Dead Alive Trilogy (Book 1)-Before the storm

Enter Svalbard

It was all too much. No way they could afford this. Sarah sent Ham outside the room.

"Are you crazy!?" she asked, "You threw away our entire bank account on this!"

"Actually, you'd be amazed how cheap-" Noah tried to speak, but was slapped.

"I don't care. This place is better than our house in D.C.! It's like... you want us to move here!"

"Well, we will be spending a lot of time here."

"Noah, you're ruining us as a family. We going to go bankrupt. Why are doing this?"

"I- I can't tell you."

"Get out."

"What?"

"Out! Get out! I want some time alone to think."

As Noah was leaving he said, "Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell Ham and I are going shooting." Sarah threw a pillow at Noah just as he was  closing the door.

Noah nocked on the first door to the right of the master suite. Ham opened it.

"Great," Noah said, "You found your room. Guess what?"

"What?" Ham asked.

"We're going to the range today."

"The what?"

"The shooting range."

Ham's face lit up with excitement. He ran to get his jacket. On the way to the range he couldn't stop talking about all the things he would shoot, pr well he would shoot. Noah was only half paying attention. He was more worried about the- the things from Project Zulu. What ws it the Johnson called them? Zulus. He was more worried about the Zulus. How did they die? Noah thought back to the demonstration. It wasn't his favorite day at work.

He remembered how Zulus could just take hits to the body all day long but drop at a shot to the head. Drop at a shot to the head. Shot to the head. The head. The head! The Head! You destroy the head! Why? Why do you destroy the head. There isn't anything important to the body in the head except- The brain! You kill the brain, you kill the Zulu! He had figured it out just as they arrived to the range.

They got out of the car. Noah walked around to the back and took out a large duffle bag that carried a few assorted guns and walked through the range's door.

"Snakker du Engelsk?" Noah asked the man at the counter.

"Ja, litt." The man replied.

"Tanken... du?"

"No, not at all," the man said, "My name Arve."

"Hello, Arve. My name is Noah Hamilton." Noah spoke slowly so the man could understand, "This is my son, Jonah. You can call him Ham. We come to shoot guns."

Arve asked, "Have you shoot before?"

"No. We would like to like it if you tuaght us the basics."

"No problem. My range, your range. Come, follow me."

Noah and Ham followed Arve to a room in between the lobby and the range itself. Arve took out a gun to explain safety rules. "Rule one, " he said in his heavy Norwegien accent, "Keep gun point in safe direction. Know what mean?"

Noah nodded a yes but Ham didn't.

"It mean don't point at people. Could go off," Arve put a finger gun to his head and mimed shooting it to illustrate his point. "Rule two, treat all guns as if load. There are many people who are kill every year by not load guns."