This book is essentially a gritty, yet comedic thriller, and to make the traditional cheesy comparison, it's like Breaking Bad meets Mad Max/Tank Girl meets...Biodome xD.
Published by Supposed Crimes, it features LGBT characters in a pansexual universe. It's available on all the major platforms in ebook or paperback, but here's the link to the Amazon page
The cover blurb:
Xero knows what she wants: absolute rule over Southern Arizona, a cure for the superbug that’s killing her best friend, and a decent bar of soap. Some are easier to get than others.
The dreaded Zaps are dissolving Trina’s lungs, and only a rare medication can save her. No problem: Xero is an expert smuggler. As the ruler of the Tucson Exiles, she hustles supplies for the government and then pumps the desert full of illegal designer drugs on the sly.
Catastrophe looms when Yuma goes kaboom, and Trina's cure is destroyed along with it. All that remains is a complicated web spun from Xero's biggest demons: money, germs, and drugs. As she struggles to dig up some Ketacillin, one thought stays with her: Who do you have to kill to get some soap and a hot shower? The body count climbs as Xero struggles to protect her friends and stay clean in a very dirty world.
Here is a sample of the first book chapter:
Scorched eyebrows and toxic waste wouldn’t keep me from saving my best friend. Only one night we had to stay here, but even one minute in the Breakers was too long. These defunct biodomes were nothing but a permanent deportation station for all the unlucky souls who lost the genetic lottery. My Zone Pass and my supercharged lungs made me a free woman, but both my jobs forced me here for business.
Now Trina was dying. Ugly business.
Night fell over the River Slums, and light trickled into the bedroom from an illegal street lamp. The air tasted like refrigerator mold, and the shack had no soap.
That was a problem.
Filthy from a long day of traveling, sweat and dirt mixed into a gritty paste on my skin. Argon lay on top of me, his hips digging into my waist.
I touched my chest and got a palmful of mud. “Nope, can’t deal. Move your dick so I can shower.”
He propped himself up, and a curl of orange hair fell over his eyes. “A shower? Here? Haven’t had enough punishment for one day?”
“Cleanliness is godliness.” I pushed him back, and he rolled off me.
“And you want to be the god of this place? Look around. A swimming pool of bleach couldn’t save this shack.”
I sat up. “A kingdom is a kingdom.”
He pressed dirty palms into dark eye sockets. “Wipe yourself down with a washcloth or something and come back to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Washcloth? Really? Setting myself on fire again might be safer.”
He yawned and stretched out on his side. “Your funeral. Call me if you need help exterminating any alien life forms in there.”
“I thought creating alien life forms was your job.”
“No aliens in my labs, just good strong drugs.”
I dragged a finger across the grooves in his abs. “Gross.” I held the sticky finger up to his face.
“I’m not sleeping next to you like this. Shower with me.”
He laughed. “If you survive, I’ll consider showering.”
“Some bodyguard you are.”
“Like you need a bodyguard.”
I folded my arms. “You’re supposed to be the hired muscle on this trip.”
He shifted to his back and flexed his biceps. “Muscle, I got. Energy, I don’t. I want to sleep so we can finish this job. I want Trina back. With both of us gone the lab’s going to fall apart.” He made it sound like Trina had a cold, but it was worse than a common virus. Much worse. And he couldn’t know that. We needed wishful thinking.
My stomach rumbled. “I can’t believe those assholes confiscated our food. I’m fucking starving.”
“If I don’t fall asleep, I’ll see if there’s anything remotely safe to eat in the pantry, but I doubt it—unless you’re into mystery mushrooms,” he said.
Gag me. Here in the Casa Grande Breakers, one of the worst abandoned biodomes in the region, the fucked up climate control was good at growing fungus. On everything.
“I’ll pass. Just try not to let anyone kill me while I’m in the shower. Some serious shit is going down. Stay alert.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” he said and rolled onto his stomach. He’d be asleep in minutes. I shook my head. Fieldwork didn’t suit his lazy habits, but working with him was safer than using an underpaid stranger. Couldn’t trust him to watch my back, but at least he wouldn’t stab it.
I left him alone and made my way to the bathroom. River garbage and mildew crusted the windows above the tub, blotting out any stray light. I touched the slick bands of scar tissue that spun around my neck like Saturn’s rings. Call me paranoid, but it wasn’t paranoia if someone was actually gunning for you.
I needed more light.
Even with active power circuits nearby, none of the wiring in the shack worked. We hadn’t used this base in months, but we might still have candles and matches. Gangs wouldn’t bother stealing those—fire and toxic gas make for a fun game of candle roulette.
We’d lost more than one flophouse that way.
Catching my face on fire wasn’t a favorite activity, but the military confiscated our solar lamps at the border. Besides, I already burned my eyebrows once today, so why not roll the dice again? Better than having my throat slit. If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s priorities.
I skimmed the bathroom sink, whacking used tea lights into the basin before I found a box of matches and new candles. The flames cast weak light across the wall—a small improvement. Nothing exploded either, so that was a bonus.
I leaned into the rusty mirror and put my left eye up to the fractured glass. Below a mangled eyebrow, the iris shone a clear green, but smashed capillaries stained the white parts a murky crimson. A mottled bruise, halfway through healing, decorated my cheekbone. I hated getting punched in the face, but it came with the job.
I ran a hand over the sides of my overgrown Mohawk—didn’t need a mirror to know it had faded to the color of expired pea soup. Out in the Voids, the wild lawless lands without biodomes, fashion was armor. Just like a poisonous animal, my neon green hair, spiked high to the ceiling, was a warning signal for predators: don’t fuck with me. I’m the boss.
I’m Xero, ruler of the Tucson Voids.
But I’d let myself go to utter shit. Trina was dying, and suddenly everyone wanted a piece of my territory. No time for personal maintenance on the battlefield. With a limp dick of a dirty Mohawk, I looked more like Xero, ruler of the broken toilets.
At least my tits still looked good.
I sighed and tried to untangle my wilted hair before braving the shower, but my fingers caught in the strands, stuck in something warm and sticky. Very sticky.
Oh, hell no. Not the sacred Mohawk.
Soap. Must find soap.
I thrust my head under the cabinet, grimacing as slimy things brushed against my fingertips. Creepy crawlies couldn’t breed in this poisoned district, but it still reeked of dead things. No stench would stop me. The soap had to be mine.
I clawed through the dank mess, flinging aside slop until I reached a hard rectangle. With the soap case clenched in my fist, I raised my hand in triumph. After such a fucked up day, I almost cried happy tears as I cracked open the plastic shell and snatched the prize inside with my greedy little fingers.
Then the thing in my greedy little fingers went squish.
Mold. It had been soap at one point, but only curdled scum remained. A black mess covered my hand.
“Fuck!” I yelled and flung the nasty shit at the wall.
The heavy blob splatted into the bathroom mirror, and the direct hit destroyed it. Glass clattered into the sink and shards scattered, tinkling like a broken music box on the tile floor.
I may have overreacted.
Submitted March 30, 2016 at 03:57PM by TamaraWriter http://ift.tt/1RI5ry7 libraryofshadows
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