Chapter 4 “Throw the ball, then catch it.”

The lessons started with something called time dilation. Rosie stood in the empty space of the factory, her footsteps kicking up dust in the afternoon light. She saw the diagram, but the words didn’t make sense.

“Throw the ball, then catch it.” The diagram moved in her eyes and she tried to follow it. Rosie threw the rubber ball Charlie gave her to squeeze as exercise and time slowed. Dust lingered in the sunlit air, almost frozen in place as the ball moved away from her slowly. In an almost calming, dreamlike state Rosie walked past the ball in mid flight, then turned and caught it. Time snapped back as a sweeping trail of dust crept up in her wake.

"What the fuck was that?!” Charlie’s jaw dropped as she watched over her from the gantry. Rosie threw the ball, then caught it again.

“Everything got slowed down.” Rosie didn’t know how else to put it.

“Yeah, not from here it didn’t. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.” Rosie couldn’t make out which Charlie felt more, intrigue or worry.

The next lesson involved a brief, yet vital lesson in terminal velocity. Instructed to throw the ball ever harder, Rosie found that in the dreamlike state it would only ever move at a certain speed. It wasn’t lost on her that this applied to everything around her. Just because she moved fast it didn’t change the speed of events in motion. She felt thankful to have read the physics books first.

In a childlike, giddy mood she hadn’t felt in years, Rosie activated the slowed time herself and strode quickly up the twin flight of stairs. Snapping it back just she reached Charlie, who hadn’t even turned her head.

“Hi!” Rosie grinned. Charlie bolted backwards in fear drawing the poorly hidden, high powered nine mil pistol from her back. Aiming at Rosie. The system brought the slowed time roaring back on a wave of adrenaline. No longer dreamlike, more a nightmare.

Charlie became highlighted in red as the overlaid schematic in her eyes showed Rosie how to dodge left and strike right. Knocking Charlie over the railing. Fear gripped her, its grasp lasting longer in the slowed time. She didn’t know what to do. Rosie forced a single thought into her head. Stop! Mercifully it did, and Rosie dropped to her knees. Vomit climbing her throat and splattering through the grating.

“Fuck Rosie!” Charlie lowered her gun, deeply alarmed. “Are you ok?”

“I’m sorry, I thought it would be funny.” Rosie wiped her mouth and spat, disappointed and afraid.

“Don’t fucking do that, you can’t do that to us. We’re trained to react.” She handed Rosie her water canteen, more concerned than angry. That made Rosie feel worse. “You know I pulled as a reflex right. I, we, would never hurt you.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t hurt you. When…” Rosie hesitated, but she needed Charlie to understand. “When you pulled the system reacted, it told me how to disarm you and push you over, but I stopped it. It’s shut down now I promise.” Charlie helped her up, looking unnerved.

“Well, I guess that's what I did too so…” She smiled. “And besides, I don’t care what some tech says, you’d have to dodge a bullet to get to me.” Charlie joked to lighten the mood. Rosie smiled, with an idea that hit Charlie a moment later. “No. No fucking way, I’m not…unless.”

“You thought of something! Please, I think I can do it.”

“This is so fucking stupid.”

“Your idea.” Rosie quipped, Charlie threw her a frustrated look. “Technically.”

“As long as we're clear, you don’t cross the red line.” Rosie looked at the fresh tape stuck to the floor, a brown glass bottle at arms reach suspended from above.

“I’m ready.” Rosie took a deep breath.

“Firing in three, two, on—" Rosie slowed time and watched the muzzle flash illuminate Charlie for a moment. Followed by the bullet leaving the retracting slide. Rosie plucked the bottle from the string, long before the bullet came close. She crossed the red line, then crossed back. Rosie couldn’t help it, although she made sure not to mention it. Time snapped back as the bullet shattered on the brick wall.. “Son of a bitch.” Charlie looked shocked as she held the still intact bottle.

Her afternoons were spent in the company of whoever was with her that day. And outside as much as possible. The dense red forest felt entirely different to the woman whose only time above ground had been filled with fear. Soft, uneven earth and roots took a while to get used too. It felt worth every trip and misstep to see light fade in the red canopy, punching through in clearings, warming the soil and grass.

Paul would take her out to a makeshift rifle range in the ruins of an old truck yard. Empty trailers and a nearby wide river soaked up a good amount of noise. Within a few days Rosie could handle the long barrelled assault rifle, even though they felt too long for her. She fared better with the shorter, curved magazine ones. At least enough for Paul to trust her.

That first day she found the data populating the tactical and training tabs. With the three dimensional projected schematic above the pipboy screen she saw ways to customise the rifles to improve her effectiveness.

Her time with Matt was spent briefly walking through the woods. Placing glass bottles, then returning to the rooftop and shooting them with the sniper rifle. Rosie enjoyed it, the focus required and the quick maths brought a calm with them. Matt would spot through binoculars, instruct her on windage and range. Another system activated, adding a rangefinder function to the directional light built into the pipboy housing.

Rosie could land hits with the bolt action, wood bodied rifles at over half a mile, consistently. She tried to keep the slowed time hidden from Matt, his awkward fear provoked her fear. Worried always his reaction could incite a reaction of her own.

The other skill Matt taught her was sketching. What started as simple shapes roughly sketched on out scrap cardboard quickly became a bonding experience between them. Matt would burn sticks to a point in the fire then draw with them the next day. He taught Rosie to draw shadow, to match scale, to smudge lines into shapes.

As they sat next to each other, studying the landscape or person she tried to capture in charcoal, Matt told her of his time as a slave. Wearing a collar for years, always fitted just too tight. Being beaten for no reason, controlled in body but never in mind. Rosie didn’t know if it was better or worse than living under a lie, being a willing slave all those years.

Every horrific story of cruelty was always followed with two tales of bravery, without fail. As a team they’d saved countless more from that fate, including Rosie. They shared pride and it brought strength to the group, even years later, that filled Rosie with envy. She wanted that sense of history, and almost felt shame for little she for her own fellow captives. In and out of the Vault. Almost

It had been over three weeks and a lifetime since Rosie escaped the Vault. Her wounds not only healed, but her body stronger than ever. She’d even got used to the scars.

In the cleared factory she stood, stretching and taking in the morning light. “Ready?” Charlie stood above her on the gantry, looking out over the wooden targets she’d set up between the grid of broken machinery. Rosie cocked the suppressed submachine and tightened her grip.

“Ready.” Rosie blinked, stretching time just enough to select the training program. Green, person shaped shadows became projected in the world. Simple renderings of targets. Some stood still, some walking between the neat grid of machines. Charlie started the stopwatch she pointlessly used, Rosie’s data was always more accurate, dropping a glass bottle in the same instant. She heard it crack, and moved before it shattered.

Quick shots deleted the first two virtual targets stood guard. Followed by Rosie entering the ever shifting maze of Charlie’s punishing design. Sweeping as she’d been taught took care of the next three round wooden targets, clean hits in the red tape. This knocked them to the ground, triggering swinging weights suspended from above.

Rosie held her nerve, knowing well how much the rubber tires stung on contact, even through the black fatigues. The first whooshed by, giving her a second to pass before the second struck from behind, and less time to drop and avoid the third.

A pair of green shadows rendered from nowhere and began throwing punches. Rosie sidestepped the first but caught the second in the body. The system delivering real pain to aid in the virtual lesson. A well timed whirl brought her around the pair of shadows and they were deleted with her sidearm.

A burst of live and loud gunfire zipped overhead, Charlie hurrying her along. The next turn led to a dead end with two hastily built doors. Rosie opened one to find it blocked, and crouched to pick the second. Her nimble hands made short work of the simple lock, leading into a long run of wooden targets. Each dispatched and bringing forth dropped tyres from the ceiling that bounced in chaotic ways. That drove Rosie back and through an alternate route of tables to be mantled.

Back in the clear area Rosie reached the final test, Paul lay motionless, Charlie reeling off imagined injuries. Rosie treated the pretend wounds and dragged Paul over the line.

“Clear.” Rosie panted checking her own scores as she cleared her weapons,

“Took eight seconds off, no misses.” Charlie remained unimpressed. “Did you cheat?”

“First, if I had used the td it wouldn’t have been cheating.” Rosie smiled, “but no I didn’t use it. I only ran the targets.”

“One of them got you too, saw that.”

“Yeah I felt it.” She still felt it in her ribs now. “Reset?”

“No, we’re going to the river.”

A short walk later Rosie found herself ankle deep in the pebble bottomed, stead flowing river. Charlie turned to face her, stern. She wrote something on a note, rolled it into a bullet casing and held it out. “This is for you.” Rosie reached to take it and Charlie closed her fist, dropping it into an open jacket pocket on her chest.

Rosie copied as Charlie planted her feet, mirroring her stance as she’d been taught. With a moment of calm Rosie threw a right hook, hoping to reach with her left. Charlie stepped forward and soaked her with a blast of cold water kicked up in her wake.

Her smirk annoyed Rosie. She lunged again with a turn and elbow strike, rebuffed instantly with a block and kick to the back of the knee. Putting her deeper in the water. Charlie took an opportunity to hold the note out in front of her, teasing her, both knowing it couldn’t get wet. Rosie fell for it, literally. Her grasping motion used to pull her off balance and nearly face down in the river.

Rosie punched at the water in frustration. Knowing full well she could take the note, read it and put it back before Charlie even knew. That however, would be cheating.

“Pathetic.” Green eyes narrowed and teeth gritted as Rosie took her stance and ignored the insult as best she could. Then Charlie turned her back. This felt like more bait. Her black fatigues soaked and grew heavier, more so around her ankles. An unfamiliar sensation to compensate for, like constant motion against her feet.

Her frustration drew a rash response of advancing kicks. The first landed to the top of Charlie’s thigh but the rest we’re wild and avoidable.

“Don’t think about cheating now Vault Girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what?” Rosie didn’t have an answer.

“I’m curious, were you always like this?...Sullen, pouty, always needing to be looked after?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Poor little Vault Girl, got to grow safe with food in her belly, and still you’re such a bitch all the time. No wonder John left first chance he got.” Rosie bolted forward to wrap her hands around Charlie’s throat, desperate to silence the fear amplified grains of truth in her words. A swift dodge, a strike to the back, and a boot pinning her underwater for a few seconds, put an end to any thoughts of attack.

Charlie helped her to the bank. “Read it.” Rosie dried her hands at least and took the casing.

“I’m going to make you angry and then I’m going to push you under.”

“You know I didn’t mean it right, any of it.” They both knew that wasn’t true, some of that truth felt colder than the water.

“I know, I get it. Sometimes I don’t think”

“Sometimes?!” Charlie tried to break the mood with a joke. “You know what Paul says about you, all leap and no look.” Rosie didn’t understand the expression. “It’s a compliment, sort of. All our training, everything we’ve learnt means we can do things others can’t.” She put her hand on her wet shoulder to draw Rosie’s gaze. “You can do incredible things Rosie, but anger will drown you every time.” Point made. Lesson learned.

Rosie took off her black fatigues, leaving them to dry in the sun as she sat on the bank, her feet submerged. “Close your eyes.” Rosie did, smelling something sweet and soapy beneath her nose. “Shampoo. It’s an old world thing.” Charlie worked the sweet smelling substance into brittle red hair. Then her own much shorter brown. Rosie looked at the small empty bottle, glass, with a copper coloured G embossed onto it.

After a few minutes Charlie washed out the shampoo, wrapped a dry towel around Rosie’s collar, and set to cutting her hair. Sharp scissors clicked and snapped at the back of her head. She hadn’t given her hair much thought.

The torn out section at the back had just about grown over, leaving an odd pattern that seemed trivial amongst everything else. Locks of red strands began to fall, Charlie must have picked up on her tension. “Relax, a friend taught me.” Within a few minutes the red shoulder length mess had been trimmed back. Short on the sides to match the back, leaving a sweeping curve that hung below her cheek, or slicked back with ease. She stared in the handheld mirror, enjoying the new shape and sheen.

Of all the changes of the last few weeks, this had been perhaps the most trivial, yet brought a new sense of freedom unlike anything else.

Hours later Rosie found herself sat opposite Charlie over the fire on the rooftop. Matt stood on watch, and Paul making over the top complaints at their infrequent attempt at cooking. Rosie stirred the bubbling pot of rich stew as Charlie chopped meat and vegetables, dropping them in. Paul objected with exaggerated groans and worried noises. It made Rosie smile. Her amusement tinged with sadness brought by seeing the partners of ten years playfully mocking each other.

“Contact.” That single word from Matt drew a trained response. Charlie taking up a scoped rifle and a sniper position while Paul and Rosie stacked by the door. Submachine guns suppressed and gripped tight. “Single target, eight hundred meters, west south west, armed.” Matt reeled of the information.

“Copy, eyes on.” Charlie shifted into a more comfortable position as she lay behind the scoped rifle. Rosie had run this drill before. Under sniper cover her and Paul would trail the contact from the forest, determining what action, if any may be required. “Stand easy.” Everyone relaxed as Charlie spoke. “Got hand signals, It’s Brandon.”

Rosie waited to greet Brandon last after he dumped his pack and warmed himself by the fire. Paul went first, then Charlie, then Matt, each exchanging pleasantries and smiles. It seemed to lift a weight from Brandon heavier than the backpack and duffel bag he’d carried through the wastes.

“And how are you my dear? They’re not making things too easy for you I hope.” Rosie grinned, sensing Brandon actually meant the opposite.

“I’m good. I’ve been keeping busy.” Paul and Charlie laughed, Matt looked concerned as his eyes lingered on her pipboy just a little too long.

“Well then, to business.” Brandon rolled a plastic covered map from a steel tube in his pack, weighing down the corners. “First things first, the meet is set. Two days from here, assuming the good doctor approves.” Brandon looked to Charlie, Rosie couldn’t. Knowing she failed the day's test always made her nervous. If she’d have known what rested on it Rosie would have tried harder.

“No doctors here sir. Only a paramedic. And one that’s better than good.” Amused with the well earned bravado they each took a shot of the vodka Brandon brought, apart from Rosie. “I think a short walk will be ok.” Rosie drank her shot, thanking Charlie with a nod.

“Good, nightfall tomorrow you’ll leave here, we’ll rv halfway and I’ll take her in.” Brandon gave her a look that offered a chance to hesitate, she didn’t take it, instead pressing on with what they wanted to hear.

“The Tower.” Rosie found it easily on the map. “I need that mapping data.” The messages on the radio for the mighty man meant John hadn’t been back. A scan of that size would give Rosie a huge advantage.

“You and I will stay overnight, regroup there and head home after.” The word home meant nothing to Rosie, seeing the relief wash over the others clearly meant more than she could understand.

“If we’re in town we should pick up some work. We’re flat broke. If Matt hadn’t bagged that stag we’d be eating moss right now.” Paul tried explaining money to her a few times, she still didn’t really get it.

“I’ll move some things around. Leave a small cache here, trade the rest. Take work but nothing long term, I want us ready for The Grand.” Everyone agreed with a nod.

“You know if she’s going to be on comms, she’ll need a call sign.” Charlie sat back with a broad smile no else shared.

“She hasn’t earned one.” Brandon’s tone sounded firm.

“Oh she will, trust me. Did you bring what I asked?” Brandon rummaged through the duffel bag at Charlie’s request.

“I had to translate the second part twice, but yes.” Rosie couldn’t tell what might be in the bright orange plastic bag, but it amused Charlie.

The low moon cast silvery shadows along the clear floor space in the factory as Rosie took her position. She tightened the black synthetic straps now around her shoulders. Supporting three well balanced blades sheathed on either side. Each machine made and near identical. Flat, blackened steel, weighted just to the front and scalpel sharp. Handles wrapped in dark cord.

“Alright, on the first bounce.” Charlie shouted from the gantry, Brandon beside her, looking confused. From the bag he carried still she plucked six balls of different sizes and materials, and tossed them down.

Rosie whirled and span into the calming, dreamlike state upon hearing the first plastic knock as the ball made contact with the ground. The fine blades loosed from her fingers, carving slowly through the air to meet their bouncing targets in mid flight. All six sent along the dotted green lines. Rosie turned to see them strike, sending the various orbs off in new directions.

Time snapped back as a moonlit swirling column of dust echoed in her wake. Rosie gathered the split and skewered balls over Brandon’s stunned mutterings and Charlie’s nods.

“Tornado.” Brandon smiled with a hint of disbelief in his eyes.

“What does it mean?” Rosie understood the idea of a code name, but not the specific meaning.

“It’s a force of nature.” Brandon put his hands on her slender shoulders. “Welcome to the Outcasts.”