by D. B. Walker
She tried in vain to brush Ronnie’s hair, but Ronnie pulled away and made that slurping sound. She felt she hadn’t been the best mother. But she wouldn’t give up. She would adapt to her kids’ special needs, and they would get through this thing as a family.
Nachos of the Living Dead
NACHOS OF THE LIVING DEAD
serves 8
Nonstick spray
1 (13-ounce) bag corn tortilla chips
1 (15-ounce) can refried beans
5 ounces cured (cooked) chorizo, diced small (don’t use fresh chorizo here)
½ cup pickled jalapeños
1 pound (4 cups) pepper Jack cheese, grated
Pico de gallo or salsa, for serving
Mexican crema or sour cream, for serving
Chopped cilantro, for serving
Lime wedges, for serving
1 Preheat the oven to 425°F.
2 Coat a large rimmed baking sheet with nonstick spray and distribute half of the tortilla chips in a single layer. Dollop half of the refried beans, half of the chorizo, half of the jalapeños, and half of the cheese. Cover with the remaining chips and repeat the process with the remaining ingredients. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and beginning to brown.
3 Let nachos cool slightly, then garnish with the pico de gallo, crema, cilantro, and lime wedges. Serve on the baking sheet.
Don’t worry if you can’t find nonstick spray. A chisel works just as well.
FIGHT THE DEAD AND
FEED THE LIVING
A man in an orange fishing vest stumbled, dazed and frantic, through the orchard. The biters had gotten his kids and his wife. Now he was lost, alone, and weak with hunger.
He’d already jumped at so many stray noises that this time he failed to notice the sound of a snapping twig. A willowy woman in a torn mauve pantsuit lunged at him from behind a bush. She had the same starved look in her eye as he probably did. Except she had found something to eat. Him.
He lifted the heavy tire iron he carried in his belt. As he crushed her skull he heard a crunch of leaves. Two more walkers converged on him out of nowhere, grabbing at his shirt and dragging him down. He was too weak to lift the tire iron a second time. He squeezed his eyelids shut and saw a vision of his wife on their wedding day.
There was a whistle like a scythe through grass, a warm rain on his face, and the smell of bacon. He opened his eyes one at a time.
The walkers lay on the ground, the tops of their heads like putrescent bowls dribbling red on the dry leaves.
Above him stood Death.
She wore a black hood that obscured her face, but her sweatshirt was emblazoned with a hot pink skull. She carried some kind of long shovel, its edges filed sharp and smeared with gore. Her left hand gripped two chains, at the ends of which swayed a pair of smallish biters, their mouths sealed with duct tape.
“You must be hungry,” said the apparition.
The man’s throat dried shut. He nodded.
She held out a cleaver with bacon balanced on its flat. The man gawped at it in wonder.
“Bon appétit,” said the specter. “In this world, you either snack or get snacked on.”
Angel of Death Brown Sugar Bacon Bites
ANGEL OF DEATH BROWN SUGAR BACON BITES
serves 6 to 8
8 strips bacon, each cut into 3-inch pieces (about ½ pound)
Nonstick baking spray
¼ cup light brown sugar
¼ teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 Preheat the oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and add the bacon pieces in a single layer. Line another baking sheet with paper towels and place a cooling rack on top. Spray the cooling rack with nonstick spray and set aside.
2 In a small bowl, stir together the brown sugar, cayenne, and cinnamon. Sprinkle the brown sugar mixture evenly over the bacon pieces. Bake until the bacon is well browned, crisp and bubbling, 16 to 18 minutes. Remove the baking sheet from the oven.
3 Transfer the bacon pieces to the cooling rack and set aside to cool completely and firm up before serving.
Cut these into bite-size pieces for an uncluttered look and effortless eating. A sensible hand food for hand-to-hand situations.
THE CHOPPER
Daryl thundered down the road on his brother’s motorcycle, crossbow slung on his back, poncho flapping in the wind, a hatchet handle dangling from his open saddlebag. He was on a mission.
He sped past walkers drawn by the unmuffled engine. One of them stood moronically in the middle of the road. Reaching for the hatchet, he gunned the motor and drove right at the walker. He caught a glimpse in the rear-view mirror of the dead geek’s head flying off. He liked the loneliness of the open road.
He’d left the group of survivors to get supplies, but he would have found just about any excuse to get out of there. Their endless debating, finger-pointing, and crazy moods made his insides coil up tight. You can brain a biter, but how do you survive the survivors?
That was the thing that scared him the most. He wasn’t sure he was coming back.
People had spooked him his whole life. His parents only yelled or whupped him when they paid him any mind at all, and his brother’s protective care wasn’t much gentler.
But there had been this one girl he couldn’t scare off. She used to bring him cheese sandwiches. There hadn’t been much to eat at home, what with his brother Merle gone and his dad sleeping off his liquor most of the time.
He could barely ever manage to say two words to her, but she’d come back every few days with a homemade lunch. He had been just a dumb kid, but he knew an angel when he saw one. First time the wolf in his gut stopped yapping for a second.
She’d asked him to show her how he skinned a squirrel. He’d always used a hatchet; it got less hair in the meat. He had wrapped her pale hand in his on the hatchet handle and guided her arm.
“First you chop the head,” he told her. He’d wondered if she noticed how bad his hand was shaking. He couldn’t look at her the rest of the day.
Damn, what was that girl’s name?
By the end of that summer her family had moved back down near Atlanta, and he’d gone back to roaming the woods alone. He was probably better off on his own. Not like she was his family. The outbreak didn’t change a thing.
Of course he knew things weren’t the same now. He just wasn’t always sure how. Seemed to him the living weren’t so different from the dead sometimes. The dead are hungrier is all. And there are a lot more of them.
Up ahead the road ended in a lake. The creek was flooded. Time to hoof it. He found a low mound and hid the Bonneville behind it in vines and poplar. He didn’t like to stash his brother’s bike like that, but where was his damn brother now?
The living made claims on you the dead couldn’t, even if you didn’t want them to. The sheriff, the children, the old man, the woman with the secret strength, they’d all lost family. Now they were the only family he had left. He’d do what he could for them.
He tried not to think about it. He grabbed the hatchet, adjusted the crossbow, and started walking.
Daryl was going shopping.
FOOD CHAIN
Hellooo, dinner,” Daryl said, shifting the crossbow to his back. He pulled his bolt from where it had stapled the squirrel to a tree.
He tried to remember if he’d cleaned the bolt since the last walker he’d brained. He was sure he had. He sniffed it. Pretty sure.
He hooked the squirrel under his belt and continued east. Without the chopper he’d have to stay off the main road, which was basically a big old biter tailgate party. He’d stick to the woods and fields and parallel Route 16 at least till the river. From there he’d see.
The woods were quiet. No quail, not even a rabbit. Poplar shoots were everywhere, meaning deer hadn’t eaten them. He’d seen a half-chewed doe that could’ve made a good meal if it hadn’t been slobbered on by a bunch of dead assholes.
At dusk he came to a white house, its porch mostly swallowed up by honeysuckle. No car out front. Big propane tank out back. He pushed the back door open and pounded loudly, hiding himself behind the door jamb like a pranking kid.
He gave it a minute. Nothing.
He did a sweep of the house, then tested the oven. Bingo, some propane left in that tank.
The kitchen smelled faintly of paprika. He liked raw squirrel well enough, but there were other ways to fix it, too.
Squirrel Poppers
SQUIRREL POPPERS
makes 15 poppers
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 cups finely chopped cooked squirrel meat or rotisserie chicken
½ teaspoon sweet paprika
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup chicken broth
¼ cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon paprika
2 teaspoons flaky sea salt
1 tablespoon finely chopped Italian flat-leaf parsley
2 eggs
2 cups bread crumbs or panko
Canola oil
Lemon wedges, for serving
1 In a large skillet set over medium-high heat melt the butter. Add the squirrel or chicken and season with the sweet paprika, salt, and pepper. Stir in ¼ cup of the flour until a smooth paste forms. Gradually whisk in the chicken broth and 3 tablespoons of the cream. Simmer until thickened, about 4 minutes; whisk in lemon juice, then transfer the mixture to a bowl, cover, and chill for at least 1 hour.
2 In a small bowl, use your hand to mix together the paprika, sea salt, and parsley.
3 Use dampened hands to divide the chicken mixture into 15 balls (about 2 tablespoons each). In a medium bowl, add the remaining flour. In a second medium bowl, whisk together the eggs with 1 tablespoon cream. In a third bowl add the bread crumbs. Dredge each chilled croquette first in the flour, then in the egg, and finally coat the croquettes with bread crumbs and transfer to a plate.
4 Add enough oil to come 1 inch up the sides of a medium saucepan. Heat until shimmering then fry the croquettes in batches until golden brown and heated through, 5 to 7 minutes. Sprinkle with the parsley-paprika sea salt and serve immediately with lemon wedges.
Paprika is a tasty complement for nearly any small woodland creature or urban rodent.
SINCEREST
CONDOLENCES
The house had a tidy air that made him feel every inch an uncivilized redneck. He slept outside on the porch, his hatchet nestled in the crook of his arm.
Next morning he watched as orange butterflies hovered over a big mound of honeysuckle in the yard. He went for a closer look. A hollow eye socket stared back at him through the sweet-smelling blossoms. He shifted a bit of the vine with the tip of his hatchet. He made out a ripped pink floral housecoat, faded almost gray by the seasons. He turned and went back in the house.
The fridge was stocked with mold, tendrils creeping around the door and up the side like fingers. In the freezer were some thawed pizzas slouched in their plastic packaging. Hell, he decided, those things never go bad, and anyway pizza was like beer. When it’s good it’s real good, and when it’s bad it’s still pretty good.
He hadn’t figured Mrs. Floral Print for the frozen-pizza type. He thanked her silently. He remembered the girl with the sandwiches from when he was a kid. She could make serious vittles out of anything. Once she had pulled a frozen pizza from the permafrost of his dad’s freezer and next thing he’d known she’d made a sandwich. She had never seemed to mind, but Daryl knew he hadn’t done a thing to deserve it.
He hadn’t been able to tell her what he’d been feeling, and even if he had, he’d been afraid of what might come out. Then she had moved away and it was too late. He never saw her again and never got to say good-bye. But her food was a kindness he never forgot.
It started to rain outside. He opened an envelope sitting on the kitchen table. A card.
“Get well soon,” it said. He stood it on a shelf.
Better late than never, I guess. But not by much.
He tore into the pizzas.
Turkey Pizza Clubs
TURKEY PIZZA CLUBS
makes 2 sandwiches
1 (10-inch) store-bought cheese pizza
4 slices bacon, halved crosswise
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
Freshly ground black pepper
4 butter lettuce leaves
½ tomato, sliced into 4 rounds
¾ pound cooked turkey breast, sliced into 8 slices
1 Bake the pizza according to the package instructions. When just cool enough to handle, slice into four 5-inch by 3-inch squares. (Eat the scraps.)
2 While the pizza is baking, heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the bacon and cook until browned and crisp, 3 to 4 minutes on each side. Transfer to a paper towel–lined plate and set aside to cool.
3 To assemble each sandwich: Arrange 2 pizza slices in a row, cheese side up. Spread each with 1 tablespoon of mayonnaise and season with pepper. Place 2 lettuce leaves on top of the mayonnaise and then top with 2 tomato slices. Layer 2 slices of the bacon over the tomatoes and top with half of the turkey. Carefully top each with the remaining slices of pizza, cheese side down.
4 Use a serrated knife to cut each sandwich, diagonally, into 2 triangular pieces and serve.
Frozen pizza dough will last long into the outbreak.
BESIDE THE
DYING FIRE
The rain didn’t bother him much, but the chill made him feel more alone. He lit some coals in a barbecue and brought it up to the porch. Fact was, he didn’t trust houses. His first house burned down with his mother inside it. Merle eventually fled the next house, leaving him there with a drunk dad who whipped him bloody. He’d take the woods over a house any day.
But a kitchen, that came in handy. His mama hadn’t been much of a cook, but the few times she paid him any mind she’d made him a pimento-cheese sandwich. She’d fed it to him and watched him eat. Those were the few times he’d felt warm and safe. His mama’s pimento cheese tasted like home.
Thing about a sandwich—you could manage it. You could carry it, it didn’t get in your way, and it wouldn’t desert you. A sandwich had your damn back.
He was lost in thought when a walker came spilling out of the front door at him like a drunken ape. Must’ve gotten in the back door. He’d let his guard down.
He jumped back, keeping the Weber between them. The biter’s desiccated skin had pulled away from its broken teeth, leaving an obscene grimace.
“Shoulda told me you were coming,” he said. “I’d’ve combed my hair.”
The biter stumbled and caught itself on the grill. Coals clung to its arm like nettles, and flames sprang up on its ragged sleeve. It went up like a match.
He gave it a roundhouse kick to the chest, throwing the thing backward into the house. He followed it in with his hatchet. By the time he got near enough to brain it, flames had peppered the tidy old living room.
He grabbed some flour and hot sauce from the kitchen, then stood outside watching the smoke escape through the lace curtains. He felt Mrs. Floral Print would want it this way.
But he had to admit, the smell of singed meat was making him hungry.
BURN-THE-HOUSE-DOWN BBQ SAMMY
makes 10 to 12 servings
PORK
1 tablespoon salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon cayenne
¼ teaspoon celery seeds
1 (7-pound) boneless pork shoulder, skin and fat left intact
BASTING SAUCE
3 cups apple cider vinegar
1 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons Worcestersh
ire sauce
2 tablespoons dry mustard powder
2 tablespoons packed dark brown sugar
2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon chili powder
½ teaspoon black pepper
Hot sauce, to taste (optional)
10 to 12 soft buns
Shredded cabbage or lettuce
1 At least 12 hours and up to 3 days ahead, start the pork. In a small bowl, combine the salt, garlic powder, black pepper, cayenne, and celery seeds. Rub the spice mixture all over the pork to coat evenly. Place pork in a covered bowl and refrigerate overnight.
2 Combine all sauce ingredients in a large saucepan and stir to dissolve the sugar. Let simmer for 3 minutes, then let cool. Store in the refrigerator for up to a week.
3 Preheat the oven to 300°F and place a rack inside a large roasting pan. Transfer the pork to the rack and bake for 2½ hours, then pour half the sauce over the pork and continue to bake 1 to 2 hours more, basting pork every 30 minutes with sauce and drippings from bottom of the roasting pan. When done, the internal temperature of the meat should register 180°F.
4 Remove the pork from the oven and let cool on the rack until cool enough to handle. Meanwhile, warm the remaining sauce in a saucepan over low heat. Transfer the warm pork to a cutting board and shred, pull, tear, and chop the meat into bite-size pieces, mixing in some of the fat and skin. Transfer pork to a large bowl; add sauce to taste, and mix to combine. Season with hot sauce to taste if you like.
5 Serve the pork on buns with cabbage or lettuce, passing any remaining sauce on the side.
A portable grill should be on your go-list. Fuel is easy to make yourself, and the hot coals are less likely than a campfire to attract drop-in dinner guests.