Ronnie had pushed through her eternal pile of problems even harder than usual for the last three days, specifically to create a gap aligned with that morning's predesignated free-fire range time. Those changed every week to keep outsiders from exploiting the opportunity, but were posted inside the main stairwell of each building in advance so residents weren't overly alarmed.

When the kid finally joined her on the roof, rubbing her eyes and yawning, Ronnie shook her head to herself, wondering if she and Sam had kept each other up late now that Laura wasn't surfing their couch anymore. The lady was nice, and chipping in hard, but Ronnie was no idiot and fully aware Laura was probably a little threatened by and jealous of her connection with Rebecca.

"Morning, kiddo."

"Yeah, unfortunately. How're you?"

"Mmm, just waiting around for you to show up. You awake enough to learn new things?"

Rebecca groaned sheepishly and pushed her hands through her hair. "Yeah, just give the tea another few minutes to kick in. Metabolizing with breakfast and all that. I'm a little disturbed that rehydrated eggs or milk have a shelf life of 25 years, by the way."

Ronnie chuckled. "And yet they still taste better than MRE's, am I right?"

Her old sidekick, now seemingly mostly grown up, eyed the rifle case behind Ronnie speculatively. "Aren't you always?"

A grin crept onto Ronnie's face. "Ah, there's the sass. Glad to see you really are waking up." She shoved the black fabric case closer to Rebecca and flipped open the lid of the steel ammo can next to it. "Look familiar?"

Rebecca unzipped the bag and lifted out the rifle inside. "This is the other one we scored from Black Tusk when we saved the lovebirds, right?"

Ronnie nodded. "FN Herstal SCAR. Belgian, for what it matters beyond making you wish it came with some chocolate too. Bigger rounds, longer range, but because of some specific design quirks, it won't feel like it kicks much more than your current babies. I'm not surprised those assholes had one with all their other toys, these were developed for SpecOps teams."

She saw the hesitation in Rebecca's eyes when she replied. "I'm guessing you solved the ammo supply problems, but... I like my girls."

Ronnie wasn't aware the Tavor had been gendered, and wondered if it had an individual name she hadn't heard yet. "I know, and that the marksman rifle is special to you. They each still have their place. But you need to know how to handle something that hits harder and farther." She glanced Rebecca over, studying her eyes and hands, mostly satisfied with what she saw. "And, you need some range time. I think you'll probably continue to be fine in firefights or crises, but you need to believe it."

Rebecca eyed her with just a hint of amicable suspicion. "Exposure therapy? Am I a spooked horse, to be re-accustomed to the sound of the cannons again?"

Ronnie simply shrugged. Her words, not mine. "Learning to manage the heavier rounds, out to longer range, will help you control other things too."

"Well, I appreciate your ongoing honesty." Rebecca competently found the charging handle even though it was in a totally different location than the AR-platform rifle she was used to. Maybe the Tavor had fostered some adaptability. Ronnie smirked approvingly when Rebecca dutifully used it to rack the bolt back and check the chamber before opening the scope caps and peering through. "I see it has bullet drop indicators too. Are they calibrated for the bigger rounds?"

"Yep. But—"

"But you're going to make me use it point-blank for a bit, then with the compensation marks at range, and then again without them."

Ronnie allowed Rebecca the splash of pride in her grin, and let herself feel a little of her own as she smiled back. "Yes, smartypants. But—"

"Remember not to sass or mouth off too much, lest you put me in my place like some insolent boot who thinks they know everything."

She shook her head at the little brat. "Is this just all because of Sam, or the bump on your head, or is your mother a terrible influence on you too?"

Rebecca laughed. "Sorry, mama bear. I'll stop giving you a hard time. You know I love you."

Ronnie grunted, and jerked her chin towards the ammo can. "Well, since you seem to know the drill, get to it."

Rebecca set the rifle back on the case and dragged the can closer to her, the steel scraping along the ventilation duct Ronnie was leaning against. She inspected the four magazines that Ronnie had loaded all but one of, and automatically began sliding rounds from the cardboard box under them into the empty. "Smaller magazines. Well, not smaller, but lower capacity. I guess it makes sense since the bullets are bigger."

Ronnie nodded, and followed her to the rear edge of the roof, looking out beyond their perimeter. She did have to reach over and help Rebecca figure out the folding and adjustable stock, but after that, the kid got comfortable around the rifle pretty quickly. Ronnie reached for her radio to transmit. "Victor Three Six on the range. Ten rounds, slow and loud."

Predictably, Rebecca understood the implied instruction, donning her safety glasses and the compact earplugs Ronnie had given her, settling prone with the rifle on another flat-topped piece of air conditioning equipment. Her first shot into the target filled (and cordoned off) street was acceptably awkward, and she improved her position and cheek weld with each subsequent round she sent. After her slow sustained volley, she sat up and pivoted to face Ronnie.

"Thoughts?"

"I mean, Felicia's still my baby girl, but this beast and I can probably be friends." Rebecca tugged at the collar of the shirt inside her hoodie and peeked in at her shoulder, checking for any signs of bruising. "I see what you mean about the lighter recoil, it really does just feel like the old M4. Even better, with the soft rubber endplate instead of the hard plastic."

Ronnie nodded approvingly and proceeded to walk her through several drills, lifting a pair of binoculars to her eyes after each radio heads-up she transmitted and calling out targets to her little trainee. There was none of the brittle frustration lurking under the surface like the first time they did this months ago, no hint of a ragged edge to her every breath.

**

Gunny Ellis watched the new kid cycle the bolt on the 5.56 takedown scout rifle she'd wandered into Broadway with. She handled it competently enough, but there was a stiffness each time she started a new action or movement — like she didn't want to do it. That was weird, because she seemed to respond willingly to the firm but gentle instruction in all their other training sessions. She even picked up the basic security protocols and perimeter features faster than most.

"Good. The neighbor you said taught you to handle it did a decent job. But let's get you a feel for shooting beyond the range the bullet arc seems 'flat'."

Rhonda could see the wheels turn in Bex's head as she processed the concept behind her words, and then the nod. Good to see the kid was keeping up as usual. "Some fancy crosshairs will have marks on the vertical line that correspond to how far a bullet will descend after a certain distance. Do you know how you can tell if your scope is like that?"

She could swear there'd been a tic in Bex's cheek at the word 'your', but the kid still answered pretty quickly. "There's no numbers to tell you what range the little marks on the line correspond to?"

"Good guess, and some scopes will have those. Others won't though. How else?"

Bex stared off into the distance, gears turning again. "Oh. They're all equally spaced. You said arc, so the bullet's dropping in a curve, and the fancy markings would get farther apart."

"Bingo. Good job, kid."

"Do I get a cookie?"

Rhonda scoffed. Jesus, if some dumbshit had asked her that just for doing their fucking job... but this girl wasn't a military recruit. She was some college student, stepping the fuck up when life kicked her and the rest of the world in the gut, and that was worth some respect. And even with the years of thorough practice suppressing laughs that would have undermined her professional authority, this little smartass managed to make her crack a smile. "Only if you find enough to share."

Bex half-smiled back, but then the little flicker of impudence was gone, and she looked down at the rifle, speaking with her usual diminished voice again. "So, uh, how do I use the less-helpful markings in this then?"

Rhonda showed her how to sit with her left elbow on top a raised knee and the rifle across the crook of her arm. "Get comfortable, and then take a few shots, and I'll show you how to use the difference between your aim and impact points to zero the scope — adjusted so the crosshairs are in the right spot for a certain range. Then, you have to learn how far each marking corresponds to for that particular gun."

Bex nodded, and seemed to get annoyed with her hair for a moment because she set the rifle down long enough to twirl it into a lopsided knot before picking up the gun again. Rhonda made a note to find her some hair ties or something so she didn't get distracted by that in a real fight. Especially with that bolt action — she shuddered at the thought of hair getting caught as Bex twisted and slid it near her face. There was no good outcome for that.

She watched the kid's form for a bit as she ran her through the basics of dialing in a scope, then tossed her a water bottle as they took a break from the growing heat of the approaching summer. Bex seemed more relieved than just the drink would have suggested, something else Rhonda took note of. She lifted an eyebrow when Bex made eye contact.

"Hey, Gunny... do you know where I could get a chain like the one for your dog tags?" Bex winced slightly. "Sorry, is it okay to call them that? I just know the term from movies..."

"It's fine. Folks also use them for whistles or compasses, so there should be a few in storage somewhere. We can ask around when we turn in the leftover ammo and brass." She slid the strap for the M4 she had across her back over her head and held it out to Bex. "You ready to try something new?"

The new girl practically popped to her feet — maybe she wasn't that different from a fresh recruit after all, excited to get their first opportunity to go full auto on something. She's in for a disappointment though, this only does single or burst fire. Well, training wheels, right? God help me and our stockpile if I ever let her play with the SAW.

Rhonda spent several minutes showing her the basics of handling the common carbine. Shorter than the M16 she'd carried for so long, but better for the tight quarters of the urban surroundings. After Bex worked through the first magazine of test drive shooting, she looked up. "Can I upgrade to this and use it instead?"

"Sorry, it's not going to reach nearly as far, or as accurately as your rifle. Even without the shorter barrel, the way the feed mechanism works, the round's not held as still when you fire. The fit tolerances are also looser so it can handle rougher conditions and abuse. It's way better for any kind of close-quarters work though."

"Oh. Okay."

Poor kid will just have to lug both around if we're gonna have her ready for anything. Wait, what the fuck? She didn't think Bex was the kind of blowhard who would have a crying fit over being denied the luxury of semi-automatic fire, but the kid was tearing up and edging towards a breakdown, which in turn had Rhonda in a near panic. She glanced around to make sure nobody was in the immediate area, and took a knee next to her.

**

Back in the present day, Ronnie still wished she could have pinned Lassart to the wall until he squealed. Unfortunately, she knew he was the kind of ass who would just say 'well, if it's not important enough for her to come to me about it herself, it's not such a big deal' and such shit. The best thing she could do at the time was try to build Rebecca — 'Bex' — up to face him herself.

She'd been grateful Bex understood that when she explained it to her, and cursed the fact that the kid was probably their third best shot and could fill vital gap in their rotations. Even still, she'd given her the choice to punch out, take on a standard sentry post or try to find a place with one of the noncombative teams. But Bex had sullenly met her eyes and said that if she was needed to protect people, she was going to do it. 'Enough people have been hurt,' she'd said.

Fortunately, their little raid gave the kid a shortcut out of the painful battle of attrition with the resident asshat, and things seemed to have worked out okay.

Rhonda glanced down just as Rebecca was looking up at her. "What?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing."

She grumbled quietly to herself. "Shut up and reload, cookie."