D. B. Walker - The Snacking Dead: A Parody in a Cookbook

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Copyright 2013 by D. B. Walker
Photographs copyright 2013 by Evan Sung

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of
Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
www.clarksonpotter.com

CLARKSON POTTER is a trademark and POTTER with colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Walker, D. B.
The snacking dead: a parody in a cookbook / D.B. Walker.First edition.
Includes index.
1. Snack foods. 2. Walking deadParodies, imitations, etc. I. Title.
TX740.W233 2013
641.53dc23 2013032908

Trade paperback ISBN: 978-0-7704-3544-8
eBook ISBN: 978-0-8041-8516-5

Book design by Stephonne Hordework
Jacket design by Jim Massey
Jacket and text photographs by Evan Sung

v3.1

F OR G EORGE A. R OMERO ,
CHEF DE CUISINE OF THE LIVING DEAD

ANY WAY YOU SLICE IT

V elveeta? What good was processed cheese against the living dead?

Pam choked back a sob so her kids, searching in the next aisle, wouldnt think she was losing it. She never would have allowed Velveeta into her house before. But right now she needed foods that never expired. Undead cheese was better than no cheese at all.

All that mattered now was how you lived and how you ate. The survivors who had tried to make it on Diet Pepsi and Funyuns had quickly been run down and bitten, had risen up again, and now fed mindlessly on the living. So in some ways, not a lot had changed.

She had to get what they needed and get them out of this supermarket. She didnt know what else might be here. She took some of the deathless cheese. Since the outbreak she had done her best to keep her family fed. But in a world ruled by the hungry dead, it was snack or be snacked on.

Food was her connection to people. When she was still just a scruffy redneck girl in the Georgia mountains, shed tried to impress a shy boy named Daryl with cheese sandwiches. Hed shown her how to butcher a squirrel with a hatchet. First you chop the head, hed said, guiding her hand on the hatchet with his. She started making him lunch every day after that, just wanting to touch his hand again. Where there were snacks there was hope.

She froze. There was that sucking sound, like a stuck drain, or the last slurp of milkshake through a straw. The sound they made right before they bit you. She drew a butchers cleaver from her purse and listened as the noise came again, closer this time.

Stahhhhp! came a boys whine. Mom, Ronnies not cooperating!

She stomped into the next aisle.

God damn it, Veronica! she said, gesturing. You scare your little brother like that one more time, so help me Im gonna leave you on the highway. And, Earl

She stopped herself. She was brandishing the cleaver at her own teenage daughter and eight-year-old son. She lowered the blade slowly.

The girl rolled her eyes at Pam and made the sucking sound again, sending the boy off howling.

You help me find him, Pam hissed at the expressionless teen. Anything happens to him, its on you, you hear me?

Veronica rolled her eyes again and sauntered indifferently in the direction Earl had fled.

How had her darling princess become such a monster? Pam wondered how shed made it this far, wrangling two bored kids with rocketing hormones and plummeting blood sugar.

Damn it, where was Earl?

Rushing past the condiments she heard the slurping again. She drew a breath for another telling-off when she collided with a teenage boy in a crumpled paper hat, knocking him into a bin of moldy produce.

As she instinctively reared back, she corrected herself: a former teenage boy. His skin was dark gray, all the color bled from his eyes, and he was missing most of his left cheek. A stockboys apron caked with dried entrails hung loose from his neck. He champed at her viciously with broken teeth loosely tinseled with wrecked braces.

Now she understood why no one had gotten the Velveeta.

Before the dead boy could find his balance, she swung her cleaver sidelong at the base of his skull, just as Daryl had taught her to butcher the squirrel. A crunch like celery, and his head lolled with a sickening gush of dark fluid. The fallen head continued to slurp and roll its eyes at her.

Damn things still a teen , she thought.

She raised the cleaver over her head with both hands, and split the surly face like a pumpkin.

Sorry, kid. This had once been a boy Ronnies age, with parents, friends, and involuntary boners. Now he was cleanup in aisle 6, and no one to mop it up. That was just the hand theyd been dealt.

The apocalypse aint no picnic.

A
BRUNCH
IN THE GUT

T he morning before the world ended, Pam Beaumont found herself with her back pressed hard against someone elses kitchen door, heart racing like a squirrels. A dozen ravenous guests had already infested the living room. A freaking swarm , she thought. And theyre early.

She could hear them through the door. All she had to fend them off was a platter of stuffed mushrooms.

Brunch always meant trouble, but she had only agreed to cater her friend Stacys birthday because Pam loved to cook. She had discovered her passion one summer making sandwiches for Daryl, the biggest crush shed ever had: food could bring you closer to people you couldnt even talk to. It was her connection to humanity.

The birthday guests were drawn to the irresistible smell of bacon. All except for Penny Morton, who looked pale, gray even, and stumbled oddly around the gift table. Drunk at this hour. Good lord. Pam set the platter down on the coffee table and retreated to the kitchen.

When she returned, she found Penny bent double over Stacy, who lay still on the floor, her birthday crown rolling toward the door.

Penny had her mouth clamped awkwardly on Stacys lower face. If thats CPR, shes doing it wrong , thought Pam, and she moved instinctively to push the woman aside.

Pennys shoulder was hot as an ovenand she was yanking tendons like wires from Stacys throat with her teeth.

Brunches were just cursed.

Everyone had fled the room, except a guest who was about to bring the platter of mushrooms down on the gray ghouls head. He missed and the platter flew to pieces around Pams skull.

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