The Walking Dead Novels & Stories

“How did you get these?” “From them,” Levi said, his voice small, pointing a thumb vaguely in the direction of the outside world. “The dead ones. Today. But it was the tire iron that did it, not their fingers! I think. It all happened fast.” Jake and Ethel exchanged a worried glance. This was the moment of truth. A fresh scratch from a walker was the most common vector for the infection. It wasn’t a guaranteed death sentence, but it was a very, very high probability.

News about the harsh weather was being reported on all television channels. I thought that Peter would cower at the challenge. After all, he looked like such a weak man. To my surprise, he sent me a video call request before he departed. He had donned thick clothing and carried supplies with him to begin his journey. I sat in a warm room while I watched him walk out into the chilling winds and snow. Zachary presented me a bowl of chicken soup he had boiled for me. "Have some of this to keep yourself warm."

She led him with a solemnity that bade everyone else be quiet and grave, also, as he marked the forehead of the first Werewolf. Red went down the line, making a small cut on the pad of each member’s thumb, pressing it into his own corresponding wound, before applying it with small, sure strokes to their foreheads. “This will now mark them as dead, and grant you all of their given powers, for as long as the blood remains.” Grandma intoned. “So now, when you tell their leader that the Pack are all dead, you will not be lying. This will buy you some time.” Red nodded, saying nothing. There was nothing more to say.

“I was in the apocalypse Cortex, I saw everything that happened. Your general or who ever that is behind this should be stopped. I had seen this people eating themselves alive, they were turned into white walkers, they were alive but dead, feeding on humans and sucking up their bloods, this is no good Cortex believe me when I tell you.” I said to her. “I believe you Thelma.” she responded. “Now what else… did you see?” she asked slowly this time.

When Ethan Lane came back from his business trip, he pulled two dolls out of his suitcase. One was pink, the other blue. His daughter, Nina Lane's eyes lit up for a second when she saw the pink one. But instead of reaching for it, she glanced over at Crystal Shaw, Vivian Shaw's daughter. That five-year-old girl had already stretched out her hand for the pink doll. So Nina pulled her hand back and said quietly, "I'll take the blue one." I froze. Nina's loved pink ever since she was little. Her backpack is pink, her water bottle is pink, even her hair clips are always pink. But the moment Crystal was in the picture, she stepped aside. Later, when Ethan drove Vivian and Crystal home, I ask

The sound of the first Terraforming-Walker wasn't a roar; it was the structural scream of the planet itself. As the four-legged titan crested the Steel-Hills, its massive weight—millions of tons of rusted, ancient alloy—shattered the ice shelf of the coastline. The vibration traveled through the marrow of the survivors' bones, a low-frequency hum that threatened to shake the very breath from their lungs. The village of Evergreen, a patchwork of hope and scrap metal, looked like a child’s toy in the path of a hurricane. The violet projection of the Mother flickered in the sky above the walker, her face distorted into a mask of digital agony and madness.

Looking at his limp-jawed, fire-scorched face was like gazing into the face of his own mortality. On the right the sarcophagi blocked his way, and on the left he had the sepulchral niches of the ancient dead, he was trapped and he was going to die. Now there would be no salvation for him. Viktor stared into the dead eyes of the zombies in horror. The eyes were said to be the mirror of the soul. The glassy gaze of the walking dead told him that there was no soul left within their reanimated bodies. Oppressive shadows closed over Viktor again.

Friends or foe. He won't be able to distinguish. He will be just a killing machine. A beast. The one which is called. "The God of death." And today it seems, this will be all. If he can't win. He won't let anyone win. There will be no bloodhounds, no werewolves, no hunters after this. It will be the end of their world. And it's impossible to stop him now. And that's when they feel the ground they stand on shaking. The trees uprooting.

Walker-That shit is not gonna walk. Luke- yeah. It can crawl. I got stuck at some point, thinking what he meant by it'll crawl when I saw the typo. I had typed walk instead of work. Walker- you bitch! Luke- you'll do worse. Walker - you need to see this. I texted, taking an unlawful picture of Steyn sleeping and sending it to him. Luke- she's dang pretty. Walker- Thought so too. I texted back, pocketing my phone. "You've caught the Darius disease." I whispered in Steyn's ear, rousing her from sleep.

He looked up at me and spat out a chunk of the man, and nodded, ready to go. I walked on, opening doors to make sure they were clear as we passed, knowing Xander and Elias probably had Balista cornered in one of them. I kicked in a door to the left, and no one was there. "Clear!" A few wolves ran past, but Seven stayed on my flank. Gunfire, growling, shouts, and screams echoed off the walls in the warehouse as we made our way through. I kicked open a door to the right. Nothing. "Clear!" Then I came to another door across the hallway and heard voices. I kicked it open, and Xander and Elias were standing there nude, having just shifted, and Balista and Sasha were backed against the wall.