Dead Reckoning [NOOK Book]

Overview

Jett is a girl passing as a boy, living as a cowboy in the old ...
See more details below
Dead Reckoning

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 7.0
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 10.1
  • NOOK HD Tablet
  • NOOK HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK eReaders
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$10.49
BN.com price
(Save 25%)$13.99 List Price

Overview

Jett is a girl passing as a boy, living as a cowboy in the old West as she searches for her long-lost brother. When the book opens, she's just rolled into a new town, where she stops by the saloon. Things are relatively calm, although she suspects there will be Trouble from at least one of the locals. Sure enough, Trouble starts to mosey over, when--







The saloon is invaded by zombies.




Barely escaping with her life, Jett hightails it out of town and soon falls into the company of Honoria Gibbons, a smart, self-sufficient young woman who also happens to be a fabulous inventor. Together with White Fox, a young man they meet, they set out to discover what's caused the zombie uprising. Turns out these zombies aren't rising from the dead of their own accord... but who would want an undead army? And why?
Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

VOYA - KaaVonia Hinton
It is 1867 when three strangers meet in West Texas near a campfire. Griffin, a scientist and inventor, and an Army scout named White Fox are getting acquainted when a terrified woman dressed like a man hurries toward them on horseback. Jett is fleeing from Alsop, Texas, from which she barely escaped when the town was attacked by zombies. Connected around a common effort, Griffin, White Fox, and Jett search to find out more about what Jett thinks she saw in Alsop. The trio's unlikely friendship is entertaining, but the strength of the novel is in the slow, but interesting, unfolding of the mystery behind the zombies. Where are they coming from? Are they even real? Is a cult controlling them? The dialog is a bit stilted and the shifting points of view are often mildly repetitive, but the book could be a springboard for conversations about gender, science, and cults. It is also refreshing to see the independent, bold, smart female characters in this part-steampunk, part-zombie-western mashup. Science fiction fans will be pleased. Reviewer: KaaVonia Hinton
Children's Literature - Meredith Kiger
Seventeen-year-old Jett Gallatin, nee Phillipa Sheridan, is passing for a boy in her search for her twin brother Phillip. Their home in Louisiana was burned to the ground during a raid by Yankee soldiers, her father and older brothers had already been killed fighting for the Confederates and her mother died during the occupation of New Orleans. Her twin brother disappeared during this time and she has had no word from him for five years. She makes her way to Alsop, Texas on her stallion Nightingale thinking her brother might have taken refuge here after the war. Soon after she arrives in dusty Alsop, the town is attacked by zombies. Yes, zombies. With no explanation as to why the zombies apparently kill nearly everyone in town. Jett is diverted from her first endeavor of finding her brother to solving the mystery of the zombies and their intentions with the help of characters she meets during her escape from Alsop; a female scientist named Gibbons who drives what sounds like the first car ever invented, and an Indian scout named White Fox who is not much older than Jett. This motley crew comes together in a quest to find the origins and intentions of the zombies. Their adventures take them to various locations around Alsop that leave the reader somewhat perplexed as the setting vacillates between the post Civil War period and the imaginings of the groups' personal stories. Unless the reader is a zombie aficionado, it makes one wish Jett had stuck to just finding her brother, which could have been an interesting story in itself. Reviewer: Meredith Kiger, Ph.D.
School Library Journal
Gr 10 Up—Three characters with vastly different backgrounds converge on the Texas frontier in 1867 while investigating a string of strange disappearances. Philippa Sheridan is a cross-dressing "cowboy" looking for her twin brother; Honoria Gibbons is a privileged young woman trying to stop charlatans from wiling money away from her gullible father; and White Fox, who was raised by Native Americans after being found in the wreckage of a wagon train, has been dispatched to find out why communication from a "Freedman Settlement" abruptly ceased. The three quickly discover that zombies are the source of the vanishings, and they work together to find out who is creating them and why. The characters' differing beliefs in science and mysticism are a source of much discussion. Ultimately, a cultlike leader is deposed and his creations dispatched with a hose full of salt water. The blend of a zombie thriller with a Wild West shoot-'em-up and some steampunk flair is certainly an intriguing premise. However, despite the thrilling nature of the plot, long portions of dry dialogue make this book drag between action scenes. Outdated language and difficult vocabulary add to the period feel, but make this book accessible only to advanced readers.—Sunnie Sette, New Haven Public Library, CT
Kirkus Reviews
A post–Civil War tale follows an unlikely trio of teens that unites to fight zombies. Jett is searching for her brother, whom she hopes has survived the war. She travels the South, dressing as a man and repelling danger with her gunslinging prowess. Gibbons is the daughter of a gullible inventor; she investigates lurid claims her father would otherwise believe, putting her own scientific methods to work. White Fox is a white man adopted by the "Red Earth People" whose purpose other than protecting the two girls is not altogether clear. The three meet after a legion of zombies has destroyed a nearby town and determine to prevent further carnage. Lackey and Edghill elect Jett as the main character, but Gibbons and White Fox get nearly as much playtime. Most of the book is comprised of the trio discussing theories of the genesis of the zombies and strategies to quell future uprisings. Experienced paranormal fans will likely miss a romantic subplot, an oversight that might have jelled the characters together better and engaged readers. The best aspects of the book are its distinctive characterizations and the incongruity of zombies in a historic milieu, but the world is more interesting than the story. A novel take on historical fiction that nevertheless disappoints. (Paranormal historical fiction. 10 & up)
Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781599908373
  • Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
  • Publication date: 6/5/2012
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 336
  • Sales rank: 266,859
  • Age range: 12 - 17 Years
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

MERCEDES LACKEY is the author of over 100 fantasy novels, including the bestselling Valdemar series.
mercedeslackey.com

ROSEMARY EDGHILL is the author and coauthor of numerous fantasy novels, including the Bedlam's Bard and Enduring Flame series with Mercedes Lackey.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Dead Reckoning


By Mercedes Lackey Rosemary Edghill

Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers

Copyright © 2012 Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-59990-684-3


Chapter One

West Texas, April 1867

Jett Gallatin expected trouble in Alsop, Texas—but not zombies.

As the evening breeze blew dust and tumbleweed across the town's main—and only—street, a gleaming black stallion picked his way along it. The stallion seemed to be the one choosing his own path; his rider sat motionless in the saddle, reins loose, hat pulled down too low for anyone to get a good look at what ever it concealed.

There wasn't much to the town yet, just a street with a livery stable at one end and a church at the other, but last year money on four hooves had come to Alsop. The railroad had reached Abilene, Kansas, and a beeve worth five dollars in Texas was worth forty if you could get him to the railhead in Abilene. Alsop had reaped the reward of being one of the towns near the head of Jesse Chisholm's trail; the town's new prosperity could be seen by the fact there were more horses in front of the saloon than there were places to hitch them.

Prosperity draws folks like flowers draw bees. Did it draw Philip? Mother Mary, please let it have, Jett Gallatin thought.

The stallion's rider would never be mistaken for an ordinary cowhand. Jett wore silver- studded black, from the silver-heeled boots and Spanish spurs to the silver- studded hatband on the wide- crowned black hat. This wasn't an outfit made for punching cows—nor was the well-worn custom gun belt with its matched pair of ivory-handled Colts. Everything about the meticulous arrangement of both revolvers told the tale of someone who lived and died by the gun—the holsters tied down, the gun belt tightened so it rode high, comfort sacrificed for the sake of a split-second's advantage in a gunfight. The sleek black stallion was no cow- pony, either, and his silver-studded, carved black leather saddle and tack weren't the sort of thing a working cowhand could afford. Everything about Jett Gallatin told the world the black- clad drifter was either a gambler or a shootist—or both—but no one in their wildest dreams would think Jett Gallatin was a girl. For her freedom, for her life—and for her brother—she played the kind of young gun a boy would want to be and a girl would yearn after.

And you all go on thinking I'm a boy, thanks, Jett said silently. That's what you're supposed to do.

For an instant she let herself remember those golden peaceful days when passing as a boy had been only a game she'd shared with her twin brother. You can't just dress like me—you have to be me. Give a pretty girl the eye. Otherwise you'll never fool anybody, he'd told her over and over. Jasper told her: Jasper and Jett Stuart, twin brothers who went places and did things Philip and Philippa Sheridan's parents would never have approved of. Now Jasper was gone, and Jett Gallatin searched for him ... and Philippa Sheridan of Court Oaks Plantation in Orleans Parish was someone she used to be, a lifetime ago. She'd named herself "Gallatin" for Gallatin Street in New Orleans, where she and Mama had gone to hide the night Court Oaks burned. Even now, sometimes, she couldn't sleep at night, remembering her home burning, burning, burning ...

Finally the stallion stopped next to the rail in front of the saloon. A rancher or a homesteader would have headed for the general store for the local news, but a cowhand would make for the saloon for beer and whiskey, a good meal, and better company. A gambler or a drifter would choose the same destination, and so—she hoped—that's what Philip would do. If there's any trace of him here, this is where I'll find it.

She swung her leg over the saddle pommel and dropped gracefully to the ground. Oh, Philip, if you hadn't taught me to play the boy so well, I'd be dead now.

She was just seventeen. She should have been getting ready for one of the many gala cotillions New Orleans boasted—had boasted—each spring. She thought with longing of the dress she would have worn—yards and yards of silk taffeta and lace and huge hoops, her waist laced small enough for a fellow to put both hands around. Philip would have been standing beside her, tall and strong and proud, ready to lead her out for the first dance.

But things hadn't been the way they should be for six years—not since February 1861, when Louisiana seceded from the Union, one of the first seven states to do so. Her brothers and their friends marched off to war, and most of them never came back. Her father and her four older brothers, dead in Mr. Lincoln's War. Her mother, dead in the occupation of New Orleans. Philip ... the last news she had was five years old. Philip had written to tell them that Papa was wounded, a Union prisoner, and he was going with him to Rock Island to nurse him. A few months later, there'd been a letter from the prison commander's wife telling them Papa was dead—but they never learned what happened to Philip. He could have gone anywhere—even back to the Army if he'd managed to cross the lines. All Jett knew for sure was that he'd never come home. But she refused to believe he was dead. They were twins—if anything happened to the one, the other always knew it. He had to be here—in the West, where Tyrant Johnson's yoke lay lightly on the necks of exiled Southerners.

She had to believe that. It was all that kept her keeping on.

She didn't tie up Nightingale with the other horses. She looped his reins at the saddle horn as the stallion gazed scornfully down his aristocratic nose at the dusty cow- ponies. She patted his shoulder—bidding a temporary farewell to a good friend—and stepped up onto the weathered wood sidewalk in front of the saloon. A feeling of weary familiarity descended on her as she stepped through the batwing doors and paused, stripping off her gloves as she let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Sawdust covered the floor, kerosene lamps—the only source of light—hung from wall brackets, and a "chandelier" made from a wagon wheel was suspended from the exposed raf ters. This was the sort of place Jett Gallatin was all too familiar with by now. Four years ago I had no idea places like this even existed.

There were almost a dozen men in the saloon—eleven, to be precise—plus the barkeeper. At this time of day, the locals would be at their supper tables, so these were men without homes or steady employment. A trail boss riding shorthanded might pick up one of them to help out on a drive, but he knew he'd be taking his chances if he did. You had no way of knowing if a man was any good until you'd tried him—and halfway between South Texas and Abilene was a bad place to find out someone was an owlhoot.

As Jett walked slowly up to the bar, the only sound in the saloon was the jingling of her silver spurs. The silence persisted as she put one foot up on the gleaming brass rail and leaned over the bar. I wonder if there's going to be trouble this time, she thought with resignation. She knew no one would guess she was a girl, but no matter how good her disguise, nothing she tried to make her look older stood up to close scrutiny. She looked like a boy, not a man, so she relied for protection on the flamboyant and menacing costume of a gunslinger. It was just lucky she was as good with a gun as her costume proclaimed she was. She'd had to be.

"Where you from, stranger?" The bartender drew a beer without her asking and pushed it in front of her.

"Up the trail," she replied. She fished out her money pouch and laid a silver dime on the counter. Union coin and Union tyranny, she thought with a reflexive sneer. "Looking to see what's down the way." She picked up the beer and sipped it thirstily. At least the bitter stuff cut through the trail dust.

"Been a few strangers through town lately," the bartender replied.

She nodded. "Cattle drives come through here?" she asked, half turning away. She already knew they did; she used the conversation to cover the fact she was watching for trouble. Her next questions would be about finding a bed for the night and the prospects of signing up with a drive. Harmless natural questions for a stranger to ask, and it wasn't impossible for a gambler to want to change his luck. If the bartender gave her the right answers, her next question would be ...

Ah, never mind. Without bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all.

A stranger in town was always fair game for the local bully. There wasn't a lot of law out here, and, well, everything depended on how good you were with a gun—and with intimidation. Good with a gun, yes. Intimidation ... not hardly.

She'd just spotted Trouble sitting by himself at a table. He had half a bottle of whiskey in front of him, and he'd been eyeing her furtively from the moment she came in. Her rig-out caused as many problems as it stopped, mostly with fools who forgot a boy could be as deadly with a gun as any man.

Now Mister Trouble tried to lock eyes with her. She pulled her hat down a little lower over her eyes—meaningfully—but he didn't take the hint.

The barkeep answered her question—though she'd already stopped listening—and when she didn't say anything more, he walked down to where he could keep an eye on his other customers and began to polish a glass with the hem of his dingy apron. As soon as the barkeep moved, Mister Trouble heaved himself to his feet and wove tipsily toward her. He was fat and unshaven, wearing clothing that hadn't seen a washboard in far too long. She kept her expression bland, though she wanted to snarl in exasperation. Barring a miracle, Mister Trouble was going to start something she'd have to finish, and then she'd have to light out ahead of what ever law this place had to offer. She really, really didn't want to have to draw down on him, or worse, shoot him. She'd been hoping to stay a few days and make some inquiries.

Wonder if throwing my beer in his face will cool him down peaceable-like?

She guessed she'd find out before she got much older.

It took the drunken ranahan a fair amount of time to make his unsteady way up to the bar, but there was no doubt in Jett's mind he was aching for trouble. Any chance their encounter was going to end peaceably was becoming smaller by the minute. At least she didn't have to worry about sun glare; it was full dark outside by now.

So what's he going to say? she wondered, in the peace that always descended on her in the last moments before violence became inevitable. "You ain't from around here, is ya?" or, "We don't cotton to strangers 'round here"? or, "Them's mighty big guns fer sech a little feller"? She eyed the other customers of the bar to see how they were going to react to the unequal fight. Was Mister Trouble the town clown or a bully everyone feared? If he was a bully, she might be applauded for putting him down. If he wasn't—if he was someone everyone liked, even if they didn't respect him—she'd have to get out of this without seriously hurting him, or she'd have a posse on her heels. Her insides tightened up, and everything got a little sharper.

Most of the bar's customers didn't even seem to notice that misfortune—someone's misfortune, anyway—was brewing, and she couldn't read the faces of the rest. She glanced toward the barkeep, hoping for a better clue, but just as she took her eyes off Mister Trouble, she heard Nightingale whinny in warning. She took three long backward steps away from the bar, her hands going for her guns as her gaze turned toward the swinging doors.

And then every horse outside the saloon—even Nightingale—screamed in fear.

The batwing doors swung inward, and a wind as cold as the breeze from an ice house—too cold for the season—poured into the bar. Even through the cold, Jett could smell a stink like a New Orleans cemetery at high summer. The bar's customers began to curse and complain, but before they could really get going, a horde of ... unholy things ... shambled in through the open doors. They were wearing everything from dirt- caked Sunday suits to the ragged tatters of denim overalls. They'd been people once. Now they were dead half- rotted bodies with white- filmed, sightless eyes. Some bore the marks of bullet holes or knife wounds. Some had the grotesque stretched and broken necks of hanged men. Some had been gnawed by varmints. They were all carrying weapons—pickaxes, spades, pitchforks, and even clubs.

Jett clutched her gun butts, though she wondered if the rosary she wore around her neck might be more use. There was a horrified silence in the saloon as its customers realized what had just come through the door, a thump as the barkeep dropped what ever he'd been holding, and then a boom as he whipped his shotgun up from under the bar and fired both barrels. It blew an arm off one of the creatures and knocked another to the ground. But the first didn't seem to notice the missing limb, and the second merely got up again with a fresh gaping crater in its chest.

As if that had been a signal, every living man was on his feet and shooting into the mob of the undead. The saloon filled with the thunder and lightning of gunplay and the smell of gunsmoke, but the barrage had no visible effect.

The zombies kept coming.

The stink of gunpowder mixed with the stench of rotting corpses. Some of the shooters reloaded to fire again, while some had flung aside their useless guns and were looking wildly for any other sort of weapon. The barkeep vanished behind the bar again, and came back up with a fire axe. One of the brighter rannies got the notion to pick up a chair and smash it into the face of one of the things, and then all hell was out for noon. Jett heard a sickening crunch as a living man went down beneath a corpse's club.

Jett still hadn't drawn her own weapons. Her retreat had placed her on the opposite side of the saloon from everyone else, but if she'd had any hopes the living could win this donnybrook, they were dashed within seconds. More and more shambling corpses were shoving their way into the saloon, and while the door on the back wall probably led to the street, it was at the far end of the room and she couldn't get to it. As she backed all the way down to the end of the bar, she saw one of the dead grab the axe from the barkeep's hands. His screams were mercifully brief.

The locals were surrounded, outnumbered, and out of bullets. The situation was hopeless. For the moment, the zombies were concentrating on the men attacking them, and if she didn't want to make this place her last stand, Jett had one chance and seconds in which to take it. She took a deep breath and jammed her Stetson on tight, then made a running dive for the saloon window, ducking her head into her shoulder to save her face from the glass. She hit the window with a splintering crash of wood and glass and turned her dive into a somersault over the plank walk.

She tumbled out into the street and rolled to her feet. The cow-ponies had all fled—the hitching rail was empty, except for a few trailing pieces of broken reins. She couldn't see Nightingale anywhere. She heard screaming, and as she looked frantically around, she saw movement in the street. The street was full of the things—a dozen she could see, maybe more she couldn't. They hadn't just attacked the saloon. They'd attacked the whole town at once and from the sound of things, nobody else was having better luck than the men in the saloon had.

Worse, the shattering window had drawn the zombies' attention.

She groaned in despair as she backed slowly away from the milling corpses. She would have made a run for the church, but they were between her and it. Maybe I can outrun them, she thought desperately. Cowboy boots weren't meant for walking, let alone running, but just now Jett was powerfully motivated.

A flicker of light behind her caught her attention. She risked a glance toward it, and saw one of the storefronts was on fire. Broken lamp, she thought inanely. In the firelight, she could see figures heading for the street. From their shuffling gait, she knew what they were.

She was surrounded now. Fear nailed her feet to the ground.

As the undead moved closer, she crossed herself quickly, breathed a prayer—and thrust two fingers into her mouth and whistled shrilly. If she hadn't removed her gloves as she'd walked into the saloon, she would have died here. But she and Nightingale were much more than horse and rider. They were partners. And because of that, he didn't flee when ordinary horses bolted in panic—and he came to her rescue when even a human partner would have thought twice.

Even so, he was almost too late.

In the distance, she heard a stallion's wild scream of challenge. Nightingale was coming. All she had to do was stay alive until he got here. She gazed around herself wildly, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted a Winchester leaning against a wall—it would serve as a club if nothing else—but before she could dash across the street to get it, she saw more zombies coming out of the doorway beside it. There was nowhere she could run and nothing to fight with. They were going to kill her, and Nightingale would die trying to save her, and—who would search, for Philip once she was dead?

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Dead Reckoning by Mercedes Lackey Rosemary Edghill Copyright © 2012 by Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill. Excerpted by permission of Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 8 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(3)

4 Star

(2)

3 Star

(2)

2 Star

(1)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
Sort by: Showing all of 8 Customer Reviews
  • Posted June 27, 2012

    Interested in a fun summer read that stands out from the sea of

    Interested in a fun summer read that stands out from the sea of paranormal and dystopia books out there right now? If you are then Dead Reckoning, a steampunk western with zombies, may just be the book for you. This book is original and entertaining, just what I needed to kick off my summer!

    Dead Reckoning is set in a western town where Jett, our feisty gunslinger who dresses as a boy so she can make her way around without too much trouble, has stopped find out if anyone knows anything about her lost brother. Jett’s visit is short lived as the town is attacked by zombies and Jett barely escapes with her life. The book’s setting is very well done and Honoria Gibbons’ steampunk inventions are very cool to read about.

    Jett and Gibbons are very opposite characters: Jett being very rational and a fighter and Gibbons being a dogged scientist who throws caution to the wind when it comes to her experiments. While Jett dresses like a boy, I liked the fact that she liked girly things but her circumstances dictates that she be disguised as a boy. The two girls strong personalities are balanced out by White Fox, the handsome Anglo boy that was raised by Native Americans.

    Dead Reckoning is a quick read with great characters, action and mystery. The ending is completely satisfying (no cliffhangers!) and while this could easily be a standalone novel, I’m hoping there will be a second book to expand on the storyline, especially the one involving Jett’s missing brother. Dead Reckoning is a clean read and is appropriate for both older and younger teens.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted June 5, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Zombie Western with Religion Falls Short

    This was definitely a western and definitely a zombie read. What I didn’t expect was the religious aspect of the story. While it wasn’t intrusive to the idea of the zombies, it was something that caught me off guard – I just didn’t think that would be the direction the story would take. Jett is a pretty cool character, as is Honoria, so seeing those two girls make it on their own in a man’s world was fun and interesting.

    I felt that the “how” of the story was brushed over and so far fetched (for a zombie book, I know!) that it just didn’t sit right with me. This isn’t an ordinary infection or virus causing the dead to rise up again and I couldn’t buy the how or the why it was done. I really wished it would have taken a turn to something more like The Walking Dead, but alas, it just fell short.

    ARC Reviewed by Jessica for Book Sake.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2014

    Colow boom.

    AWESOME

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 9, 2013

    Strahd

    What do you want.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2012

    More full of hot air than steam

    I love the genre but this novel falls short of being steampunk or western. The addition of "period" terminology is more irritating than atmospheric. The characters and plot are flat. All in all, I expected more and was disappointed.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 18, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 28, 2013

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing all of 8 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)