The Z Word

The Z Word

by Lindsay King-Miller
The Z Word

The Z Word

by Lindsay King-Miller

Paperback

$16.99 
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Overview

“Sexy, scathing, delightful, and intimately devastating.”—Gretchen Felker-Martin, author of Manhunt and Cuckoo

Packed with action, humor, sex, and big gay feelings, The Z Word is the queer zombie romp you didn’t know you needed.


Chaotic bisexual Wendy is trying to find her place in the queer community of San Lazaro, Arizona, after a bad breakup—which is particularly difficult because her ex is hooking up with some of her friends. And when the people around them start turning into violent, terrifying mindless husks, well, that makes things harder. Especially since the infection seems to be spreading.

Now, Wendy and her friends and frenemies—drag queen Logan, silver fox Beau, sword lesbian Aurelia and her wife Sam, mysterious pizza delivery stoner Sunshine, and, oh yeah, Wendy’s ex-girlfriend Leah—have to team up to stay alive, save Pride, and track the zombie outbreak to its shocking source. Hopefully without killing each other first.

The Z Word is a propulsive, funny, emotional horror debut about a found family coming together to fight corporate greed, political corruption, gay drama, and zombies.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781683694076
Publisher: Quirk Publishing
Publication date: 05/07/2024
Pages: 256
Sales rank: 56,921
Product dimensions: 7.90(w) x 5.30(h) x 0.40(d)

About the Author

Lindsay King-Miller is the author of Ask a Queer Chick: A Guide to Sex, Love, and Life for Girls Who Dig Girls. Her fiction has appeared in The Fiends in the Furrows, Tiny Nightmares, The Jewish Book of Horror, Fireside Fiction, Baffling Magazine, and numerous other publications. She lives in Denver with her partner and their two children. The Z Word is her first novel.

Read an Excerpt

“Don’t they have anything besides this hard seltzer bullshit?” I fume to nobody in particular. Only a handful of people are foolish enough to be sweating their asses off out here on the front porch, instead of inside, where they would still be sweating their asses off but also dancing or flirting or getting laid.
     “I think the good drinks are in the kitchen,” says a young, heavily bearded white guy sprawled on the porch swing. “The planning committee got, like, ten cases of this stuff donated, so they’re trying to offload it.” I recognize him vaguely from the few Pride planning committee meetings I attended last summer and fall. I think his name is Mike.
     “Right.” I sigh, pick up a seltzer and inspect it—Seabrook Black Raspberry—then drop it back into the sea of melting ice. I’m sure if I go inside, I could find something better in the fridge. Our hosts, Samantha and Aurelia, are craft beer lesbians. But Sam and Aurelia are also nonmonogamous lesbians who are, apparently, an hour or less away from a threesome with my ex-girlfriend Leah. I was inside for five fucking minutes before I caught a glimpse of Aurelia caressing Leah’s neck. No beer is worth that.

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