Story cover for Is It The Cold? by TanishaWho
Is It The Cold?
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  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
  • WpView
    Reads 12
  • WpVote
    Votes 4
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Jan 19, 2021
A short story about a moment shared by Cynthia  and Aaron in the cold winter evening at their town's carnival. 

Could somethings have been different?
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38 parts Complete

*The picture of fetus Louis on the book cover is supposed to be Larry's son Cole. There is not two Louis's in this story. Thank you so much to @Jake_Scott16 for the amazing book cover!* *This story will take place [roughly] within The Walking Dead's zombie-filled universe, with some differences. My fiction will not have anything to do with the story-line of the t.v. show or the comics; it will run parallel at times but Michonne, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Carol, Maggie etc etc will not exist in my story.* **** &quot;How did this happen? Right now my biggest concern is supposed to be if I want cheese on my hamburger or not. Not if I'm going to become a hamburger.&quot; I whispered to Chandler, he grabbed my hand and kissed the back of it &quot;Don't worry Cole; we'll get through this, we just have to be smart&quot;. The conversation got cut off as the slowly shuffling feet finally came into view; I grabbed Fenris's and Shylo's muzzles with my hands to keep from them from barking or growling and giving away out hiding spot. Chandler nudged me with a slim Jim meat-stick in his hand &quot;Four legs are faster than two&quot; he whispered in my ear. Sighing to myself and kissing both my dogs on the nose, Chandler threw and meat stick away from us &quot;Fetch&quot; I whispered and the dogs crawled out to get the tasty treat. As they drew the walkers away from us, Chandler and I scrambled out from under the car and ran in the opposite in the opposite direction. Chandler pulled out his knife and dug it into the skull of the stray walker that was in front of us, as he did so I could hear my dogs start to snarl and growl at the walkers that were closing in on them. Sticking my fingers in my mouth and letting out a high pitched whistle, my dogs weaved between the walkers and avoided outstretched hands as they joined Chandler and I as we fled into the hills.