Re: Campbells.
Ford was grateful that Russell wasn't going to make a big deal about the crying thing, because that was the first thing he would have heard about from their mother in any situation and he just didn't want to deal with it. Another couple scrubs against his nose and it was like Ford had a bad case of hay fever. They could both pretend that was the case, too, and nobody needed to cross-analyze. Ford's large blue eyes moved apologetically to the wet splotch on Russell's shoulder, but he didn't refer to it directly.
Ford made a face when Russell talked about the need for a shower. It was really disgusting thinking about it, both because it was Russell and because the other man wasn't himself.
The several weeks without speech had made Ford more proficient at making himself understood without words. He put together a rapid series of gestures, miming scrubbing his chest and indicating the locker room over his shoulder. There were showers back there. An exaggerated doubtful look at the double-doors behind Russell, the end of the long hallway indicating a passage to the outside world that Ford had come to associate with trouble. A quick imitation of a silent film zombie, arms out, mouth snarling, and then a rapid flick of his fingers toward the door accompanied a questioning tilt of his head. Were the dead out there?