CHAPTER 2
Carl
“I hate freak storms,” I mutter into my helmet steering the snowmobile down the mountain slope. It’s not that they’re inconvenient, they’re also deadly.
The snow pelts my back and sides as I drive. I’m cautious, slowing through the thicker areas to avoid getting blown into a tree. A bundle of emergency gear strapped to the back of the snowmobile jostles as I make turns.
This damn storm will catch some people. Every time tourists come up here, which is ten months out of the year, trouble ensues. They don't know the Catskills; they don't know how to read the sky.
And since some of those tourists will die otherwise, I go deal with it.
I've been living here for five years, mostly off of what I hunt, fish, breed, keep, trap, and gather. I don't even go into town if I can he
