Grandma Abner’s Apocalypse Bread
**When I was writing the Red Plague Series I wanted the survivors to make a food item that was both a little unusual but also reminiscent of home. This is a family recipe that can be found in a 1977 church cookbook of recipes handed down for generations.
Pretend it’s the zombie apocalypse and you have only enough electricity in the generator to power the oven. The fresh milk and eggs have been substituted for dehydrated powder.
Ingredients
2 tablespoons yeast
2/3 cup dry milk with 2 cups water (or the equivalent to 2 cups milk)
4 tablespoons egg crystals with 6 tablespoons water (or the equivalent to 2 eggs)
½ cup warm water
8 tablespoons shortening
7 cups flour
6 tablespoons white sugar
2 teaspoons salt
Directions
Step One: Mix wet ingredients in a bowl with a spoon. Add shortening.
Step Two: Slowly add flour and dry ingredients. Mix well.
Step Three: Knead dough by hand until mixed and soft. Sprinkle extra flour on hands and counter as you knead.
Step Four: Raise the dough in a bowl (covered with a cloth) at room temperature for one hour.
Step Five: Grease inside of 13x9 glass baking dish with shortening.
Step Six: Knead dough again by hand until soft.
Step Seven: Separate dough into about 16 balls and roll smooth by hand, arranging them in greased dish.
Step Eight: Raise the dough in the dish (covered with a cloth) for another hour at room temperature.
Step Nine: Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.
Can be eaten warm or cold. Wrap them up and stuff them into your backpack before you set out on the open road to find other survivors.
**When I was writing the Red Plague Series I wanted the survivors to make a food item that was both a little unusual but also reminiscent of home. This is a family recipe that can be found in a 1977 church cookbook of recipes handed down for generations.
Remedy
A Red Plague Novella
Red Plague Series 4
Anna Abner
Genre: YA Dystopian
Publisher: Mild Red Books
Date of Publication: July 26, 2016
ASIN: B01FOKFCTO
Number of pages: 175
Word Count: 45,000
Book Description:
The red plague has devastated the human race, turning billions of people into zombies with red eyes and an insatiable hunger for human flesh.
Seventeen-year-old Callie Crawford is used to fighting. She was an all-star wrestler in high school, and since 212R destroyed her world, she hasn’t stopped fighting. When her high school boyfriend Levi caught the virus, Callie saved him by keeping him chained in a rural North Carolina barn, waiting for something to change.
Before 212R, Roman Duran was a computer nerd, but since the virus, he’s become a guard in the survivor enclave in Washington, DC. After volunteering for a rescue mission, Roman has been belittled, robbed, and left for dead. He hasn’t saved a single person.
Until he stumbles across Callie. Because she has a zombie on a short leash, and Roman is carrying a syringe full of zombie cure.
Callie and Roman will face soulless survivors and rabid zombies on their journey to save a single infected. Along the way, Callie will have to choose between her past and a whole new future.
Excerpt:
Roman Duran ran
a step behind Jared and saw the moment the other man faltered on his wounded
leg, careening into a chain link fence. Without missing a step, he ducked under
Jared’s arm and forced him forward. The pack of infecteds was only two or, at
the most, three blocks behind.
“Here,” Pollard
Datsik, the third member of their trio, hissed, slipping around a block wall
and sprinting up a set of exterior stairs to an apartment above a liquor store.
Roman dragged Jared behind him.
While Roman
helped Jared to a sagging sofa, Pollard shut the door with a quiet click and
peered through the window, his breath a puff in the silence.
“Are they
following?” Roman whispered. “Are they swarming the stairs?”
Pollard
stretched his neck to see further, and then soft-stepped to the next window and
stared at the street below.
“I’m fine,”
Jared murmured unnecessarily. “I tripped. It won’t happen again.” He shoved
Roman away. “I just need a couple minutes.”
Roman didn’t buy
it. The injury in question was a jagged slash above Jared’s knee he’d earned
climbing a fence the night before. Though they’d stopped running long enough to
wrap it, Jared wasn’t as energetic as he’d been before the wound.
Separating from
Jared, Roman peered through a broken windowpane, blinking away the exhaustion
that had dogged him for the past couple of days. Without enjoyment, he chewed
one of their last handfuls of goldfish crackers, the food dry and pasty in his
mouth. Water was about to become a serious issue.
“I’m so
thirsty,” he complained in a whisper. “And dirty.” What he wouldn’t do for a
clean, clear stream of fresh water.
Roman glanced at
his companions, noting their equally stained and stinking uniforms. Maybe
volunteering to leave Washington, DC had been a crappy decision all around.
Maybe the veep should have sent older, more experienced survivors on her search
and rescue mission. Maybe his eighteen years on the earth weren’t enough for
this kind of mission.
A pack of infecteds
had caught their scent in Raleigh and hadn’t let go. Forty-eight hours without
sleep or rest. Two days of running, of hiding, of trying to lose the predators.
And now, they were out of food and water.
“What if we
climb on the roof?” Roman whispered. “We could wait them out.”
Pollard took the
bag of crackers from him and crammed a handful into his mouth.
“We’re out of
water,” Jared reminded them. “What if they trap us for days? No.” He shook his
head at the room’s closed door. “We could end up a lot worse than we are now. I
say we keep running.”
“Forever?”
Pollard scoffed. “There has to be a point where we say we can’t continue like
this. A point where we circle around the pack and head home.”
Roman wouldn’t
call Washington, DC home. But then he’d never called anywhere home. An orphan
kicked into the system after his mother abandoned him, none of the dozen foster
and group homes he’d lived in had ever been his home. And DC was no different.
It was a way station to somewhere else, no matter whether he had an apartment
or a job or a purpose. It still wasn’t home.
Roman had yet to
find his real home.
Swallowing dry
crackers, Roman double-checked the number of rounds for his M-16. When they’d
left the safety of DC’s walls, they each carried forty rounds for their
personal firearms. It had sounded like a lot at the time, but he was down to
nineteen rounds. The other two men had less.
For an entire
day, Jared had fired warning shots at their pursuers—a mistake, Roman realized
now—but the only result had been bringing even more infecteds into the pack, as
nearby stragglers were attracted by the noise.
His ears perking
up, Roman rushed to the far window and scanned for movement. Was he crazy, or
did he hear a car engine?
Roman had left
DC wanting to help people, both infecteds and survivors. After running into
people, one worse than the last, his companions were nearly to the point of
abandoning the mission. But Roman hadn’t given up. Even though they hadn’t
helped a single person.
Between two
rooftops, he caught a glimpse of a fast-moving white Range Rover driving in a
westerly direction. A part of him wanted to catch up to the driver, but another
part of him, a starving and sleep deprived part, wanted the vehicle to pass
them by and disappear.
The sound of the
Range Rover’s engine quieted as it drove out of sight.
“Let’s try the
distraction method again,” Roman suggested. The last time they’d thrown empty
cans near the zombies, they’d been curious enough for Roman and the other two
men to escape. “It worked before.”
Their rescue
mission to Myrtle Beach could still be salvaged once they shook this pack.
Unhindered by the starving horde of infecteds, the three men could scavenge for
food and water, sleep safely in shifts, and cover ground at an easy pace. This
running for their lives, though, couldn’t go on forever. Without water and more
substantial food than goldfish crackers, he wasn’t going to survive much
longer.
“I’ll open
fire,” Pollard said, as if Roman hadn’t spoken, “and you two run for the cell
tower at the end of the street. I’ll meet you there.”
“Good plan,”
Jared said, “except you’re a horrible shot. I’ll do the shooting, thanks.” He
stood, trying to hide a wince of pain and failing.
Pollard clenched
his jaw at the insult. “Fine.” He grabbed Roman by the sleeve and dragged him
toward the door.
“You sure about
this?” Roman asked, still thinking his idea would work better than wasting more
bullets and hoping to find each other under a tower.
“Just run fast,”
Pollard said.
About the Author:
Anna Abner lived in a haunted house for three years and grew up talking to imaginary friends. In her professional life, she has been a Realtor, a childcare provider, and a teacher. Now, she writes edge-of-your-seat paranormal romances and blogs from her home in sunny Southern California about ghosts and magic. You can connect with her online at AnnaAbner.com.
