by D. B. Walker
One day his brother Merle had dared him to get some. Daryl had watched the old man enough to know not to fight or swat when you approached the bee hive, and the bees pretty much laid off him at first.
But when he pulled back the cover the bee swarm rose against him as a single cloud of stingers. His brother laughed and laughed as he scuttled back through the woods, but he stopped laughing when he saw he hadn’t let go of the comb. He was a month healing up from the stings.
It had been worth the stings. Mountain honey, thick and raw, was better than any food he’d ever tasted. Besides, it shut Merle up.
Daryl measured the walker swarm’s approach. Armed with knife and hatchet, he plunged in where the biters were thinnest. His leg slowed him down, and the walkers flailed at him like he was entering hell through a car wash.
He lost his footing on a wet slope and slid headlong into a deep, muddy swale. A couple walkers tobogganed down after him. He stabbed their heads as they sluiced by. He scrambled up the far side where the walkers’ rigid limbs couldn’t climb. With a glance back at the godawful horde, he continued eastward along the creek, torn and limping.
The swarm had nearly got him. But he still had his jar of honey.
SWARM BAIT FRIED PB&H’S
makes 4 sandwiches
8 slices white Pullman-style bread
½ cup peanut butter (not unsalted)
6 teaspoons honey
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 Spread each of 4 slices of the bread with 2 tablespoons of peanut butter. Drizzle each of these slices with 1 teaspoon of honey, and then sandwich with the other bread slices.
2 In a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat, melt 1½ tablespoons of the butter. Let the pan heat for 30 seconds and then add 2 of the sandwiches. Fry for 2 to 3 minutes, or until golden brown, and then flip and cook for an additional 1 to 2 minutes to brown the other side. Transfer sandwiches to a plate and repeat the process with the remaining butter and sandwiches. Halve the sandwiches on a diagonal and serve drizzled with the remaining 2 teaspoons of honey.
Honey is antiseptic and keeps for centuries. You can bring crystallized honey back to liquid by warming it by the fire, as long as you’re sure there aren’t any walkers nearby.
BALLS
IN THE ROUGH
The creek continued under a chain-link fence and he followed it out of the woods, dazed and near dead, and soon found himself in a long clearing overgrown with Bermuda grass. He could make out a large building with a tall portico on the other side. He needed to rest.
There was a loud crack behind him. His face had already hit the grass before he figured out something hard had hit him in the skull.
He woke tied to a stainless-steel table in a large kitchen. He could feel a knot the size of a meatball in the back of his head. Should’ve known better than to walk onto a damn golf course. He looked around for his knife and his crossbow, but they were gone.
A tall man in a bloodstained pink polo entered the room, followed by a small woman in grass-stained chinos. The man glared at him.
“What the hell hit me?” groaned Daryl.
“I tapped you with a putter,” the man said. “You’re lucky I didn’t use a nine iron.”
“You better next time, if you’re thinking of taking another shot.”
“You looked like a walker.”
“You came about that close to making me one.”
“What do you want here?” asked Pink Polo. “Who are you?”
“Nobody. I’m just passing through. And I don’t need anything from you people, except my crossbow back.” He caught a whiff of something grilling. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to something to eat.”
“We bagged a feral hog near the eighteenth hole just before we caught you. We can spare a meatball, but then you’re out of here.”
“What the hell is this place?”
“Spalding Country Club. And unless you have pepper flakes on you, it’s members only.”
The last place in the dying world he wanted to be was a country club. But that hog smelled good.
Just then they heard shouting from outside. And then screaming.
Daryl muttered, “Must’ve forgotten to mention the biter swarm coming up behind me.”
Gory Red Grinder
GORY RED GRINDER
makes 4 grinders
MEATBALLS
1 pound ground pork
2 large eggs
⅔ cup panko (Japanese bread crumbs)
¼ cup finely shredded pecorino Romano cheese
¼ cup finely shredded Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons finely chopped basil
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons olive oil
RED SAUCE
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
1 small bunch fresh basil
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 (24-inch) sesame Italian loaf, halved horizontally
1 garlic clove, halved
8 ounces fresh mozzarella, sliced
½ cup fresh basil leaves
¼ cup Parmesan cheese
1 Prepare the meatballs: In a medium bowl combine the pork, eggs, panko, pecorino, Parmesan, basil, red pepper flakes, garlic, salt, and pepper. Use your hands to mix just to combine then form into 8 large meatballs.
2 Heat the oil in a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add the meatballs and sear until golden on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer the meatballs to a plate.
3 Prepare the red sauce: Add the olive oil and garlic to the same pan. Cook until the garlic is fragrant, 1 minute. Add the tomatoes, basil, red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring, until the sauce thickens slightly, about 10 minutes. Add the meatballs and cook until the meatballs are cooked through and the sauce is thick, 15 minutes.
4 Assemble the grinders: Preheat the broiler. Rub the cut sides of the sesame loaf with the garlic clove and place on a baking sheet. Broil until the bread is toasted, about 2 minutes. Top the bottom half of the bread with the meatballs and sauce and layer mozzarella slices on top. Return to the broiler and broil until the mozzarella melts, 1 to 2 minutes. Sprinkle with basil leaves and Parmesan, top with the top slice of sesame loaf, and cut into 4 sandwiches. Serve hot.
Red pepper flakes are a better choice than black pepper in your go-kit. They retain their heat longer and you don’t need to carry a pepper mill.
GROUND ROUND
The fence is down!”
The man in the pink polo rushed out of the kitchen with his putter, leaving Daryl tied to the table. Daryl yanked hard at the ropes until they frayed on the steel edge and came loose.
He hobbled to the door to see what was going on.
Outside a battle was raging. A section of the chain-link fence had been pushed down, and a filthy mob of walkers poured onto the shaggy lawn. The club members were hacking at them with whatever they could find. Wedges and drivers seemed to work best, but not good enough because they were quickly driven back against the giant grill where the hog was already starting to scorch.
He searched the kitchen for his weapons, and found his things piled on a golf bag full of sharpened clubs. He rubbed the bruise on his skull.
Not many of the biters had come around to the front side of the club-house yet. He made for the creek as fast as his hurt leg would carry him.
A terrific mechanical roar came from the building behind him. Out of a double garage rumbled a huge riding mower, four whirling blades extended in front of it. The driver waved his hat like a rodeo cowboy and steered the juggernaut straight for the biter swarm.
Biter after biter fell underneath the grinding blades as the man whooped and yelled. But eventually the blades clogged up and th
e motor sputtered out. Before he could restart it, the doomed driver was pulled down from the cab into the grinding mob of dead, joining his fellow country club members.
Turning his back to the awful sight, Daryl spat, put his crossbow over his shoulder, and limped away to the road.
SLOPPY JOSÉ (OR WHOEVER ELSE)
makes 4 sloppy josés
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
1 pound ground beef
Coarse kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 (15-ounce) can tomato purée
2 chipotle peppers in adobo, finely chopped
1 lime, juiced
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
½ teaspoon ground cumin
10 cilantro sprigs
1 small white or red onion, coarsely chopped
4 sesame buns, split and toasted
1 Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat, then add the oil. Stir in the yellow onion and garlic and sauté until tender, about 7 minutes. Add the beef and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, until the beef is browned and cooked through, about 8 minutes. Drain off most of the fat and stir in the tomato purée, chipotle peppers, lime juice, Worcestershire, cumin, and half the cilantro sprigs. Cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 20 minutes. Discard the cilantro sprigs.
2 Finely chop the remaining cilantro and add to a small bowl. Mix in the white onion. Serve the sloppy Josés on toasted buns topped with the onion-cilantro mixture.
Manual meat grinders are well worth the small amount of extra weight. Ground meats are hard to identify, and unusual proteins easier to disguise.
A
POOR BOY
A LONG WAY FROM HOME
A monstrous form rose up in the silent water of the creek. Daryl fired the crossbow.
“Boo-yah!”
He reeled in the line attached to the bolt, which had impaled a big old flathead catfish. He pulled it up the bank and licked his chops. He still had bread he’d swiped from the country club kitchen.
As he fixed his lunch he wondered what had happened to the girl from the woods with the sandwiches. Maybe she’d grown up and had kids of her own. But what was the point thinking about all that now? The walkers had erased that world.
One day he’d told her about the chupacabra, how it roamed the countryside feeding on live sheep. She told him the story scared her. He picked a wildflower from the side of the creek and gave it to her.
“Ain’t no chupacabra gonna get through me,” he had promised her. “I’ll always protect you.”
A low sound came from the trees, interrupting his reverie. It was too loud to be a live killer and too quiet to be a dead one. Maybe it was just his stomach growling.
A pair of miserable eyes met his through the scope. He lowered the weapon. Just a goddamned half-starved dog with a desperate growl. The thing was bone-skinny and stared at his lunch with hungry eyes.
Ah hell, he thought. Might be some company, though.
He cut his sandwich in half and tossed it over. The dog snapped it up and swallowed it before it even landed. It stared at him again.
“Don’t even think you’re getting this half, you mangy dirtbag,” he said. The dog whimpered.
He cooked up another sandwich to share and they ate their fill. He called her Charlie after Chuck Norris. Even though she was a girl dog, he felt better having an action hero by his side.
The dog lay down in the leaves beside him and kept watch while exhaustion finally caught up with him.
Postapocalyptic Po’Boy
POSTAPOCALYPTIC PO’BOY
serves 6
Vegetable oil, for frying
2 cups shredded cabbage
⅓ cup mayonnaise
¼ cup thinly sliced red onion
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
2 loafs long French or Italian breads (about 14 inches each)
6 (6-ounce) mild white fish fillets such as catfish or tilapia
1 cup buttermilk
1 large egg
1 cup cornmeal
½ cup all-purpose flour
Pinch cayenne
Sliced pickles
Hot sauce, for serving
Lemon wedges, for serving
1 Pour about 3 inches of oil in a deep fryer or large, heavy pot and heat to 375°F. Preheat the broiler.
2 In a bowl, toss together the cabbage, mayonnaise, red onion, lemon juice, salt, and pepper to taste.
3 Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Brush the insides of the bread with the garlic butter and broil, cut side up, for about 2 minutes, until the bread turns lightly golden at the edges. Transfer to a rack to cool.
4 Season both sides of the fish fillets with a fair amount of salt and pepper. In a shallow bowl, mix the buttermilk and egg together and season with salt and pepper. In another shallow bowl (or pie plate) mix together the cornmeal, flour, cayenne, salt, and pepper. Dip the fish first in the buttermilk, then dredge in the cornmeal mixture, being sure to cover the fillets completely.
5 Gently drop the fish in the hot oil and fry in batches until the fillets are golden, about 3 minutes; drain on a paper towel–lined platter or paper bag. Sprinkle with salt while the fillets are still hot.
6 To assemble the sandwich, lay the pickles on the bottom half of the bread, then top with fried fish. Spoon a small mound of the cabbage on top of the catfish and close up the sandwich with the remaining bread. Cut each loaf into thirds and serve with hot sauce and lemon on the side.
In desperate times you can reuse your cooking oil. When the oil cools down, repack it in its bottle before you de-camp.
THE
WOLF INSIDE
Muffaletta!” came a call far off in the woods.
The dog perked her ears and bolted away toward the call.
Daryl unslung the crossbow and followed as fast as he could. If somebody was trying to ring a biter dinner bell, they were doing a great job. It kind of made him hungry too.
“Muffy!” called the voice again. Then a scream.
He followed the clamor to a fallow field. Charlie stood beside a wisp of a woman with long hair and spandex pants, and was barking at the four biters in leather jackets who surrounded them. They all made that sickening slurping noise, except two who were muffled inside their motorcycle helmets. Charlie growled as the woman tried to hold her back.
One of them grabbed the woman by the arm but couldn’t do much damage through its biker gloves and helmet. She twisted away with strength that surprised Daryl, but she lost her balance and hit her head on a large rock.
He shouted to draw the walkers away. He fired the crossbow at the one in front but the bolt just bounced off its helmet.
He reloaded and got a bare-headed one through the ear. The biters in the brain buckets came at him, though he didn’t know what they thought they were going to do to him with their heads all bottled up like that. He pushed one’s head up and drove the knife up through its chin, then took the other’s head off with the hatchet. He left the head to roll in the drainage ditch, gurgling harmlessly behind its tinted visor.
When he looked up to deal with the last walker, the wispy woman had already taken the top off its head with a machete.
Charlie looked from the spandex lady to him, panting happily.
“Muffaletta, let’s go home,” she said weakly to the dog.
“This is your dog?” he asked her, squinting.
The woman touched her hand to her head. It came away bloody. Daryl caught her just before she fell.
Threat-Level Muffaletta
THREAT-LEVEL MUFFALETTA
serves 4
¼ cup finely chopped roasted bell peppers
1 tablespoon finely chopped peperoncini p
eppers
8 kalamata olives, pitted and finely chopped (1 tablespoon)
2 teaspoons finely chopped capers
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon olive oil
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
One 8-inch round bread loaf, sliced in half horizontally and hollowed out slightly
¼ pound thinly sliced ham
¼ pound sliced mortadella
¼ pound sliced provolone cheese
¼ pound thinly sliced Genoa salami
1 In a small bowl, stir together the bell peppers, peperoncini peppers, olives, capers, garlic, vinegar, and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.
2 Spread the pepper mixture over both halves of the bread. Starting with the hollowed out bottom loaf, layer the ham, mortadella, provolone, and salami. Top with the top half and press down to smash the two halves together. Wrap the entire loaf tightly in plastic wrap and weight down with a heavy skillet. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour, up to 1 day.
3 When ready to serve, slice the muffaletta into 4 equal pieces and serve.
Create layers of flavor and texture with whatever you can loot or hunt. Be resourceful, since almost none of the traditional ingredients will exist long after the outbreak.
EAT, PREY, LOVE
The woman in spandex leaned more heavily on his shoulder than Daryl thought strictly necessary. Charlie-Muffaletta seemed to know where they were going and pranced on ahead.
They reached a road and he soon saw a passenger van and five women. The women jumped up when they saw the trio approaching.
“Maria, what the hell?” said a woman with prayer beads clutched in her fist. She stared at Daryl.
“She was attacked,” he told her. “But she wasn’t bit.”