Murran by F. F. Fiore

Author:F. F. Fiore [Fiore, F. F.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Urban, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, United States, Teen & Young Adult, Crime Fiction, African American, Crime, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
Amazon: B00SVY31RQ
Publisher: Indigo River Publishing
Published: 2015-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

One last jolt from a small crater in the road and the sound of grinding gears downshifting jostled Trey awake. He looked up and out the window to see the bus pull in front of a dusty one-story stucco building about a hundred feet long and peppered with small windows. Jackson told him that it had been a private house once owned by a white family who raised cattle.

They made their way down the aisle and exited the vehicle into a mid-day temperature of more than a hundred degrees.

Trey looked out over the liquid-like, shimmering plains before him. There were no signs of settlement, except for the building behind him.

“Where we at?” he asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes and the cobwebs from his mind.

“We’re at Nolongoi,” Jackson replied. “Not much of a place. Just a big acacia tree by the road and a small trading post. Come on in and look around while I find Myles. He’s the owner, and he can tell us where my tribe is.”

Jackson swung his small duffle bag over his shoulder and, with Trey in tow, headed toward the low, long building.

As they approached the structure, a group of native women appeared and rushed toward Trey. Their brown and yellow capes blew in the light wind, and their beaded collars bounced as they hurried forward, holding out colorful beaded ornaments and metal jewelry they wanted him to buy.

Jackson pointed to Trey and said something in Swahili. The women giggled and wandered off.

Once inside, Jackson told Trey to look around while he searched for Myles.

Trey shrugged and began his exploration.

The long, low building smelled of musk and old rugs and was heavy with stale air. The ceiling was covered with thatching made of dry wood and grass. He wandered around the low, wide tables covered in old, dry blankets that had long ago lost their color. On the blankets was a variety of jewelry made from beads and multi-colored metal, along with many types of carved wood items.

Trey’s eye caught several pair of very heavy-looking earrings.

How could a woman possibly wear those?

At the end of the room was an office, and beyond that what looked like living quarters. He turned around and worked his way back down the other side of the room, and his attention was caught by a six-foot spear similar to the one in his picture of the Maasai warrior.

He started to pick it up and was shocked at its weight.

He tried to lift it.

How could anyone throw this?

He managed to hold it over his head, and he pointed the tip toward the end of the room.

To his surprise, he saw a stuffed lion with a sparse mane adorning a muscular neck, vicious jaws of teeth, and eyes of amber staring at him like death.

Trey placed the spear back on the table and approached the long-dead animal. It was huge over nine feet in length from nose to tip of the tail.

He held out his hand and approached the mounted beast.

He had to feel this.

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