The plane screeched to a halt. Noah let go is death grip in the chair arms. Sarah's hand was gently soothing his. He hated flying. He didn't give a crap that statistically, you're more likely to get in a car wreck than a plane wreck. But man was not meant to fly. If it was, we would have wings. Plus, you may be more likely to crash a car but you're also more likely to live through it.
Ham was excited. He had never been any further from his home than West Virginia to see his grandparents and now he was in Svalbard! Wherever that was. He followed his parents out through the gate. After long baggage claim process, they left the air port for the hotel. The first thing he noticed was the cold. A blast of cool air almost knocked him over it surprised him so much.
"Dad," he said, "I don't like Svarlbard."
"Svalbard," Dad corrected.
"Whatever, Dad. It's too cold. You could freeze a body in your lawn."
"That's the idea."
Noah rented a BMW. The roads were snowed over. It was the only time he was glad he grew up in Maine. He passed the hotel.
"What are you doing, honey?" Sarah asked, "You passed the hotel."
"Yes," Noah replied, "That's exactly what I did. I've got a surprise for you and Ham."
Ham jerked himself from his daydreaming when he heard his name, "Who? What? You talking about me?"
"No, not at all," Noah said.
An hour and a half later, they were still driving. The snow was up to the windshield. Luckily a snow plow had come through just before.
"Okay!" Sarah exclaimed, "I'm calling it! You're lost!"
"I am not lost," Noah argued.
"Yes you are. Admit it!"
"Come on, Dad," Ham interjected, " Admit it. You should've let me drive!"
"I'm not lost!" Noah persisted, "And Jonah, watch who you're talking to."
Noah made a sharp right turn. In front of the car, about a hundred yards off, laid a big stone fortress. It was about 200 yards by 100 yards. At 10 yards tall it towered over the flat landscape around it.
"Welcome do Chateau de Hamilton."
The inside seemed bigger than the outside. There was an open (and stocked) kitchen in the back. In front was a carpeted living area. There was luxurious furniture and a 60-inch flatscreen. Every DVD or Blu-ray ever made (almost) were on wall shelves. This was all behind a metal, blast proof front door with a keypad lock. Ham's jaw was in the snow. He ran in and jumped on the couch heavily. In contrast, Sarah's mouth form a thin line. Uh-oh.
Noah showed them to the second floor. It was full of canned goods and dry foods. About in the middle of the room was a metal wall with a vault door in the center. Ham and Sarah wondered what that, or even nonperishable food items had to do with anything. Probably in case they got snowed in.
Noah took them up a level higher. It was a narrow hallway with doors staggered every 20 yards, about 9 of them. Each door lead to and identical bedroom, each with it's own full restroom and closet. At the end of the wall was a larger ornate, wooden door. It held the entrance to the master suite. The suite's walls were painted a dark, relaxing swamp green. the bed comforter was stitched to look like a large quilt with Greek and Roman designs on it. They turned to their left through the bathroom doors. It was large with beige colored stone tile. It had warm lights and the bathtub was big enough for two. They turned left again into a fully stocked, walk-in closet.
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."
Ham could not understand. He asked his dad what Arve meant.
"He means treat every gun like it's loaded. There are tons of people who are killed by 'unloaded' guns." Ham nodded in understanding. Noah asked Arve, "I'm sorry, can revert to Norwegian. I thought english would help Ham but it's not. I'll just translate."
Arve nodded. "Regel tre, holde fingeren borte fra avtrekkeren før du er klar til å skyte."
Noah translated for Ham, "Rule three, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire."
"I dette området, vil du holde pistolen eller i hylster til du er klar til å skyte."
"In this range, you will keep your gun down or in your holster until you're ready to fire."
"Du kan bare skyte mål ned rekkevidde. Hvis noen går i din linje av syne, umiddelbart peke våpenet ditt ned så det er ingen fare."
"You may only shoot the targets down range. If someone passes in your line of sight, immediately point your gun down so there is no danger."
"Det er alt."
"That's all"
Arve started to talk in broken English again. "You may shoot now."
Arve taught Noah how to use his 9 mm. Noah taught Ham based off what Arve told him. Noah thought it was funny that they keep telling you not to shoot at people but all the targets are humanoid. Arve kept telling them to aim for the chest, but Noah kept telling Ham to aim for the head. Arve eventually gave up. Ham shot very well. He got two head shots right at the get go and only improved. Noah was too old to learn as quickly as Ham so it took him a bit longer, but after a few shots he hit his target. Once Ham and Noah showed reasonable proficiency, Arve showed them how to shoot a shotgun. Ham and Noah did just as well as, if not better than, the 9 mm. After that, the practiced with more than one target, focusing on speed. They did that for an hour or two, then had the targets slowly move forward at different points. This excercise was to teach you how to measure ranges. Noah did better than Ham. It took him a while to understand what to do. When they were finished shooting, Arve showed them how to strip and clean the guns.
As they were leaving Arve said, "You two are fastest learner I ever see!" Noah said thank you and ushered Ham out the door.
It was dark by the time they started heading back. If that wasn't bad enough, it was snowing. Not only snowing, it was a full on blizzard. Noah's head lights only saw a few feet ahead.
"Dad, " Ham asked, "How did you know Norwegian?"
"Son, let me tell you something: The internet can be a wonderful thing."
Suddenly, some sort of animal darted infront of the road. Noah slammed down on the brakes.
The car screeched to a halt. As he was checking to see if Ham was all right. He noticed that the car was still screetching after he stopped. Wait, not their car. A black Audi rammed the back of Noah's rented BMW. He heard a loud crunch. The air bags hit Noah in the face. He was sure his nose was broken. Ham was in the back so he wasn't hit by air bags, but his seatbelt almost put him in a choke hold.
A severely dazed Noah looked around his car. Ham was conscious, but probably had a cracked rib. Noah's nose was oozing blood. He opened the door and stumbled out. He staggered over to the Audi to see who the driver was. The blood from his face was starting to freeze. In the driver's seat was a man in a black suit and white shirt. He was out cold from the air bag. Pinned on his lapel was a badge that said U.S.A.D.o.D. Noah realized that this was a tale. He couldn't see that Noah braked hard and crashed into him. There wasn't any car following him on his way to the Chateau. The DoD must have saw that he bought some guns recently and staked out the several ranges and this was the one that got a hit. Noah figured that both cars would still run. He went into his own trunk and pulled out a 12-guage and loaded it. He popped the hood of the Audi, found the engine block and shot it.
The man started to come to. Noah tossed the gun in the back of the car with Ham and drove off.
When they got to the Chateau, Noah punched in the keypad code. He burst through the door, yelling for Sarah. Sarah was asleep in the master suite. SHe locked the door so Noah couldn't get in. He had told Ham to pack his stuff.
"Sarah!," he yelled, "Sarah! Open the door!"
Sarah was still half asleep.
"Sarah! Open the damn door!"
That woke Sarah up completely. Noah never cursed, not even if he was really angry at something. Sarah walked over to the door and unlocked it. Noah pushed through with something on his face. Was that blood?
"Sarah, pack your things now. We need to get back to the states."
"Can't we leave in the morning?" Sarah got a closer look at him. His nose was definitely broken.
"Sarah, I need you to trust me
. We need to leave." His eyes were so intense that Sarah couldn't help listening. She packed her things as fast as she could. They were out the door in seven minutes.
Sarah's first look at the car told her no way that it would run. The back was mangled and squashed like a paint can. Noah hopped in the back seat and Noah sat in the driver's. Dispite her gut telling her that it would break down on the way, she got in the passenger's seat. On the long drive to the airport she saw a car on the side of the road. The front was just as bad as the back of their car. It's engine was smoking and a man in a suit was angrily yelling into a cell phone with his other arm clutching his chest for warmth. His face was bleeding heavily too.
Airport security was a hastle. Way more than Noah needed. They tended not to let people through who like they got run over by the Sons of Anarchy. Noah had to show his D.o.D. badge at least five times, probably more. Eventually, they let him through.
Noah got to his seat and collapsed. He slept the entire way home.