Page 52 of Cold, Cold Bones

Cougar’s Outdoor Survival

The end of the world is coming!

Be prepared for natural and man-made disasters

Learn to survive mass carnage, looting, and chaos

Master the skills needed to save yourself and your family

Iread the web page opener to Slidell. Explained how we’d made the connection via the firestarter.

“The guy’s name is Cougar Piccitelli,” I added. “He operates a survivalist camp in Gaston County.”

“What the hell’s a survivalist camp?”

“Preppers.”

“What the hell are preppers?”

“Think about what I just read to you. Or google it. Piccitelli’s camp is near High Shoals. Which isn’t far from Lake Norman.”

“I know where High Shoals is.”

Bully for you.

“You’re thinking this Piccitelli could be the hanging vic?”

“Yes.”

“You say the guy was dangling for years. How’s the website still running?”

“Maybe there’s new ownership but they kept the same name.”

As expected, Slidell had a long list of reasons why the visit hadto wait a day. Topping it was the road conditions. I hated having to admit he was right.

We made plans for the morning, then disconnected.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY9

Slidell picked me up at eight. By then, the temperature had clawed to within grasping distance of 32 degrees F. Still, getting to High Shoals was frustratingly slow.

Somehow, Skinny had managed to finagle a CMPD ride, a Ford Explorer, probably using his violent crimes/cold case creds. Guess he didn’t want to endanger his precious 4Runner.

As Slidell maneuvered around plow-mounded snow and the mishaps of drivers unaware of the concept of pumping the brakes, I rode shotgun. Gazing out the window, I took in the overburdened trees and bushes, some bent almost to the breaking point. The dripping gutters and downspouts. The meltwater-darkened streets and sidewalks. Not many takers for either of those, pedestrian or wheeled.

Waiting out the light at Randolph Road, I watched the drivers of a Corvette and an Optima argue beside their accordioned vehicles, breath billowing from their mouths in small white clouds. Corvette was a chunky dude wearing enough leather to upholster a sofa. Optima was a white-haired woman with earmuffs and a red wool coat hanging to her boot tops. My sympathy lay with the Kia lady.

Slidell took I-85 west, then 321 north, eventually turned onto a two-lane winding through pine forest.

Silent the whole trip, Skinny now turned to me.

“Remind me of the exact name of the place.”

“Cougar’s Outdoor Survival.”

“It don’t come up on my navigation.”

“I’m guessing Cougar’s not a hospitable guy. Did you run a background check on him or the camp?”