The Snacking Dead

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Velveeta? What good was processed cheese against the living dead?

Pam choked back a sob so her kids, searching in the next aisle, wouldn’t 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 didn’t 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, she’d tried to impress a shy boy named Daryl with cheese sandwiches. He’d shown her how to butcher a squirrel with a hatchet. “First you chop the head,” he’d 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.

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