Free Invasion by Mary E. Palmerin, Poppet

were a fantastic find, but I have a reservation. If and when I meet her, will she recognize these threads as Mark’s? Or will she chalk it up to coincidence?
    I’m not sure it’s worth the risk, so to be sure I pawned some of the shit in the ‘cocksucker’ boxes; enough to buy me a stash of everyday gear – tees, vests, socks, black jeans, and a decent selection from the variety of threads at the army surplus store. They have insulating clothes, made with pride and excellence, at extremely affordable prices. Plus I now have a duffel to store and lug them around in. When I move on from here I’ll at least be more prepared for survival than I was coming in.
    My dumb plan to show up as a handyman for hire seems lame, plus arriving in Cocksucker’s clothes is avoidable sabotage; no brainer. Why ambush the first meeting with bad juju? Fuckwits do that. I may be many things but fuckwit doesn’t make the shortlist.
    I’ve scavenged all I need to survive undetected beneath her periphery, creating a veritable hibernation nest, a haven, a respite from whatever the hell it is I was running from. Food, water, compost potty, wall of boxes as a barricade shield, hurricane lamps, stun gun with flashlight function, hunting knives from the fishing tackle box Mark has in the garage, and the essentials from her storage cupboard. It’s supposed to be a linen closet but this lady is a hoarder.
    She has two years supply of shower gel, razors, soaps, toiletries - which also fall into the Mark category, hand towelettes, baby wipes, toothbrushes and toothpastes, whiteners, mouthwash, eye drops, nasal sprays, floss, lip balm, creams and potions, tissues, birth control, condoms, spermicide, spermicidal sponge, vaginal flora douches, thermometers, cough syrups and cold and flu meds, sleeping tablets (which I pocketed), medical lotions for a smorgasbord of ailments, plasters, bandages, disinfectant, migraine medication, homeopathic healing balm, she even has the odd addition of two home medical kits which include surgical scalpel, curved needle, medical grade sewing gut, surgical spirits – and get this, a piercing gun!
    What the fuck does she need a piercing gun for?
    Seriously this woman has doomsday prepper issues if she keeps this much in her backup closet. She lives alone and she’s got enough bog roll to keep the local high school in supply for three solid years. I don’t know if she’s afraid of marshall law returning or the Isis crisis turning into the next great depression, but she’s prepared. Like crazy-I-need-therapy-because-TEOTWAWKI prepared. (The end of the world as we know it).
    There is a backup plan for her backup plan when it comes to home supplies, the kind for WROL or a pandemic. Just what the fuck? (Without rule of law.)
    She’s a little ‘unique’, or has spent so much time under ROT, well never mind rule of thumb, more like rule under Mark’s thumb , that she’s freaky with fear. But her fear is my gain. It’s like there is a heaven (with or without gates is debatable), and it’s got my six like a bogey trying to shoot me down. It’s got me so covered I could hide out here for an entire year and never need to leave the reservation.
    Then I found the survivalist kitchen twin in the back of the pantry. Hallefuckinglujah. She’s a weirdo. A health nut of note. Protein shakes, roasted nuts by the bag, health breakfast bars in boxes piled up to the ceiling in the storeroom, enough fruit juice cartons to stock a Walmart, every nutritional and vitamin supplement under the moon, and an all-natural cleaning supply nook packed with gazillions of bottles of soapwort housecleaning supplies – and twenty-three bottles of hydrogen peroxide! She has them behind a craft-project cardboard sign that says; To make whites whiter. Use on Mark’s shirts.
    Well fuck Mark and the bitch he road in on.
    She doesn’t need this any longer if it’s for Mark’s shirts , so she sure as shit isn’t going to notice that I’ve