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❝ chapter three — songs of the trees ❞

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GLENN WAS NEAR CERTAIN that Genevieve Vasquez could feel his eyes continue to gravitate to her as the hours slipped by like the sinking sun. She hadn't said a word, and every time she looked back at him he was sure to look away. She was like an angry panther, pacing first the river where they'd lost Birdie and Sophia, then the side of the highway. She'd elected to climb up onto the roof of the RV instead of sleep in her makeshift bed underneath the table inside, and she had remained there the rest of the night.

She had snapped at the others instead of speaking with them; no one was spared from her smoldering gaze, save Carl. Not even Carol, who had shouted at Rick for leaving her daughter behind and in her anger and fear blamed Birdie for not protecting Sophia. Gen's glare which was usually saved for Shane was carefully controlled as it was leveled with the woman. Glenn didn't think he'd ever seen such a dangerous calm settle over the Texan.

The early morning was not calm, nor was it quiet. Cicadas buzzed their irritating song in the trees, hidden but not far as the sound filled the air. The group, save for an injured T-Dog and Dale, who was still fixing the RV, ventured back off into the Georgia pines, following the general direction of the river downstream.

The sound of bells led them to a church a few hours after sunrise, when the air had filled with the sort of heat that clung to skin and clothes. It was an eerie sight to see the white-painted structure in the middle of nowhere, in a clearing littered with gravestones.

The ringing had stopped by the time Rick opened the red doors, revealing Walkers sitting in the pews. He, Gen, Rick, Daryl, and Shane make quick work of them, perhaps with more ferocity than was necessary. Glenn thought of it as a good way to release some of his frustrations. That realization didn't last long, though, because not three minutes later they learned that the ringing bells didn't come from a steeple, but from a speaker on a timer. Glenn ripped out the battery with a grunt, eyes scanning the resounding disappointment on the rest of their faces. They'd rushed through the trees to this place for nothing.

The Crucifix loomed over the pews within the church, Jesus Christ hanging from nailed hands and feet and blood painted to drip from his crown of thorns. Glenn didn't understand a whole lot about Christianity, but he much preferred the denominations where Jesus was not dying on two planks of wood at the head of the chapel. He was sure Birdie would've agreed. She never spoke of the bloody, broken Messiah in her recountings of her childhood church-goings.

Carol was murmuring a prayer with tears in her eyes, Lori right behind her in the front row of pews. It wasn't as though no one could hear her, everyone just chose to linger, listening in awkward silence as she prayed for her daughter's safety, for Sophia not to be punished for what she believed were her own sins. Thanking the Lord for delivering them safely out of Atlanta, as though they were the Children of Israel leaving Egypt. Thanking him that Sophia wasn't all alone out there, that she had a guardian angel in Birdie.

If they hadn't gotten separated, was the thought that lingered in Glenn's mind like a poisonous smog.

It was about halfway through listening to her prayer that Glenn realized he didn't want to hear it anymore. It wasn't for him to hear, it wasn't for any of them to hear. He slipped out the door; the only one who registered his vanishing act was Daryl, who shot him merely half a glance before returning to chew on his fingernails, head bowed.

   There was a simple sign at the front of the church, announcing "Welcome Bikers!" It was something Glenn found mildly amusing. He was sure Birdie would have laughed, then slapped her hands over her mouth so as to not attract Walkers.

Glenn's stomach twisted at the thought, letting his eyes linger on the sign for a few more moments before scanning the area around him. He could almost picture her there, standing beside an old bike that rested against a tree and grinning at him with a smile like the sun. "You'll find us," she would have assured him. "Everythin's gonna work out."

He didn't realize how much he'd missed her undying optimism until a sharp pang pierced his chest. Glenn shook his head, as if the physical action would rid his mind of the thought. He looked up and saw Gen on the steps of the church, watching him. He hadn't even noticed her gaze.

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     "I...DON'T THINK WE SHOULD follow the road." Birdie stood next to Sophia on the neighborhood sidewalk where it intersected with a main road. The little girl glanced at her, sleep still in her eyes despite it being late morning.

     "Why not?"

     Birdie glanced around, back towards the house they'd stayed in. "Followin' the river back might be a better idea. I have no clue where this road goes or when it meets back with the highway."

     "But if we follow the river we could find our way back faster?" Sophia questioned. 

     "That's what I'm thinkin'," the blonde woman confirmed with a nod. If they could get back to that fallen tree, they could find their way back to the road and back to the group. It was a simple but efficient plan in her mind.

     She and Sophia had no means to carry the food they had found, so they compromised by eating their fill while they could, and then stuffing some old granola bars in their pockets and hanging onto two of the three water bottles that the former occupants of the home had left behind.

     Now that Sophia knew Birdie could sing, the little blonde girl wouldn't leave her alone about it. She begged the young woman to sing as they walked, to teach her songs from her grandfather to pass the time. Birdie had initially considered teaching her Union Dixie, but then thought better of it. She wasn't sure Carol would appreciate if Birdie started teaching her daughter Civil War songs about the Union forcing the Confederate traitors to "mind his Uncle Sam." She was twelve, after all.

     Hymns were also out of the question, as Birdie soon learned. Despite how much she liked them, Sophia found them boring while they were on their journey. Blessed Assurance was too slow, Old Rugged Cross was too slow...well, they were all too slow. And she already knew Amazing Grace.

     So Birdie moved on to newer songs, the country songs her mother had loved (still loves) so much. She imitated the electric guitar at the beginning of Mountain Music, bobbing her head enough to make her messy hair swish around. Sophia giggled, humming along; both of them kept their voices relatively quiet, though. "Oh, play me some mountain music. Like grandma and grandpa used to play. Then I'll float on down the river to a Cajun hideaway..."

     Alabama turned out to be the perfect band to start singing, because she had to pause her singing lessons to tell the stories of Huckleberry Finn, Rip Van Winkle, and Tom Sawyer before continuing. Birdie had a sneaking suspicion that Sophia already knew these stories, but she just wanted to test if Birdie was the expert she claimed to be. In any case, it kept her distracted.

     It was halfway through I'm a Rambling Man by Waylon Jennings when the river sloped downward into a small pool. The rock around it had smoothed from the ever-flowing water, creating a murky basin. The pair paused on a log that dipped into the water to eat. If Birdie's observations on the position of the sun were accurate whatsoever, it would have been around one o'clock in the afternoon.

     They ate in near silence, a testament to how hungry their trek through the woods had made them. Sophia went through two granola bars and the rest of her water bottle and Birdie didn't say a word about rationing. There was no need; they'd be back with the others by the end of the day, she was sure of it.

     The gurgling of the stream had hidden the fact that she could no longer hear the birds, nor could she see squirrels up in the trees. Aside from the moving water, the forest had gone quiet. When Birdie noticed it, she glanced up and stopped chewing.

     "What?" Sophia whispered, staring up at her with wide eyes.

     "Dunno..." Birdie murmured with a swallow, only to whip around at the sound of something large pushing through the brush. She rose to her feet and pulled out her knife; Sophia grabbed her wrist with one small hand, the other clutching her doll to her chest.

     She heard the Walker's groans before she saw it emerge from the shadows of the trees. It shoved its way into the clearing, rotting skin catching on the branches and peeling back. Birdie shook her wrist to free herself from Sophia's grasp. "Stay behind me," she ordered. Her revolver hung heavy in the holster under her arm, but she ignored the weight.

     The Walker nearly fell over itself as it noticed Birdie before it. Arms outstretched, it lunged. She twisted her knife up and caught it by the wrist, lodging the blade in the flesh. She wrenched it out and yelped as the other arm came around and swiped at her hair.

     Behind her, Sophia screamed, and Birdie risked a split second to see if the girl was alright before she was shoved backward. Searing pain lit up her right ankle as she stumbled over the uneven terrain. Her back hit the rock and knocked the air from her lungs. Spots dotted her vision, but she forced herself to shake them away. She still had no idea if Sophia was safe.

     The Walker was on top of her before she could register it, having toppled along with her. Its hands desperately grabbed at her legs, pulling her towards a mouth filled with rotted teeth and blood.

     With a cry, Birdie swung her knife again, plunging it into the thing's skull with a resounding thunk. It went limp against her torso and she shoved it off of her.

     "Sophia, are you okay?" Birdie panted, twisting around and dragging herself to her feet. She hissed as more pain shot up her leg, nearly sending her to the ground again. "Sophia?" She prompted when the girl didn't respond. She looked up through her tangled blonde hair and saw that she was alone, save Sophia's doll lying at the edge of the pool.

     "Sophia!" She called, hobbling over to the overturned log. She scanned the trees around her, listening over the sound of pounding blood in her ears. "Sophia, come back! It's okay!" After a few more moments of silence to reply to her growing desperation, Birdie grabbed at her hair with trembling hands. She screwed her eyes shut, fingers so tightly wound in her curls that it started to hurt.

     "No, no, no," she whispered over and over again, biting her lip when a whine slipped out. She shoved her hair back and stood, grabbing a twisting branch that shot up from the log to steady herself. She took one step and fell to her hands and knees, the pain in her ankle surprising her in its intensity.

     The corpse of the Walker was limp beside her, blade still sticking out of its head. Birdie grabbed the knife and wrenched it free, grimacing as blood and bits of brain came with it. She stared at the Walker for a moment, just blinking at it. One Walker, she thought, rolling over into a sitting position. I handled it. Why did she run?

     "Sophia!" Birdie screamed one last time in desperation. Her voice cracked and was carried away by the sounds of the stream. The little girl was long gone, abandoning the only person who could protect her. The blonde's eyes landed on the doll, soaking wet and covered in mud. She picked it up and brushed off what grime she could. Sophia would be horrified to see it so dirty. If she ever saw it again —

"No," Birdie muttered, setting the doll on top of the log before dragging herself to the water's edge. She cleaned the blade and wiped it dry on her jeans before shoving it back into her belt. She pulled herself up, looking upstream to where she and Sophia had come from. Sophia could have gone back the way they'd come, to the house, she reasoned. But Birdie couldn't see any sort of tracks. In fact, she couldn't see any tracks. Her vision was blurry with what she realized was tears and she rubbed them away before she could dwell on it.

     "Okay, okay," she breathed. "House, or she kept going." She scanned the area around her with a deliberate gaze, as if Sophia would just materialize out of the bushes like all the Walkers seemed to do. "Or...or she..." Birdie trailed off, eyes landing on the trees to her left. They all looked the same, and for a terrified little girl, there was almost no way Sophia would know which way was the right way to go. There was no way for Birdie to know where she had gone.

     Birdie scanned the trees one more time, gritting her teeth and rising to her feet. She picked the direction that seemed the easiest to flee towards and she started walking. She kept Sophia's doll gripped between her fingers, vowing to return it to the girl once they were reunited. The pain in her ankle flared with each step, the agony climbing in intensity. But she couldn't stay put. She needed to move.

     Sophia was terrified out of her mind and she was alone, like a deer skittish and lost. Birdie refused to let the child become prey to the nightmares that stumbled through the trees. She refused to accept the possibility of it, instead clinging to the hope that everything would be fine. In the end, she prayed through hisses and whines of pain, let us all be okay.

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a/n: Been a long time coming oof 😅 Truth is I lost motivation for this fic when I got stuck in the middle of this chapter. I've finally come back to finish it, and tbh I'm not 100% happy with it.
I'd love to hear what y'all think. So sorry for not updating in forever. I hope you enjoyed it <3