Her father had taken her when she was sixteen to the tire shop. He showed her off; they filled his bucket with used wheel weights.
He'd taught her how to melt them down, how to use wax to 'flux' the molten lead, how to pour it into the form. How to 'quench' the molded bullet without getting splashed. How to use the handloading press. It became second nature.
She blew on the finished round, loaded it into the pistol, walked to the apartment door, opened it. She picked a zombie down the hall, fired, and swiftly closed the door again.