Dieselpunk: An Anthology Read Online Free PDF Page B

men than Charlie was telling, though. After all, the fungal bacteria would have to infect something organic in order for the cockamamie scheme to work. He had a vision of some poor Kraut’s brain nestled inside those metal works, frankensteined to the machine like a bird to a Swiss clock.
    Kennedy also finally understood what she had meant by the Belfast Terror. It was a moniker that had been coined to describe a myth. A horror story about the dead coming to life during the famine in Ireland. It wasn’t real, though. Was it?
    “ If what you are saying is true, Charlie, then your father and the mob are about to . . .”
    “ Bring holy hell on L.A. That fungus will spread out of control, not to mention the infection from the walking dead attacking the living. It’s happened before.”
    Kennedy clenched his jaw muscles and began to work with intense determination.
    It only took an hour of shoving spuds into can openers and starting little tiny lawnmowers. The collective hum of the troops’ motors was deafening and the cumulating exhaust filled the cavern at an alarming rate. Just as Charlie had predicted, the mechanaughts provided major battle-buddy assist across the bay. By nightfall her army stood at attention, ready for orders.
    Charlie looked across the ranks. Over eight hundred mechanaughts stood, eyes glowing and engines pushing smoke out of their shoulder tubes. She spoke to the first one that they had activated, “ Wir marschieren auf den Toten. Mach schnell !” It rendered a Nazi Sieg Heil — that part gaining a blush from Charlie and a look of disapproval from Kennedy — and turned to the battalion behind it.
    The troops snapped to and moved forward as one, first in slow motion, then at a speed that caused the two humans to jump clear from the surging wave of steel.
     
     
    Shaw stood beside Don Dragna on the platform overlooking the Potter’s Field section of Evergreen Cemetery. They watched as the last of the potatoes were placed into the ground at one of the graves. Even now the air smelled of the noxious spuds and freshly turned loam. It was sickening.
    “ How long?” the godfather asked. He had no patience left.
    “ Soon. Look.”
    True to his word, within minutes the first of the crop began to push up out of the earth. Don Dragna crossed himself and kissed his rosary before clapping Shaw on the back. The two moved down to inspect the first of their troops.
    The undead soldier climbed to its feet and cocked a blind head towards the approaching bosses.
    “ Can you hear me?” Shaw called to the zombie.
    It craned its neck towards him.
    Shaw turned to Dragna. “See? It can hear just fine.”
    The sound that came out of the thing’s mouth was a raspy croak, more from the scraping of vocal chords than pushing of air. It lurched towards the two men and stood silently by while Shaw inspected it. The godfather kept his distance.
    Behind them, the other graves continued to burst open. As each forced its contents to the surface, Dragna noticed that his men were starting to shrink back until only he and the mayor were left standing. It suddenly occurred to the godfather that the two of them were now surrounded by a graveyard full of zombies while this jackass of a mayor tried to give orders to the undead thing in front of him. Dragna turned, spotted his opening, and began to pick his way through the ranks of undead.
    Shaw reached out a hand and touched the zombie. It was an Asian male, freshly dead with the lips gone and eyes filmed over, grubs still making a sponge-work out of its surface flesh. It stood in a burial suit, rocking as he pushed on it.
    “Do you understand?” Shaw asked the creature.
    He pushed again. The thing’s arm shot out and its face contorted into a feral grin. It pulled the screaming mayor’s neck to its lipless teeth and bit through. An arterial fountain sprayed the zombie and the others around it; the rest of the undead became instantly alert to the smell of fresh blood and