Training
Shady Sands woke early, before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, the settlement was already alive with quiet purpose. Farmers carried buckets of water between crop rows. Guards traded shifts along the walls. Someone hammered metal near the brahmin pens while the smell of wood smoke and roasting maize drifted through the cool morning air.
Nobody wasted daylight. Out here, survival started before sunrise.
☢ ☢ ☢
Adrian sat outside one of the guest huts, unsuccessfully trying to reload his pistol magazine without looking completely incompetent. It wasn't going well. The magazine spring fought him with malicious determination while the sharp feed lips repeatedly bit into his thumb.
"Who designed this thing?" Adrian muttered. "Was pre-war America at war with fingers?"
"You're holding it wrong." Cassandra's voice came from behind him.
Adrian looked up and immediately forgot whatever sarcastic reply he'd been planning. Morning sunlight caught the loose strands of her dark hair as she crossed the settlement carrying her shotgun over one shoulder and a canvas equipment bag in the other. No wasteland had any right producing women this attractive, especially before coffee.
"You know," Adrian said, "you keep appearing dramatically behind me." He pointed at her. "I'm starting to think you practice it."
"I do." The scary part was... she sounded completely serious. Cassandra stopped beside him and held out her hand. "Magazine."
Adrian surrendered it with exaggerated reluctance. "You know this is humiliating, right?"
"You almost shot yourself while reloading yesterday."
"That happened one time."
"Twice."
Adrian frowned. "I hate your memory."
Ignoring him, Cassandra smoothly pressed fresh rounds into the magazine. Fast, controlled and effortless. Every movement looked practiced. Like she'd repeated it thousands of times until muscle memory had replaced conscious thought.
Adrian noticed several settlers watching from nearby. Not him, her. Specifically. The way she carried herself, the shotgun and her posture. People recognized competence out here almost immediately.
Cassandra handed the loaded magazine back. "Again."
"You already did it."
"And now you do it."
Adrian sighed with theatrical disappointment. "This relationship already feels abusive."
The corner of her mouth twitched as he started loading the magazine again, moving much more carefully this time.
Cassandra crouched beside him. "Use your thumb here." She gently adjusted his grip, her fingers brushed against his hand. Warm…
Adrian glanced sideways. "You know... most people buy dinner first."
"You know..." she didn't even look up. "Most people learn basic firearm handling before walking into the wasteland."
"Okay, but flirting through insults feels surprisingly healthy for us."
Cassandra rolled her eyes, she also didn't move away. A few minutes later Adrian finally finished loading the magazine without sacrificing any more skin.
Cassandra inspected it once before giving a small nod. "Better."
Adrian placed a hand dramatically against his chest. "Praise." He looked toward the sky. "From Cassandra Hale herself. I'll treasure this forever."
"You're still talking too much."
"Can't help it." He shrugged. "Trauma response."
That was probably closer to the truth than he wanted to admit, the last two days replayed constantly in his mind. The mole rats, the raiders and the trader's grave. Every moment felt carved into his memory with uncomfortable clarity. Nothing about the wasteland allowed emotional distance.
Cassandra noticed the change in his expression. "You didn't sleep."
Adrian let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Turns out killing people is terrible for relaxation."
Silence settled between them, not awkward, thoughtful. Finally, she spoke. "The first time is the worst."
There was experience behind those words, far more than someone her age should have had.
Adrian studied her for a moment. "How old were you?"
Her expression closed instantly. Like a door slamming shut. Too personal, too soon. "You ask dangerous questions."
"You answer almost none of them."
"Good survival habit."
Fair enough, still frustrating though.
☢ ☢ ☢
Cassandra rose smoothly to her feet and slung the equipment bag onto a nearby crate. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Training."
Adrian blinked. "Oh. We're actually doing this?"
"You're undertrained." She counted off on her fingers. "Overconfident." Another finger. "And you visibly panic every time you reload."
"Okay." He pointed at her. "That felt unnecessarily personal."
"And Shady Sands wants help dealing with radscorpions."
Right, that. Because apparently giant radioactive murder insects were now a legitimate concern in his life… fantastic.
Adrian picked up the shotgun leaning against the hut. Cassandra immediately pointed at it. "Not that."
"What? Why?"
"You use it like a hammer."
"It's emotionally supportive."
"It's loud."
"That's its best feature."
Without another word she reached into the equipment bag and pulled out an old bolt-action rifle. Wooden stock, long barrel and simple iron sights. She held it out. "Today you learn to shoot at distance."
Adrian accepted it carefully, it was heavier than it looked. "Why?"
"Because if a radscorpion gets close enough for the shotgun..." she met his eyes. "Something has already gone wrong."
Honestly... hard to argue with that. They left Shady Sands through the eastern gate while several guards watched with open curiosity.
Tandi leaned casually against the wall cleaning her rifle as they passed, a grin spread across her face. "Oh. This should be entertaining."
Adrian pointed at her as he walked past. "I just want you to know I already feel judged."
"You should."
☢ ☢ ☢
Cassandra led him beyond the crop fields toward a rocky stretch of desert scattered with rusted road signs and old scrap metal. An improvised firing range.
She arranged several empty bottles along a rusted guardrail before returning. "Show me."
Adrian shouldered the rifle awkwardly. Everything about it felt wrong compared to a video game. The wooden stock dug into his shoulder as he struggled to line up the iron sights.
"Close one eye," Cassandra said.
"What?"
"One eye."
"Oh." Right, that actually helped. He took a slow breath. Lined up the nearest bottle. Steadied the rifle. Squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked… the shot missed by several feet. A puff of dirt exploded well beyond the target.
Cassandra stared at the bottle, then at him. Adrian slowly lowered the rifle. "Warning shot?"
"You fought the recoil."
"I anticipated violence."
She stepped behind him. "Again."
Adrian raised the rifle once more. Then froze slightly as Cassandra moved in close… very close. One hand adjusted the buttstock against his shoulder, the other corrected his stance. "You lean backward before you fire." Her voice was calm. "Your body is trying to fight the recoil before it happens."
Adrian tried very hard to concentrate on the lesson, unfortunately... dust, smoke, warm skin and someone standing inches away made concentration difficult. "This feels distracting."
"You're distracted easily."
"You're also very pretty." He sighed dramatically. "I'm only human."
A quiet snort escaped her before she stepped away. "Shoot."
Adrian fired, the bottle shattered and glass scattered across the rocks. He blinked. "Oh, hell yeah."
Cassandra folded her arms. "Again."
The next shot missed, the one after that hit. Then another miss and another hit. The morning slipped away beneath the desert sun as Cassandra drilled him relentlessly.
Reload, aim, breathe and fire. Again and again and again. No shortcuts, no praise. Every mistake corrected every success treated as if it was expected. By midday Adrian's shoulder ached, his ears rang, and his respect for people who actually knew how to shoot had increased dramatically.
Firearms weren't easy, they were work. Real, physical and demanding work. Nothing like the games. Still… little by little... he improved.
Cassandra showed she noticed with a nod, not with compliments. He was fairly certain those were illegal wherever she'd grown up. But he saw the difference, fewer corrections, longer periods of observation and less immediate criticism… progress.
☢ ☢ ☢
Eventually they settled beneath a rocky outcrop overlooking the desert. Adrian drank deeply from his canteen before letting himself slump back against the stone. "I think my shoulder legally counts as destroyed now."
"You'll survive." Cassandra sat beside him, calmly cleaning the rifle. A warm breeze drifted through the rocks while distant brahmin calls carried from Shady Sands. For the first time in days... everything felt peaceful.
Adrian watched her quietly. Then finally asked, "so why help me?"
She didn't look up. "You're useful."
"Ouch."
"You adapt quickly."
Better…
She checked the rifle's chamber before continuing. "And you don't think like wastelanders."
That caught his attention. "How do wastelanders think?"
"Small." For the first time since they'd sat down, Cassandra looked directly at him. "Most people out here think about surviving today." She gestured toward the settlement in the distance. "Or protecting one town."
"And me?"
She studied him for several seconds beneath the harsh desert sun. "You look at ruins..." her voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Like you're trying to remember what they were before they fell."
Adrian went still, because she was right. Completely right and somehow... that frightened him a little.