Bernard looked over at Kikanae. Kikanae turned on the ignition and let it idle. Then Bernard looked back over his seat at the group. “It is standard procedure in cases like this. The constable will take care of everything. He will notify the next of kin.”

The four of them; the blonde, the British couple, and Sam remained silent as the vehicle began to move.

They can’t really just leave them? Sam thought. Not here, exposed to the animals and elements.

“Sorry you had to witness this,” Bernard said. “But it is Africa as it really is.”

As the Land Cruiser began to move ahead, Sam thought of the three men left heaped on the roadside. In one moment they were living, breathing things; in the next they were a pile of dead flesh on the dry earth. He turned back and looked, resting his chin on the top of the back seat. He could barely make them out, hidden in the shadows of the acacia trees and as the Land Cruiser continued to accelerate away, they blended in with the earth.

Now they are part of the indelible Kenyan landscape, he thought.

And through the descending sunlight he saw them coming, the pack of hyenas, out from the underbrush and down the hillside in quick flashes of grey; their glitzy eyes caught in the angling light. As did all the good animals of Africa, they were returning for the carrion; to replenish from the dead, strength back to the living.

Sam turned and stared forward. It was nature at work, Africa as it really was. Life was given back to the savannah as it had been given back over many generations.

 

Frank Scozzari lives in Nipomo, a small town on the central coast of California. He is an avid traveler and once climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest point in Africa. A Pushcart Prize nominee, his short stories have appeared in numerous literary journals including The Worcester Review, The Emerson Review, Berkeley Fiction Review, Tampa Review, War Literature & the Arts (U.S. Air Force Academy), and The Bitter Oleander, and have been featured in literary theater.