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They might let us stay with them." Any group holding its own for fifteen years might be an answer to our current housing crisis, it depended on the depth of the batshit. "Okay, you've got my attention," I gave her a kiss, "Tell me everything you know. " We talked until there was no more to say, "Stay or go. Do you want to give them a try - at least for a few weeks? Living as amateur survivalists, her friends occupied an off-the-grid cabin located somewhere in the Rocky Mountains about 250 miles west of Denver.
An extraordinary apocalyptic adventure unlike any you've read before. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is too weird for words and 100% purely coincidental.----------------------------------------- Chapter 1 I stuffed my last cardboard box of personal belongings into the cargo hold of my girlfriend's Toyota Rav4, jumped into the passenger seat, and waited while she fussed over a map with directions to our new home. She flipped her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and squinted to read the tiny letters. " She put the Rav into drive, and we started on our way. Darlene was a smart, feisty, petite brown-haired woman, just under five feet five inches tall, with small breasts, shoulder length hair, and a freckled baby face. I met Darlene at a local tavern where we developed an unlikely May-December relationship." If you learn where someone lives, you can start to make good guesses as to their culture. The closer to the road, the more connected they were to conventional reality."Honey, they don't have an address, and they're not on a road," Darlene moved to the living room sofa, and I followed. I had visited many communes in my younger days, and everyone had a personality ranging from boring to batshit crazy. "Fifty miles give or take," she leaned into me as she sat next to me. We were friends back in college." "What kind of friends?
Her second expedition of seduction ended in bewildered frustration. I usually have to beat men off with a stick," shaking her head in disgust, she demolished another White Russian. Darlene's rent check went south, along with about 25 or 30 personal checks and ATM transactions; each bad check racked up a $35 bank charge, $25-30 in returned check merchant fees, and her account soon was bleeding red ink by several thousand dollars.