The sand got everywhere no matter how hard you tried to keep it out. Adam could feel the tiny particles searing their way into his flesh over and over again. Each nook and cranny was assaulted by the storm; even prepared as he was splitting his gear between two people meant that they were both vulnerable. To her credit, Angelita did not complain, though Adam figured she had no other choice—opening your mouth was not something you wanted to do in the middle of a sandstorm.

The pair had made it as far as to be able to see the Grub n'Gulp before the storm came rolling in from the west. Deceptively fast, it didn't allow them to seek proper shelter; they were relegated to using the hallowed remains of a Las Vegas tour bus. The old, rusty, sand blasted metal was the least comfortable surface Angelita had ever slept on—this much she was sure of. Had the windows managed to stay intact the storm might have been bearable, but they were long gone, likely scavenged or destroyed decades ago. The protection they did have came directly from Adam's rucksack; the one Angelita had become increasingly curious about. There was a single pair of goggles that were immediately strapped to her face and a rag, moistened with water, which he tied around the rest of her face and ears. Adam only had two scarves to work with for himself, but he managed. The element that she couldn't quite understand in the rush was when he broke open a small vial and began stuffing the contents into each of their noses.

From there they simply huddled into the corner of the bus and waited the storm out. The sounds of the storm were deafening, even with their ears protected. To Angelita it sounded as if the bus was being pelted by bullets from a thousand guns and every so often something much stronger would collide with the broadside of the bus. A rock the size of a fist slammed into the bus and thudded. A rusted piece of jagged metal sliced through the side of the bus like a machete through an infidel. The storm settled eventually and Adam began to survey their surroundings.

Adam untied the scarves at the back of his head and reached into his bag. "Here, take this." A bottle of water was tossed into her lap. "Clean up as best you can."

Cleaning up was just as difficult as dealing with the storm in the first place, if not more. Traversing the Mojave meant that you were going to get all kinds of dirt and grime in your boots, in your waistline and probably down the back of your shirt. Not being inside during a sandstorm meant that every little crevice that you thought was secure was going to be invaded and saturated. The small bottle of water wouldn't nearly be enough to handle the amount of crap that they had been subjected to. It wasn't even enough for Angelita's hair.

"I don't think this is going to be enough." She unscrewed the cap and stared down the humble contents of the bottle. "It's everywhere."

"Make it work." As he had before in the empty house, Adam was pulling off layers of clothing and doing his best to garner some comfort. The amount of sand made it feel like a second skin; his boots were on tight and pants were stuffed into them, yet he could still feel a substantial amount between his toes. "We're moving in five."

Five minutes? There was no semblance of privacy and Angelita didn't want to even bring the notion up with him. With her back to him, she pulled her boots off and banged the back of the pair against a hard surface. The Sahara itself poured out of her boots.

It went without saying that between the thighs was the worst place for both of them. One misplaced piece of sand there meant that walking the rest of the way to Freeside would be the most uncomfortable miles anyone had ever experienced. Their dwindling supply of water was focused there—Adam was much more comfortable with dropping his pants and bathing his manhood in water, whereas Angelina did her best to prevent anything from having the slightest peek at her.

One shouldn't have expected her to be so bold as to stand before him naked and casually clean herself, but beyond her one bout of weakness with sleep the burst of trust she had for him was beginning to come into question. The kind doctor didn't appear to be too fond of him, which made her question why they didn't stay in the comfort of a clean house. These were all thoughts she didn't bother sharing—the man was carrying a handful of guns and was kind enough to escort her to Freeside, even if he was doing it for money.

"We'll head over to the rest stop and see if they've got any clean water. Maybe some food, too." Adam looked through the empty window frame on either side of the bus before he stepped off and started to walk.

Angelita hadn't quite finished using the bottle of water when Adam began to move. She didn't have anything to tell the time but she was sure that hadn't been five minutes. "Wait!"

Despite being further off of the road than he had originally planned to be, nothing happened. Every so often he'd glance over his shoulder to make sure she was following him and that in turn nothing was following them, but there was never anything there. Not even a small radscorpion irritated with the fact that they were crossing over its territory. No mole rats overtly curious in what odd smells were coming from his rucksack—not even a raider interested in what they were carrying with them. The entire trip to the Grub n'Gulp was one boring, uneventful walk that culminated with Adam standing face to face with Lupe.

"Do you have any water? Clean water." Adam pulled out the cigarettes he had scavenged the day before and set them down on the stand. "How much for these?"

"Scared of a little radiation, hmm?" Lupe picked up one pack of cigarettes and inspected the brand, then made sure the rest matched. "Six of these get you three bottles."

"Three bottles clean?"

"Three bottles clean."

Adam mulled over the decisions for a few seconds before he reached forward and grabbed three bottles of water. Exchanging death for life was harder than it should have been—there was never any shortage of stress that made someone want to light a cigarette. With water in tow, Adam moved on to the next merchant and looked over

"Squirrel on a stick?" The question was posed to Angelita while Adam focused in on what was there. He'd already tossed a few caps onto the shelf and took his own. It wasn't the best meat he'd ever had in his life, but it did the job like everything did.

Angelita nodded. "Please."

In a moment Angelita was presented with a squirrel on a stick and a bottle of purified water and the pair began to move away from the rest stop, looking every bit the part of tourists who spent too much money on their tokens. Normally, Adam would have stayed at the stop long enough to finish the small meal and even take some time to rest but the storm had set them behind schedule even if it just was a few hours. There was nothing worse than being caught out in the Mojave with your pants down—walking all day only to realize that you were standing in the middle of no man's land when it night fell was akin to such a position.

"You're a good luck charm, you know that?" The usual silenced that sat comfortably between them was broken and strangely enough it was Adam who was speaking. "I've been in this sand pit my entire life and it's never been this quiet."

"What about that… thing?" Angelita was still busy with her squirrel on a stick, speaking in between bites.

"Well," Adam paused, a nod acknowledging that the one hiccup had indeed been a large one. "Yeah, there was that but I usually run into more trouble. There are gangs, fiends, raiders—even normal people like those two back there that'll try to take advantage of you."

"Maybe it's because of the NCR. Aren't they all over the place now?"

Adam laughed, genuinely amused. "They're all over the place, sure, but you have you ever seen any of them flex their muscles? They're a presence, not a force."

"What do you mean?"

"Where were they when your family was chased down?" Adam glanced back to Angelita. "What about when Caesar decides to send a raiding party to one of their outposts? You think a handful of rangers are going to stop an entire brigade?"

"Then why is the NCR still in charge here?" The worry in Angelita's voice began to grow. The 'truth' that Adam was sharing with her made the world seem even more dangerous than it already was.

"They've got raw numbers; plenty of poor bastards being shipped out here every day. If the NCR really wanted to do something they'd gather all of their forces and march over the dam." Contempt wiggled its way into his words. "Instead of sitting with their thumbs up their asses the entire time—something's gonna blow up soon, just you wait."

The words were essentially jabs to Angelita, each one pounding at her chest and stomach, stirring up the status quo and turning her world upside down. The fact that the Mojave Wasteland was dangerous was an absolute that could not be disputed, but for some the violence appeared to be toned down once the NCR began to establish itself. To the more perceptive eye it was an organization that had a reach that was far exceeding its grasp. Sure, the caravans were thoroughly protected but the small settlements and towns that dotted the Mojave were constantly under the threat of all sorts of dangers whether it be raiders or creatures. A single ranger patrolling every other day would never be enough to adequately protect them.

Angelita broke the newly established silence. "What'll happen then?" She'd been going over it in her head and couldn't find a reasonable solution.

"Hell if I know." Adam shrugged.

"What will you do if the NCR has to leave?"

"People were here before the NCR came and they'll be here if they leave. We'll deal with it, that's what we do, Angelita." His tone was firm. "Besides, if you can get on the strip I hear it's relatively safe compared to anywhere else."

"Do you think we'll get on the strip?"

"Just don't lose your voice."

It was as much as they'd talked since they began traveling together. Even with the sun barreling down upon them Angelita felt cold—cold enough to warm herself in her arms and squeeze, each palm running up and down her arms while she followed Adam forward. The distance between the two of them shriveled until it was nothing more than a foot or so of space between them. The luck that Adam spoke of carried them all the way north to the Freeside gates, past a few meandering NCR patrols and traveling merchants but never any fiends or raiders. Adam had been joking about her being a good luck charm, but with each mile that had been put behind them and nothing happening—not so much as stepping on a sharp rock, he gradually found himself wondering whether or not it was the truth.