January 3rd 2279

I can hear the marching already. It starts out only as a faint humming first as I poke my head out of my bedroom door. I can hear them shouting as I bound down the stairs, yanking on my hat and running outside. All of the other kids in my village all run out with me, each of them standing outside their homes, some held back by their mothers. The mothers always have a blank look on their face as they try to hide their almost crippling anxiety. Mom said it was to stop the younger children from getting worried, but I think everyone is so used to this stress now that we've welcomed it into our lives. It's hot today, like every day all year round. The sun beats down on the houses around us and I wipe sweat off my forehead as the first of them come into our vision. I look up and see the older kids like me carrying binoculars and climbing the top of the roofs of the houses.
"Who do you see, Jacob?" I frown, looking up at one of them.
"Hinter, Damen, Kyle and Richardson are alive," he says loudly and clearly to us as he lists the names of the soldiers in the front. I can feel the weight from some shoulders lighten slightly as I see the Hinter, Damen, Kyle and Richardson families breathe out a sigh of relief. The mothers' faces show a hint of happiness, but again they can't show much emotion, because we see it. In the middle of our marching soldiers is one on a stretcher.
"Jacob?" I look up at him.
"I'm looking, Casey," he mumbles and peers through the binoculars.

By now the soldiers are coming closer to us, and I hear Jacob sighing and slowly lowering his binoculars. He drops down and stops dead as 100 pairs of eyes fall flat onto him. I look at him and he gives a silent nod to me, signalling that the man in the stretcher isn't my father. Everybody's body tenses up. I feel a hand on my shoulder and look over said shoulder at my mother. She smiles slightly at me reassuringly and tilts her head down, murmuring a prayer under her breath as the soldiers draw closer to us.

I live in Atkinson. It's a small little village tucked neatly near themid-west of the Mojave Wasteland ten foot high fencessurrounding it to keep us safe. All together there are around 120 people living here. I've known these people literally my entire life, every single one of us has a member of our family in the military. My father's a member of the New Californian Republic, or the NCR. They're an organized military unit that operates throughout the Mojave to try and restore order to this crap hole of a Wasteland. Of the people living here, 30 of us are soldiers, and 20 of them just came back from an assignment. Ten of them stayed behind to guard the village, Jacob included, even though he's 17, the same age as me, he got granted enrollment and is kicking around in NCR uniform when recruitment age is 18. I wouldn't mind so much if the idiot didn't rant on and on about it every chance he got. He doesn't boast now, however, when the soldiers' simultaneous marching brings them into the gate of the town and into the center. I see my father, helping to hold up the stretcher with a blank look on his face. The commander of the troop, Commander McDonald, who is also Jacob's Dad, marches out to the front. He turns, faces his troops, barks something at them and they stand to attention. By this point everyone has scanned the soldiers, and we can hear one piercing cry when someone finds that their son, brother or husband is the one who didn't make it back alive. I bow my head and the hand on my shoulder tightens as I hear the stretcher being carefully placed onto the floor for the medics to pick up and take for burial. The soldiers step away, and melt towards their homes when they're dismissed.

This is not a happy occasion as the soldiers reunite with their families. More often than not Atkinson troops come home alive and relatively unharmed. Sure, we get a few bullet wounds here and there, but we managed to avoid death for a good, solid 18 months. Dad walks toward us, with a fake smile on his face. His beige NCR uniform is covered in dust and his gun is still strapped onto his back.
"Hey baby girl," he smiles softly and hugs me.
"Hey Dad," I smile assuringly at him when he breaks away and hugs Mom.
The family of the fallen soldier, the Jacksons, are on their knees in front of Mr Jackson's body. I cringe when I see the scared looks on the onlooking younger kids' faces as their mothers usher them inside.
"Let's go inside," Dad nods at us.

I walk inside and sit down at the kitchen table, while Mom anxiously wrings her hands together. Dad goes upstairs and changes out of his uniform into normal clothes and walks downstairs carrying a bag, a BB gun, and his rifle. I grin when I see it.
"Robert," Mom says anxiously, "Darling, I don't think now is the best time for this."
Dad shakes his head, "Darlin', there ain't nothin' I need more than to hunt and skin some gecko meat. Let's go Casey."
I stand up out of my chair and look at Mom for her approval. She throws her hands up in the air and flicks her wrist at us.
"Go, and be careful."

Every Sunday afternoon since I was around 9 years old, Dad and I go hunting for gecko meat around the lake a mile or two from Atkinson while Mom and the majority of the community is in church. Dad said it was important for me to stay fit and know how to properly shoot a rifle from a young age. Mom objected to the idea of me firing a gun but he didn't seem to take her objections into account, because I was shooting a BB Gun the day after he decided on it.

Dad and I run for the lake, carrying our spare ammo rounds and water canteens almost silently. Usually we're more upbeat and talk a little while we run, but today we're almost silent. We arrive at the lake after around half an hour of running. I'm sweating from the heat and grab my canteen and unscrew the cap. Before I can take a drink, Dad rips the canteen from me.
"This is half empty," he shakes his head, then screws the cap back onto it and hands it back to me, "What have I told you?"
"Dad we're right next to a lake!" I complain, pointing at the body of water 50 feet from us, "I can refill my canteen in like, two seconds!"
"Casey…"
I sigh, my shoulders sag and I drone out one of the many rules Dad makes me recite over and over again until my head spins, "Ration your water, only drink when you absolutely need to."
"The water in this lake is irradiated, Casey. You know that water-purification tablets are extremely short in supply anywhere in the Mojave. If you waste them on water that you don't absolutely need, you're wasting resources and killing yourself, understand."
"Yeah Dad, I've got it."
"Good girl," he smiles and ruffles my dusty brown hair.

We lay down the traps and bait for the geckos before climb up an old, decayed tree to get a good vantage point. Dad only brought the BB Gun so Mom wouldn't worry that I was firing live rounds. I graduated to Dad's hunting rifle when I was 14, that BB Gun hasn't been fired in years by me. I slide the rifle properly into my arms after loading a clip and peer down the sights while Dad looks through his binoculars.
"You're gonna miss Jackson, huh?" I sigh as I look around for targets.
"We all will, baby girl," he sighs and nudges my shoulder, "Stay focused. Here's on coming up right now."

The gecko that wonders out is what Mom calls a "demonized" gecko. It's around four feet tall and around one foot wide, with golden skin that almost glows in the sun. It scampers out to the lake and bends its head down; testing the bait we laid down for it. The scent seems to please it, and it dips its head down and starts to eat. I take in a deep breath and look down my sights, exhaling as I fire. The shot rips into the gecko's neck and sends it flying back a few feet.
"Good shot Case," he nods and takes the rifle off of me before nodding towards the body.
"Oh come on," I whine.
He chuckles and nods toward it again, "You tag it, you bag it darlin'."
"You suck," I mutter and drop down onto the dirt. I take out my hunting knife and crouch over the body. I start skinning it when I hear Dad firing a shot. I instantly crash onto the ground so I don't get shot by either party exchanging rounds in the event of a fire fight. But after a few seconds of silence, I lift my head up. Another dead gecko is sprawled out barely seven feet from me, its jaws hanging open and ready to clamp itself into my neck.
"Shit," I gasp and jolt upright.
"What the hell are you doin'?!" Dad yells at me from the tree, "That thing was projecting all sorts of signals for you to pick up! How did you not see him!?"
I sigh and look down as my face burns red in both anger and embarrassment. My clothes are already filthy from lying on the dirt, oh boy, another thing my Mom will yell at me for tonight. I dust off my jeans and skin both of the geckos while straining my ears for any kind of movement. I tuck the meat and hide into pouches inside my bag and walk out to Dad with my tail between my legs.
"Not good enough, Casey," he scolds and rips my canteen away from me, "No water for the run home."
"Dad!" I whine.
"Don't 'Dad' me," he tuts and shoves the rifle into my hands, "That crap doesn't work on me. Now start running."

I stagger home and am let through the gate into Atkinson. It's quiet around the small village, even on Sunday, the day where we all come together as a small community and have lunch together and the kids would play in the dirt. Almost nobody is outside, except for the soldiers of course. I hear the faint crying coming from the Jackson's house as we walk home.
"What happened?" Mom sighs as I walk in a dump my bag on the floor and rummage around the kitchen in search of water. I'm usually talkative and bragging about my kills, my silence and swift movements project my embarrassment and she easily picks up on it.
"Nothing," Dad smiles and pecks Mom's cheek. Telling Mom I'd almost been bitten by some disease-ridden gecko would only worry her. "What's for dinner, darlin'?"
"Casey!" Mom snaps at me as I drink some water, "You're filthy!"
"Ah she's fine," Dad shakes his head dismissively as he sits down at the table and starts to drink a beer, "Casey, finish cleaning those gecko hides, then go down to the Riley's next door. He'll give you some cash for it."
"Yeah," I nod and finish drinking my water.

I slam the door behind me and sling my bag with the cleaned hide inside over my shoulder.

"Hi Casey," Jacob smiles, walking up to me with a grin on his face.
"Get that grin off your face," I whisper angrily, "Jackson died today, show some respect."
He rolls his eyes and takes the bag from me, "What've you got here?"
"Gecko hide," I mutter, before looking over my shoulder, "You've got it?"
Jacob nods and hands me a small bag, "Do you know how to use it?"
"No," I roll my eyes as I take the 9mm pistol I've been asking for out of my bag, "My father never taught me how to use a gun."
"No need to be a smartass," he tuts and looks at me, "Why do you need the piece anyway?"
I sigh, "I'm 18 in a few months, I'm gonna walk to Primm and see if I can't find myself a job working as a courier."
"A courier, eh?" he smirks as he follows me to the Riley's, "Your parents must be proud."
"They don't know," I sigh and walk past a few homes, "The gun is for protection, a BB Gun won't help much."
"You know your parents won't let you be a piss-weak courier, right?"
"It's an honest living, Jacob."
"A low paying honest job," he shakes his head, "Why not be a merc? You're small and innocent enough to take people by surprise. You have it in you."
"Leave me alone, Jacob," I sigh, "I don't have time to think about this right now. I shouldn't even be telling you about this anyway."
"Aw come on, Case," he teases, "I thought we were buddies? We could tell each other everything."
I roll my eyes again as I reach the Riley house, "Look. I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened, OK? You're going to do the same. If I found out you told someone, I'm going to test out my new gun on your prized baseball. Understand?"
Jacob takes a few steps back with his hands raised sarcastically, "Yes ma'am," he chuckles and tips the side of his helmet.
"Good," I nod, though I don't believe him for a second, "Have a good afternoon, Jacob."
"You too, Casey," he nods before walking away, "Pft… courier…"