BOUGIE APOCALYPSE
A daily 1950s pulp-style serial
Chapter 16: The First Real Fight
20 Walkers and a Frying Pan
We shoot the Walkers… then we go back to the beans.
The sky was just starting to turn gray when I set the De Buyer on the Coleman stove. The beans were already bubbling from last night — I was turning them into refried beans with some of the last canned chicken and a heavy hand of seasoning. The percolator was doing its thing beside it. Morning ritual. Coffee first, always.
Mikey sat on an overturned bucket nearby, watching me like he always did.
Raych and Sarah had gone down to the water’s edge. Tom was up on the slight rise on watch.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Then the splashing started.
A lot of splashing.
Tom’s voice cracked across the camp.
“Contact! Big group! Front tree line!”
I was already moving. I killed the stove, grabbed the AR, and racked a round.
“Mikey — behind the trucks, now!”
The rifles opened up. We were actually getting a handle on them.
Until two Walkers got past everything and came straight at me.
I dropped the first with a clean headshot, but the second was already too close. No time to transition.
My back slammed into the camp table. The thing lunged.
My hand flailed across the table and closed around the handle of my De Buyer Mineral B Pro.
Six and a half pounds of solid carbon steel.
I swung it like a battle axe.
The heavy pan connected with the side of the Walker’s head with a wet, ringing crack. The creature staggered.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered to the pan as I brought it down again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Each strike landed with savage force. On the final swing, its skull caved in completely. It collapsed at my feet in a heap.
I stood there breathing hard, pan still raised, black gore dripping from the bottom.
Raych lowered her pistol, staring.
Tom let out a low whistle. “Jesus, Jack… you just killed a zombie with a frying pan.”
I looked down at the De Buyer. The beautiful, perfectly seasoned surface was now streaked with blood, brains, and God knows what else. Then I looked at the ground around the table.
Our precious refried beans were scattered everywhere across the mud and swamp grass.
I exhaled slowly.
“…Now I really hate zombies.”
Raych started laughing first. Then Tom. Even Sarah couldn’t hold it in.
I just shook my head, still gripping the heavy handle.
“Twelve years of seasoning that pan,” I muttered. “And now the beans are decorating the damn swamp.”
Bougie Apocalypse
A daily serial about heirloom beans, carbon steel skull-crackers, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
#BougieApocalypse #TheFirstRealFight #TheCough #StayHuman
Jack Harlan’s adventures continue right here for now, but the official home for the whole Bougie Apocalypse series is moving.
Come find us at JackHarlanStories.com and BougieApocalypse.com — same beans, same bullets, same stubborn civilization.