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❝ chapter five — joy cometh in the morning ❞

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BIRDIE HAD NEVER BEEN MORE DELIGHTED to see Dale's beat-up old RV than in that moment. Their flashlights illuminated the old vehicle as they emerged from the forest. She waved to the two figures on the roof, clinging to Gen, who had soon become her only means of staying upright. Despite the blonde's protests, the Texan woman's grip remained strong. Daryl had stayed a few steps ahead of them, more silent than the night. He appeared agitated, or disappointed. But he had always been difficult for Birdie to understand. Never enjoying her company, he only ever interacted with her if he needed something from her. But unlike his (likely late) brother Merle, Daryl was never antagonistic towards her. Neither of them had liked her, but at least the younger Dixon didn't enjoy taking jabs at her "little miss sunshine" attitude.

As they had walked up the dirt road back to the highway, Gen had detailed all that Birdie had missed the previous day. While out searching, Carl had been shot, though the why remained unknown. Shane and Rick had taken the boy to a nearby farm, where he was getting the best medical treatment they could manage. A woman from the farm had raced through the forest on horseback to take Lori to her son, leaving the others behind. Earlier that night, Glenn and T-Dog had met up with them to treat a deep cut T-Dog had gotten when hiding from the Walker hoard.

Carol greeted them halfway across the graveyard of vehicles. "Oh, Birdie, you're okay," the woman breathed, wrapping her arms around the blonde. In her relief she had pushed the girl back, forcing her to correct herself with her injured foot. Birdie yelped and Carol withdrew as though her skin had burned her. "What happened? Where — where's Sophia?"

"She's still out there," Birdie explained, forcing herself to watch the tears that gathered in Carol's eyes. "But she's okay, I promise. We got separated a few hours ago. There was a Walker and I hurt my ankle — but she prob'ly went back to the house we found last night. She's got food an' water there. She's gonna be fine."

Daryl came up beside Gen and pulled the little, beat-up doll from his belt. Without a word he turned it over to Carol, offering the mother a minuscule nod of reassurance. Carol managed a smile, clutching the doll to her chest. Birdie watched him for a few moments, then snapped her gaze back to Carol before he could catch her staring

"I — I'm sorry I couldn't bring her back tonight," she murmured. "But I will. First thing tomorrow I'm gonna — "

"No, you're not," Gen cut her off; Birdie whipped her head around in surprise. "You can't even walk, Bird. What makes you think you're in any shape to go out lookin' for Sophia?"

Birdie protested as they made their way back to the RV. "Gen, I — "

"No," the woman shut her down. "In the morning, we're goin' to the farm to meet up with the others, and we'll make a plan to go out there and bring Sophia back. But you can't."

"She's right, you'll only slow everyone down," Daryl added as he passed the women and opened up the RV. "You ain't any good to no one with a broke foot."

"It ain't broke," Birdie muttered. "I sprained it."

"Still makes you slow. An' slow makes you dead," the man replied, then vanished into the RV. Birdie watched him go, her lips twisted into a frown.

"He's secretly glad you're back," Dale commented, coming down from the roof of the RV. Birdie shrugged Gen's arms off her so she could embrace the man; he chuckled, holding her close. "Let's get that ankle looked at."

The skin around her ankle had turned purple upon inspection inside the RV. With the speed of a field medic, Gen moved to wrap it in whatever she found suitable. At that moment, an old t-shirt she had gotten from somewhere acted as the best compression bandage. Birdie was then ordered to keep her foot elevated as she settled into one of the booth seats.

"The man who owns the farm is a doctor," Gen said, handing Birdie a granola bar and a bottle of water. "We'll get the official verdict from him tomorrow."

Across from her sat Andrea, her focus aimed at a handgun that laid stripped to pieces on the table. She hadn't said much to the girl, outside of "Glad you're okay, Birdie." She left the RV as soon as she was able, declaring that she would take watch. Dale's worried gaze lingered on her as she left, as it so often did after leaving Atlanta. Resentment was set into Andrea's eyes like diamond, glittering whenever she was around the man. To the suffering of the rest of them, that happened to be most of the time. Birdie had missed something while away, but she was too polite to ask; it was none of her business.

Sleep did not come easy to her once everyone settled down. Even with the comfort of familiar, safe people and a cushion to lay on, unease writhed within her. Her mind drifted to the thought of Sophia, alone in the dark, and would not return to her. Birdie had never had a wild imagination, but bloody images flashed behind her eyes that night. Her dreams came to her drenched in blood and rotten flesh. The snarls of faceless Walkers joined the morbid symphony of children screaming in her ears. Sophia stood before her at the edge of the stream, blood oozing from a bite mark on her arm. The short blonde hair grew long and curly, then shifted to a darker brown color. Blue eyes turned green, and the rainbow printed on her t-shirt washed off like dirt in the river.

The little girl standing before her was not Sophia Peletier, but Elsie Hardaway, in her pretty blue dress. Even as she bled, even as her skin lost its color and tears slipped down her cheeks, Birdie's little sister smiled at her.

Elsie reached forward to grab her wrist, jolting her from the nightmare. She had felt teeth sink into her skin, and then she was wide awake. It was still dark out, and Birdie didn't want to know how little she had slept. All was quiet, however. Carol had ceased weeping into her pillow at the back of the trailer.

Birdie sighed, staring at the ceiling as time soon lost meaning for her. She wrestled with the nightmare, struggling to find any form of comfort for her delirious mind. "Weeping may endure for a night," she mumbled to herself as the sun rose hours later, "but joy cometh in the morning." That Scripture did not give her as much comfort as it had given her mother years ago, but she held fast to the words regardless.

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GROVES OF OAK TREES AND ROLLING COUNTRYSIDE HID THE GREENE FAMILY farm from the horrors of the outside world. As the caravan pulled up the dirt road to the quaint farmhouse, Birdie could almost believe that zombies did not rule the Earth. It was not unlike the hundreds of other farms that littered the Peach State, but the Greenes had preserved it. It was everything a family needed to hide away from the end of the world. With its white-painted exterior, pointed green roof, and wrap-around porch, the Greenes were lucky to have such a place to live.

Gen became Birdie's crutch as they climbed out of the RV much to the blonde's chagrin. She argued that a night of rest had improved her injury; she was fine to stand on her own. Gen merely pointed out the dark circles under her half-hazy eyes to refute her argument, and that was the end of it. No amount of stubborn will could win against Genevieve Vasquez, even when Birdie was at full capacity.

Familiar faces emerged from the grove of oaks to their left, intermingled with a few strangers. Birdie offered a small wave and grinned at the stunned looks on the faces she recognized. Before them, Rick, Lori, and T-Dog came out of the house with an old man Birdie assumed was Mr. Greene. She heard Mrs. Grimes gasp upon seeing her and the woman ran up to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Birdie had prepared this time and wrapped her arms around Lori's middle, letting out a muffled laugh.

"You had us scared, Bird," Rick said as Lori pulled away. Birdie looked over the woman's shoulder to see a pale face and tired blue eyes. "It's good to see that you're okay — well, mostly." His relieved smile fell after a moment; Birdie was getting weary of seeing the solemn expressions etched into everyone's faces.

She nodded, glancing down. "She's still out there."

"Then we'll find 'er," he declared, looking up to the others, to Carol.

After a pause, Birdie asked the question that had been on the newcomers' minds since the moment they had arrived. "How's Carl? Gen, she, uh, told me what happened." They stiffened as they awaited the answer.

"He'll pull through," Lori answered, smiling. She looked to the owners of the farm. "Thanks to Hershel and — and his people."

"And Shane," Rick added. "We'd've lost Carl if not for him."

It had been only two days since she'd seen him, but Birdie almost didn't recognize Shane Walsh. He had shaved his head and wore oversized overalls that were far too unflattering for a man of his build. It took a great deal of self-control not to giggle inappropriately, especially because the man had a mysterious limp.

"Hey, look, we match," she called to him, lifting her injured foot. The former deputy shook his head and scoffed, hands on his hips. But she swore a minuscule smile appeared on his face.

Beside him stood Glenn, and Birdie's heart soared upon catching his gaze. He flashed her a brilliant grin and took a few steps forward, then stopped mid-step as though he had changed his mind about something.

Gen finally released her and allowed the young woman to stand on her own, perhaps only so she could share her relief with the Grimes. Gen, Dale, and Carol exchanged embraces with them. They wouldn't be losing Carl, just as they wouldn't be losing Sophia.

The Hardaway girl shifted, her lips turning upwards into a smirk as she looked back to Glenn. "Long time, no see," she said. "You miss me?"

Glenn laughed, a sound she hadn't realized she missed so much. His brown eyes were warm in the Georgia sun, glimmering with the relief that rippled through the air around the group. "Yeah, maybe a little." He looked her over, his amusement fading. "Are you...are you okay?"

Birdie offered him reassurance in her smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

Their joy was short-lived, as bright as it had been. Gen, Birdie, and the others had arrived to find that a funeral was to be held. The hunter who had shot Carl by accident, Otis, had gone with Shane the night before to retrieve the supplies needed to save the boy's life. Otis had not made it back, but his sacrifice had not been in vain. They had built a cairn in remembrance of him underneath the cool shade of an oak tree so that they could pay their respects and gratitude to the man.

Gen stood beside her ward after the Greenes made their final preparations. Her eyes followed the youngest, Beth, set a small stone atop the memorial. Hershel had dressed in a suit and tie to deliver his eulogy, a cane in his right hand and a Bible in his left. "Blessed be God, father of our Lord, Jesus Christ, for the gift of our brother Otis," he declared. A young teen, Gen believed his name was Jimmy, placed another stone on the cairn. "For his span of years; for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now, more than ever, our most precious asset."

The breeze stirred up her dark hair, blowing it about her face. Gen lifted her head and brushed it away, catching a glimpse of Shane standing across from her. His expression was distant, his dark eyes haunted. She had never known him to be a man stricken by another's death. He had the misfortune of surrounding himself with it for his career before the end of the world. But he stared at the cairn as though he were seeing something else altogether. Gen wasn't sure she saw grief there.

"We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace," Hershel finished. "He died as he lived: in grace." The old man looked to Shane and requested that he, as the last person to see Otis alive, speak for the man.

Shane stiffened, the words drawing him back into the moment. He shook his head, looking away. "I'm not good at it," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"You were the last one with him; you shared his final moments," Patricia, Otis' wife, said. She stood beside Hershel, hugging her arms to her chest and stifling sobs with her hand. "Please, I need to hear. I need to know his death meant something."

Beside Gen, Birdie looked down at her boots, eyes screwed shut to fight her tears. The older woman placed a hand on her shoulder; neither of them had known Otis, but that didn't make his sacrifice any less impactful or heartbreaking.

"We were about done," Shane finally spoke, staring back into that place no one else could see — perhaps the place Otis had died. The man bowed his head, a rueful smile on his face. "Almost out of ammo — we were down to pistols by then. I was limpin', it was bad...ankle all swollen up. 'We gotta save the boy.' See, that's what he said." His voice cracked as he seemed to gather the courage to look Patricia in the eyes, if only for a moment. "He gave me his backpack. He shoved me ahead. 'Run', he said — said, 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover you.' And when I looked back..."

Something shifted in Shane's face and in his voice. His face went blank as his voice hardened. Birdie watched him as he limped forward, taking a stone from the wheel barrel and holding it in his hands. Her stomach twisted, seeing that strange look in his eyes. "If not for Otis, I'd have never made it out alive. And that goes for Carl, too. It was Otis; he saved us both." He paused, turning to Patricia. "If any death ever had meaning, it was his." Shane set the stone atop the cairn, his words closing the memorial service.

One by one, they left Otis' memorial, until Patricia alone was standing under the oak tree. While Birdie's eyes lingered on the grieving woman, Gen found herself tracking Shane as he limped towards the RV. She never could stand the man, but she knew him. The man who had given that speech was not the Shane she knew.

Dale came up beside her, ensuring to stand outside of her blind spot. She broke her concentration and turned to the older man. His eyes, too, settled on where Shane had disappeared into the RV. "You noticed it too," she muttered.

"Something's changed," Dale replied, arms folded against his chest.

They formed a silent pact in that moment not to brush Shane's new demeanor aside. Gen had no evidence to suggest that the man was a threat. He was loud and prone to bursts of anger, sure, but not dangerous to their group. Shane, for as much as Gen despised him, never struck her as someone who needed to be watched for threats. But lies had dripped off his lips and he had convinced the others they were truth. Genevieve refused to let whatever secret that man held in his hardened heart remain something to be ignored.

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a/n: happy new year y'all!
New year = new header+footer because I can (and good quality resources are not commonplace enough for me to keep posting big gifs lol) ✨
I hope y'all enjoy! Don't hesitate to let me know what you think 💕