by D. B. Walker
She savored her meal. The long, ropy limbs weren’t as good as the rich, wet middle, so she laid those aside and gnawed the juicy ribs.
This was a good snack, tasty enough, but she felt that with a little effort she could do much better. In any case, the hunger was flowing back fast. She wasn’t nearly full.
Being a walker was no picnic.
Maple Brined Pork Chops with Red-Eyes Gravy
MAPLE BRINED PORK CHOPS WITH RED-EYES GRAVY
serves 2
¼ cup maple syrup
¼ cup light brown sugar
3 tablespoons salt, plus more to taste
4 fresh thyme sprigs
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste
2 (1-inch thick) bone-in pork chops
2 tablespoons olive oil
½ cup strong brewed black coffee
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 In a large heavy-duty resealable plastic bag, combine 3 cups of water, the maple syrup, light brown sugar, salt, thyme sprigs, and black pepper. Seal and shake it up to dissolve the salt. Add the pork chops to the bag and let sit anywhere for 30 minutes at room temperature or refrigerate for up to 4 hours. If chilled, let chops come to room temperature for 30 minutes prior to cooking.
2 Heat a large skillet over high heat, then add the olive oil and let heat for 30 seconds. Using paper towels, dry the pork chops and add to the pan. Sear, undisturbed, for 3 to 4 minutes or until well browned. Flip the pork and cook for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, turning and searing the edges as needed, until a meat thermometer inserted into the pork reads 135°F. Transfer the pork to a cutting board, tent with foil, and let rest 10 minutes before carving.
3 Meanwhile, make the gravy. Over high heat, add the coffee to the pan and simmer, scraping up the brown bits, until reduced, about 3 minutes. Stir in the mustard, turn off the heat, and stir in the butter. Season with salt and pepper as needed. Serve the pork chops drizzled with the gravy.
Hearty traditional dishes look most appetizing when served in a manner that conveys informality. These pork chops take on a devil-may-care look on a rustic wood surface.
FREAKS
AND GEEKS
Daryl kept to the woods and open fields. He was in a hurry to get back to the others with the supplies, but the state road was nothing but an all-you-can-eat buffet for the biters. Anyway, he still hoped to bag some quail or a wild hog.
A patch of color a ways off caught his eye. He crept through the brush. Tucked in a corner of a wide meadow were four tents surrounded by a makeshift fence, a whole bunch of cooking equipment, and the remains of a campfire.
Some of the campers were still there, at least parts of them. They lay where the biters had surprised them, still wrapped in the chewed tatters of their sleeping bags. Unsteady footprints led off south toward the road. He guessed five or six biters, probably off somewhere picking goose-down out of their teeth right now.
He picked up a jar of mustard from the supplies around the fire. The campers weren’t going to miss the Grey Poupon now.
There was a bloodied depression in the grass a few feet from the fire pit. Someone had fallen and bled out, but they weren’t there now. A set of meandering tracks led off in the direction he was headed. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to run into whatever made them, but he better keep track of where it went. He didn’t need anything coming back to bite him.
He followed the tracks toward the edge of the meadow, where he could soon make out two figures. They were just kids, or had been. A boy and a girl, chained to a tree and snapping at him like famished pit bulls.
Daryl squinted and raised his lip. Just when he thought this world couldn’t get more messed up.
“Well, ain’t you a sorry-looking pair,” he said aloud.
The girl rolled her eyes at him and made a gurgling sound.
“Right back at ya, Sunshine.”
Unsuspecting Pigs in Blankets
UNSUSPECTING PIGS IN BLANKETS
serves 6
6 hot dogs
All-purpose flour, for dusting
1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed (about 8 ounces)
1 large egg
1 tablespoon water
2 tablespoons poppy seeds (optional)
2 tablespoons finely chopped bread and butter pickles
2 tablespoons finely chopped dill pickles
Mustard, for serving
Ketchup, for serving
1 Poke hot dogs several times with the tip of a knife.
2 On a lightly floured work surface, roll the puff pastry into a 15-by-11-inch rectangle. Cut lengthwise into three 5-inch-wide strips. Cut each strip in half crosswise so you have 6 pieces of puff.
3 In a small bowl, beat together the egg and water. Line baking sheets with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Place a hot dog on the narrow end of one piece of pastry. Roll to enclose, brushing with some of the beaten egg to adhere; transfer to prepared baking sheet. Repeat the process with remaining hot dogs and pastry. Brush the tops of puff pastry with the egg wash and sprinkle with poppy seeds if using. Transfer to refrigerator and let chill for 15 minutes.
4 Preheat oven to 450°F. Bake the hot dogs until the pastry is puffed and golden, about 20 minutes.
5 In a small bowl combine the bread and butter pickles and the dill pickles. Carefully split the puff pastry along one side of each of the pigs in blankets and top with the pickle relish. Serve with mustard and ketchup.
These classic tidbits need not be boring or staid—a bright splatter of ketchup can make an eye-opening presentation.
YOU’VE GOT
RED ON YOU
Maybe there was hope for the living, but it sure as hell wasn’t inside this shack.
The tracks had led him more or less west, toward home. If this particular biter was headed for his friends, he had to stop it.
Its reckless spoor was typical enough. Besides the lumbering footprints and the mangled undergrowth, rags of flesh still clung to the trees where the dead thing had passed.
He found an old shovel, like what they use for pizzas. He’d be sure to keep an eye out for a biter with mustachios, an apron, and a big chef hat. Next to the shovel lay an unlucky woodchuck, picked cleaner than he could have done himself, let alone a sloppy biter.
Daryl had always wolfed down his food, like he thought it was going to run off. Pam used to laugh and tell him to slow down. Let yourself taste it, she’d say. He never knew how to repay those embarrassing kindnesses. She had really wanted to know how to butcher her own food. He’d never met a girl who liked hunting and killing so much.
He’d wrapped his trembling hand over Pam’s on the hatchet handle. First you chop the head …
When he found the shack even the birds were quiet. The door was locked and the window was busted inward. So far, a pretty typical walker kill zone. But inside was another story.
“Fussy carnage,” was the only way he could think of to describe the scene. Usually biters left a bloody mess splattered around the place like spin-art.
This biter had picked some parts clean and left others. What it didn’t eat was stacked neatly in the corner. It clearly didn’t care for elbows or knees. Even the blood looked like it had been sopped.
Biters getting picky—this was not a good sign. They were evolving.
ELBOWS CASSEROLE
serves 6 to 8
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for pan
1 onion, finely chopped
1 pound ground beef
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 (28-ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
2 cups water
1½ cups whole milk
1 tablespoon Worcestershire
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon cumin
2 cups (½ pound) elbow noodles
2 cups grated Cheddar cheese
½ cup
Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons finely chopped Italian flat-leaf parsley
1 Preheat the oven to 425°F. Heat a large skillet set over medium-high heat, then add the oil. Add the chopped onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add the ground beef and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, until the beef is browned and cooked through, about 8 minutes.
2 Drain off the excess fat and add the tomatoes, water, milk, Worcestershire, sugar, paprika, and cumin and stir to combine. Add the pasta, cover the pan, and bring to a boil. Simmer until the pasta is almost tender, about 7 minutes. Stir in the Cheddar cheese and season with salt and pepper.
3 Pour the mixture into an oiled, shallow casserole dish and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese. Bake until the pasta is cooked through and the cheese melts, about 15 minutes. Sprinkle with parsley and serve.
Great for leftovers the following night, assuming you’re feeling optimistic about the future.
THERE’S NO “I” IN
SWARM
Nothing could quench the fire of craving in her gut, nor the dull, ceaseless fury it ignited. She couldn’t do this alone.
Other bodies shambled nearby, but they didn’t smell good. Living snacks had the sharp, sour aroma of fear. But these bodies moved slowly and smelled of nothing but shadows and hunger—just like her.
Her hunger never rested and neither did she. She followed the retreating scent of food until it grew stronger again. Soon, many famished bodies were following the same scent.
Her black hunger merged with theirs until she was just part of a blundering, ruinous swarm of biting mouths. The swarm needed snacks. She made a slurping sigh of resignation: she’d have to share.
At last the good smell was close. The inexhaustible pain she felt was the snacks’ fault, for not being in her belly. She wanted to scream, but made only a choked rasp with her hardening throat.
The swarm surrounded the snacks. Lots of snacks, pointing sticks and making loud sounds. She dove at the noisy buffet, jostled by her fellow diners. A few of them fell and seemed to lose their appetite forever. Most just fed and fed.
She caught flesh in her teeth. It kept wrenching itself out of her mouth, but she pulled it back to her with delight. Other mouths came for her snack too. She tried to make sure she got the delicious bits. She could tell the others didn’t really give a damn.
The swarm fed and moved on. She moved with it automatically, but her heart wasn’t in it. Something in her body, like a memory embedded in her muscles, wasn’t satisfied just to feed fast and dash off.
Meat was good. It just needed—something.
Mustard-Rubbed Long Pork
MUSTARD-RUBBED LONG PORK
serves 4
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pork tenderloin (about 1 pound)
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 Preheat the oven to 400°F. Heat a large, ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat, then add the oil. Season the pork tenderloin with salt and pepper. Add the pork to the hot oil and sear until golden brown on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes.
2 In a medium bowl, whisk together the Dijon and whole-grain mustards and the brown sugar.
3 Transfer the pork to the oven and roast for 5 minutes. Brush the meat generously with half of the mustard mixture and return to the oven to roast until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the pork registers 140°F, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a plate, cover with foil, and let rest for at least 10 minutes.
4 Pour the reserved mustard sauce into a small saucepan and heat over medium until just warmed through. Slice the tenderloin and serve with the warm mustard sauce.
Ingredient substitutions are unavoidable when the world has ended. However, there is no morally defensible substitution for pork.
OM NOM NOM NOM
The walker left a trail of weird crumbs.
He found several more carefully arranged feed areas and a quail with one nibble taken from it as if it had been rejected. He picked up a gore-smeared cleaver that looked like it’d been through ten flavors of hell.
The walker had veered off north. It was no longer on his way home, but he couldn’t let it go now. Something about the way this thing ate wasn’t biter-like. It fed almost like a person. Well, if that person was Hannibal Lecter.
He crossed an empty field and passed a cairn of rocks. On the other side of it sat a lone walker in pajamas.
It reached for him with hands that were nothing but skeleton. It couldn’t even grab him—the finger bones just flopped around on slack tendons like a rubber toy. It gurgled at him in frustration.
He stuck his knife though its rubbery forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he said, curling his lip.
He looked closely at the carcass. The walker’s flesh was still moist. It hadn’t turned more than a day before. There wasn’t much sign of what turned it either, except for the fleshless hands and forearms. It was as if it had been nibbled—carefully.
A walker didn’t eat itself. Something had done this to him. Something that particularly liked finger meat. Something with peculiar tastes. There was an almost dainty quality about it. He recognized the handiwork of his walker. The thing could have written a cookbook: To Serve Man. He laughed at his own joke.
He caught himself thinking about Pam again. She had once told him how she liked to take the chicken feet from her grandma’s stew pot and suck them clean. He’d told her she was probably a sicko. She had just laughed and kept on kicking her feet slowly in the creek water.
Nothing disgusted Daryl more than walkers. But deep inside he had to admit he admired this one’s discrimination. This was not your average biter.
Nail-Biter Chicken Fingers
NAIL-BITER CHICKEN FINGERS
serves 6 to 8
1 pound chicken breasts, patted dry
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
½ cup all-purpose flour
2 large eggs, beaten
1 cup panko (Japanese bread crumbs)
1 cup crushed potato chips
4 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil, or more as needed
½ cup ketchup
½ teaspoon Sriracha or other hot sauce, plus more to taste
1 Cut the chicken breasts into 2-inch long strips, each ½ inch wide. Lay the chicken pieces out on a baking sheet and season liberally with salt and pepper. Refrigerate, uncovered, for 30 minutes.
2 Put the flour in one medium bowl and the eggs in another medium bowl. In a third medium bowl, combine the panko and the crushed potato chips; season with pepper and stir to combine.
3 Dip each chicken strip in the flour, shaking off any excess, then dip into the eggs, and then into the potato chip mixture, turning to coat completely. Transfer to a clean baking sheet.
4 Place a large skillet over medium-high heat and add 2 tablespoons of oil. Once the oil is shimmering, add enough of the chicken strips to fit comfortably in one layer. Sear, without moving, until the chicken fingers are golden brown on one side, 4 to 5 minutes. Flip over the chicken fingers and cook until the chicken is golden brown on the second side, 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer the chicken to a paper towel–lined plate and add 2 tablespoons oil to the skillet. Once the oil is hot, repeat with more chicken strips, adding more oil to the pan if you need to fry a third batch.
5 In a medium bowl, stir together the ketchup and Sriracha. Serve the chicken fingers warm with the Sriracha ketchup.
Know your survivor group: are they ravenous or peckish? These tasty tidbits can be an hors d’oeuvre or a whole meal.
PROTECTION
The picky walker moved in looping circles, like it was in a giant supermarket without a list.
Daryl found a freshly killed sheep, its belly chewed open. A coyote would have eaten through the rear. This was either the work of a biter or a chupacabra.
But a chupacabra wouldn’t have left the pretty little pile of herbs next to its meal. He figured he was still on the trail.
The terrain got drier and he began to lose its tracks. He lay down to side-head a grassy stretch and saw a shiny spot where the biter had tripped or fallen. There were depressions in the leaves here and there, showing it had come through recently. But finally he lost the trail altogether, and even by circling he couldn’t pick it back up.
The light was failing and he had to find somewhere to spend the night. Last thing he needed was a swarm of biters tripping over him in the night.
He found an old sawmill, filled up with dead machines slowly rusting to powder. Enormous wheels with red teeth the size of his head bit halfway into unfinished planks. The honeysuckle was starting to strangle this place like everywhere else in these parts.
As night stretched on, he pulled his poncho around himself and tried to sleep. In his dream he saw the girl, grabbing hold of the hatchet for the first time. First you chop the head, he was saying.…
A sound woke him, something on the shop floor. He grabbed his hatchet with both hands and crouched in the darkness, flashlight clamped between his teeth.
CAT HEAD BISCUITS WITH SAWMILL GRAVY
serves 6
BISCUITS
3 cups self-rising flour, plus additional for dusting
1½ cups buttermilk
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened and cut into pieces
GRAVY
1 pound breakfast sausage, casings removed (or use bulk sausage meat)
¼ cup all-purpose flour