for the pale Transylvanian, the graphic novel American Vampire not only restores a bit of much-needed attitude and maliciousness to the vampire breed, but also adds a refreshing twist.

Written by Scott Snyder and Stephen King, and illustrated by Rafael Albuquerque, the plot of American Vampire follows the 19th century outlaw Skinner Sweet, and aspiring 1920’s actress Pearl Jones. Sweet is a ruthless, evil man, who rides with his posse across the American West robbing and killing whomever he wishes. Sweet eventually has a run-in with a group of Pinkertons, and during the ensuing struggle, is transformed into a vampire.

Read on at:

American Vampire Review

The Rise of the Ray Gunslinger

Mankind has been fascinated with exploring outer space for decades and also with the idea of one day, actually living on another planet.

Countless books, movies, TV shows, and games have been created to explore what life would be like for humanity in space. Oftentimes humanity is depicted as colonizing planets, meeting intelligent aliens, and discovering the secrets of the Universe – all from the comfort of advanced spaceships with sparkling white exteriors. Civilization and peace spread throughout the Universe, everyone dons a spandex uniform, and humanity is elevated to an even higher level of technological and intellectual understanding. Basically, mix a London Gentlemen’s club with lasers and green women, and you have a popular version of humanity’s potential future in space.

Read on below!

The Rise of the Ray Gunslinger

The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 4: The Outlaw Josey Wales

My head throbbed. My vision was blurry, and I felt nauseous. I blinked a few times, and rubbed my eyes, and the world slowly came back into focus. 

I was lying on a bare mattress. A single candle sat next to my impromptu bed, its tiny holographic light dancing before me. I couldn't quite figure out where I was, but my room (if you could call it that) looked like a cave. It was cool, and it smelled like wet earth.

I sat up very slowly, feeling a aching pain on the left side of my chest. I lifted my shirt and checked myself, finding a disconcertingly large multi-colored bruise. The pain was bad, but not bad enough to warrant the thought of having a cracked rib or two. 

The sound of my heartbeat in my head was deafening, and the constant throbbing wouldn't let up. It seemed to get worse when I stood up. My head felt like my brain was trying to escape through my skull. I put my hand to my head, and felt bandages. My left temple felt wet and sticky. I didn't have to look at it to tell that I was bleeding, though it surely wasn't all that bad. "Where the hell is my hat?" I said to myself. 

 My cave wasn't tall enough for me to stand fully straight, and I had to stoop over like an old man. A wooden wall had been built over the entrance of the cave, but it had been done rather sloppily, as if by a child. Light shone through the large gaps between the wooden planks and the wall of the cave. There was a door built into the wall, and I approached it. It was locked, and not really knowing what else to do, I knocked on it.

"Hello?" I said. "Is their anyone there?" I pressed my ear up against the door.

I heard a faint voice... 

"You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig." 

Where have I heard that before? I thought to myself. That voice -- and those words -- sounded so familiar. 

"Hey is anyone out there?"

I heard a something fragile, like a glass bottle, hit the ground. "Hey Josey! I think our stranger is up!" I heard someone run past my door. The voice sounded like it belonged to a kid, probably a young boy. 

Then I heard footstep -- slow and deliberately placed. Someone was coming, and they were taking their time. I stepped back a bit, unaware of what was one the other side.

My jailer stepped in front of the door, and they blocked out the light that was seeping under the door sill. 

"Listen here stranger," said my jailer. "I'm gonna open this here door, okay?" I could hear a latch turning. "I ain't gonna hurt ya none."

His reassuring tone honestly felt a bit forced. I stepped back and sat down on my bed. The door opened, and light poured in. The light hurt my eyes and head, but I looked up to see a freckled face kid -- probably a teenager -- standing in front of me. He was wearing a pancho, and an old cowboy hat. Despite my leaking head, I recognized him instantly. "You... what happened? Where are me?"

The kid stepped in, and lit a cigarillo. He casually tossed away the match. "Well, If you can remember, I found you on the ridge out yonder." He gestured with his head away from the cave, the cigar resting in the corner of his mouth like a gangster. "I was about to part amicably, when that goddamn spider showed up." He touched the pair of blaster he wore on his hips, "I fired Sally and Tally as soon as I saw her, but with you standing in front of me, I couldn't get a good shot. And well -- I hate to say it -- I think I might of shot you. It was nothing bad mind you, I think I just nicked your temple there. But you fell and hit your head on a rock. Clean passed out."

"What happened to the spider? And where is all my gear? And my hat?" I said. The way he was speaking reminded me vaguely of someone. 

"Well the spider..." He was searching for the correct thing to say. "I think I killed her. I don't really know." He leaned up against the wall of the cave. It shimmered and glistened in the light as if it was wet. "I fired at her, and she lost her footing, and fell right over the cliff. A fall like that probably killed her." 

He blew a large smoke ring. "Your stuff is fine. Except for your rifle though, I think the spider ate it." He gave me a sardonic little smile. "Oh and I never found your hat."

I heard several people walking towards my cave.

"What's your name by the way?" he said.

My headache was starting to dissipate, but it still took me a minute to respond. "Uh... Manco. My name is Manco. What's yours?"

The kid inhaled deeply, and blew out a large cloud of smoke. 

"The name is Josey. Josey Wales."

The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 3: The back of my mind...


I dreamt about treasure.

I was standing in a cave. My vision was blurry. The walls of the cave seemed to slowly move and crawl as if they were alive. I walked deeper into the cave, and was immersed in blackness.

I reached into my jacket pocket, and found my matches. I lit one. The dim light of the match danced on the moving walls. A faint whiff of phosphorus lingered in the air. 

I looked around the cave. Gold coins lay in messy piles. A nude bronze statue was leaned up against a stalagmite. Off to my right, lay a mirror made of polished silver. To my left, a large collection of silver flatware was neatly stacked next to a large golden candlebra.

Hanging on the wall in front of me was an oil painting. I walked towards it, and peered closely at it. It depicted an armoured knight, who was riding a large white horse. He was caught in the act of stabbing what looked like an elephant-sized iguana with a lance, his expression that of triumph, and the monster's, one of primordial violence. A woman was caught between them...

I felt a sharp, stabbing pain, and I dropped the match. Everything turned black.


I woke up to the sound of a gunshot.

The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 2: Do you feel lucky?

I paused at the top of the hill to catch my breath. I leaned the rifle up against a rock, and reached into my pocket to retrieve the map. It was worn, and the paper was yellow with the time, but the digital images were still readable. They flickered a bit every now and then. I looked out and scanned the horizon. Tarantula rock was out to my left, and Camel Spider Canyon was directly in front of me.

According to the map, I just had to make my way through the canyon, and over the Black Widow Sand Dunes. Then it was short 1/2 mile to Hairy Spider Gulch, where my uncle's treasure was just waiting to be dug up. Unfortunately, there'd be plenty of car-sized spiders on the way there.

Well, at least I wont have to go through Roly Poly Pass. I know it doesn't sound all that bad, but trust me, the cute name is kind of a misnomer. Getting crushed by a two ton bouncy ball is pretty god awful way to go.

I folded the map up and put it back into my pocket. I grabbed my canteen and took a long gulp. I looked down for a moment to fasten the canteen back to my pack, and when I looked up, I saw him standing there. Startled, I reached over and grabbed my rifle. By the time I brought it to my shoulder, he already had a piece aimed at me. Two of them actually. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen.

He grinned, showing a number of very crooked teeth. He was scrawny, and wore a dirty poncho. He had on an old hat, like the kind the cowboys used to wear. Underneath it was a giant mop of messy red hair. He was armed with dual DL-44 blaster pistols. Probably chambered in .35 or .40 watt bolts. Their energy packs whined with anticipation.

He finally spoke, "Are you gonna pull that rifle or whistle Dixie?"

"What?" I said.

"Do you feel lucky? Well do you, punk?"

I gave him a confused look. "Why are you talking like that?" I said.

"You're one of those road folk aren't you?" He said. "We knows what kinds of evil you all are capable of.""Don't think I'd hesitate even for a second to turn you into a pile of dust"

I slowly started to stand up.

He stepped forward quickly, nervously fidgeting with the pistols. "Go ahead, make my day!"

Where have I heard that line before? It seemed oddly familiar.

I lowered the rifle, and laid it down on the ground. "Alright kid, I don't mean you any harm. And I'm no road agent either. Whatever one of those is. I'm just trying to find something my uncle left out here, that's all."

The kid's toothy grin faded. "So you're not one of them?"

"Um... no" I said.

He flicked a switch, and the pistols stopped whining. He didn't lower them though. "Well, you'll understand if I don't trust you."

"Sure kid. No worries. Just put away the guns okay?"

"What I'm gonna do is this. I'll let you get on your way. But you're gonna leave the Winchester with me."

A loud roar interrupted my response. I turned just in time to see eight hairy legs the size of telephone poles leap into the air. The kid fired. And then everything turned black.

The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 1: The long colt

The bullet is resting in my right hand. It is a .45 long colt. It is an older style round, with a flat head instead of a hollow one. Like the kind the cowboys would have used. I play with it, rolling the round with my fingers. Despite its size, it carries a bit of weight. The sun beats down hot, and the ground is dry. Nothing but slate rock and dust for miles, interrupted by the occasional cactus.  Heat dances in the air, and in the distance a hawk circles. He wavers a bit, wobbling as he makes a survey of the land. I grin, because not even he can escape the rising heat. Serves him right too, because here we all suffer equally.  Rabbit, coyote, human, and bird alike. No one is special in the desert.

Well, except for the the wolf spiders. They're very special. And big too.

Never did quite hear the reason why they got so big. Radiation? Science experiment gone wrong? Or maybe God just wanted to see our reaction to seeing a spider the size of a VW bug.

I'm sorry... I'm rambling. I tend to do that. On one thing, and then all of sudden, I am talking about something that doesn't at all relate to what I was originally saying. I guess we all have our quirks.

A cloud moves across the sky. It's shadow bumbles along like a wandering tumble weed. I take the round, and place it between my index and middle finger like a cigarette. My father's rifle is in my left hand. It is a Winchester 1892 Deluxe Takedown. I work the action, pulling the lever down to check to see if it's loaded. Empty. I smile again. Safety was always his thing. I close the breach. I take my lonely round, and load it into the magazine. I take a eight more out of my pocket, and load them into the rifle. I work the action and chamber a round. I place my thumb on the hammer, gently squeeze the trigger, and gingerly lower it.

Why do I have a rifle you ask? Because of the wolf spiders? Well, no not because of them. Sure a 45 L.C. can do some damage. I heard they used to use these rounds to hunt black bear, and they're no bigger than a wolf spider. Or at least the old ones were. Sorry, another tangent.

No, I have the rifle because I am after something. My uncle buried a particularly special item out here. Yes, buried treasure in the desert, how cliche. Don't judge me. Anyway, I could really use the cash. Or gold. Or Micro-neuron chips. Or whatever it is. And besides, I have his map too. They ransacked his piece of shit house and never found it. You know why? Because he gave it to me a long time ago. Even showed me on the map where it is. It's sitting in Hairy Spider gulch under a pile of stones, behind a dead mesquite tree, marked by...

Um... I think I've said too much. But, I will tell you this, whatever is buried out here is valuable. And valuable things are generally sought after. Sometimes by multiple people. Dad's rifle is just a precaution. In case someone tries to start something. And that's all.  Honestly.

Sweat spills into my eyes and I wipe it away quickly. My shirt sticks to my back.  I pick up my pack, carrying my rifle in my right hand, and head up the hill. Rocks move and slide beneath my feet as if they were alive. I make my way slowly up the hill.