Chapter Ten: The Silence — Part 6

The sky clouds over completely as the morning wears on. The men have moved on, people are about their business, but Kevin can’t seem to rest his mind, and ChoCho can’t leave him tense and adverse to the look of every stranger that passes about them throughout the day. Every little step seems to be causing Kevin more tension, rather than giving him greater time and opportunity for emotional release. When it is apparent the Kevin is talking to himself in his own head, his red lips moving with the words that remain unspoken, ChoCho knows he has to say something before the crazy becomes contagious. He squeezes Kevin’s hand to draw Kevin out of his mind, then speaks only while keeping his eyes down, looking at a point on the ground about three feet ahead.

“Uh, Kevin.” ChoCho starts in quietly. “What exactly would we have done if one of those guys decided to kick your ass?”

“I’d have taken on the lot of them and gone down swinging and uh… ” Kevin suddenly feels a little stupid. He’s been swinging his fist to accent his words, and slowly, it’s sunk in that maybe he should have been thinking of somebody other than himself. “You’re not much of a fighter, are you?”

ChoCho giggles. “Do I look like much of a fighter?” Then his voice takes on a stern tone, one not really suited to his maturity level or his normal emotional disposition. “You’re just lucky they see us as a couple of stupid rebellious teenagers, rather than petty violent thugs.”

ChoCho tries not to sound like he’s scolding Kevin, but there’s no way he can condone the situation Kevin’s put him in. For one thing, the men working around them are considerably bigger and stronger than either Kevin or him. For another, ChoCho has some serious doubt that he could pull a knife and cut up a bunch of unarmed people, no matter how disadvantaged he might be. ChoCho didn’t want Kevin to see him as weak, but at the same time, he knows he isn’t a killer. Things don’t feel nearly desperate enough for anybody to be resorting to violence, especially deadly, brutal, pointless violence that can be avoided by, quite simply, not being the one to start things. ChoCho goes for humor, hoping to assuage Kevin’s anger and mild humiliation. Kevin’s fist is still clenched so tight that his knuckles are starting to turn blue. His other hand is holding ChoCho’s free hand, and he’s making an effort not to crush ChoCho’s hand with the stress.

“These are some fucked up zombies. Goddess knows they’re not hungry, or the shorter ones might have eaten you.” ChoCho says this with all kinds of seriousness in his voice. “The big one isn’t a zombie. He hasn’t turned yet. Not like the others.” Chocho adds this last comment suddenly. “What does one do when one is faced with zombies?”

“Start cutting off heads?” Kevin asks in a tone that confirms his answer, sadly, is rather sincere.

“No, you find the sheriff, hoping of course that he isn’t a zombie himself, because he knows the layout of the town, and he might just be able to get us out of this mess in one piece.” ChoCho exhales sharply, his ankle having caught the ground just plain wrong.

Kevin feels him shift his weight, and provides a second source of firm support for his new friend. He’s suddenly aware of sensations he hasn’t noticed before. The air is deeply humid, but not dank. The warmth of it is heavy on his skin, on his lungs, and even in the places where his skin can form crevices deep enough to be described as between, or under, until a sudden breeze takes the heat from his bones. During the short life of the gusty breeze, the only source of warmth that feels honest and consistent is ChoCho’s touch. Their feet are also making a squishy, gritty sound as they walk along the slick, dirty pavement. Dark, blackened green moss has grown into the cracks of the concrete and the walls, and in the distance, the sound of the breeze working the leaves is disrupted only by the sound of people shaking fruit and nuts from the branches of what look to be well tended, perhaps even spoiled groves of trees. Kevin’s senses finally return to his words, to his thoughts, to ChoCho’s ever present touch.

“So we’re going to see the Sheriff because of the threat of zombies?” Kevin sounds more sheepish than ChoCho would have predicted.

“Yes, exactly.” ChoCho says knowingly. “I’m putting my faith in Arpie being more rational than he might at first have seemed. I’ll admit, given my current condition, it might be a faithful leap.”

“No shit. You saw this from the start, didn’t you?” Kevin says.

“No, I merely suspected it.” ChoCho says. “I don’t openly trust small groups of people. They are sometimes more dangerous than armies.”

As they walk along the side of the center park, there are entrances in the border walls from which people are coming into and out of like ants, carrying buckets of nuts and fruits to the dry storage facility at the edge of town. All of them make a deliberate point of avoiding eye contact with ChoCho and Kevin, and even though his face turns red, Kevin manages to keep his cool. ChoCho makes a quiet point of talking to a woman who is passing by. His voice is low but audible, a gentle and sincere tenor. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look away, either. He’s really calm, and Kevin finds himself soothed by ChoCho’s voice. Kevin can’t imagine sounding so calm.

“If you folks need help, just let us know. We moved in down to the Southwest of town, drove out here from the southwest. We don’t mind company, and we’re not strangers to a hard day’s work.” ChoCho tries to smile toward the end, but the flash of his teeth only exacerbates the situation.

The woman hurries on a little faster as Kevin and ChoCho walk on. She doesn’t dare look at ChoCho’s face or skirt, or admit to any curiosity or attraction. Kevin takes a moment to consider ChoCho’s passive demeanor, his cute, still boyish cheekbones too dark to show more than the flush of effort and pain. ChoCho keeps his head down as he walks, and Kevin starts to feel a little distracted by how smoothly ChoCho has shifted from talking kindly to simply moving on, even though the woman acted as if she’d catch a disease from ChoCho if she stayed too long in his presence, it doesn’t seem to have phased ChoCho in the slightest.

“Sorry I lost it.” Kevin manages to speak calmly.

“No need to be sorry. You’re acting exactly like they want you to.” ChoCho replies.

“What? How could I be?” Kevin said.

ChoCho speaks very quietly when he answers. “They’re shunning us, love. They want you to be upset. It gives them power over you, because if you act up it means they can hurt you into doing what they want without ever laying a finger on you.”

Kevin’s hand suddenly tightens on his. ChoCho smiles and winces, because Kevin’s grip is considerable. People are busy about their day, walking by Kevin, and ChoCho, glancing occasionally at the way they hold hands, or at the way ChoCho’s skirt flutters in the breeze, or possibly at ChoCho’s simple black foldaway cane. There is something like pity in some of their eyes, sympathy in others, and distaste in a few. But not one of the creatures passing them is human enough to smile or say hello. Not one of them, Kevin realizes, is thinking for themselves.