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    HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud
    HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud
    HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud

    By Gary Koz Mraz

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    About this ebook

    Hoka Hey, is the Lakota Sioux battle cry, meaning "It's a Good Day to Die." A Zac King supernatural thriller, Hoka Hey underscores the current strife of American Indians who defend their sacred rights against corporate greed and corruption of Big Oil. Imagine a world where all Native Americans stood together as one tribe, with one voice. There are insidious reasons the Indian Nations are kept silent and the government has intentionally fractured tribal communities. Big Oil desecrates sacred Indian burial grounds for drilling and fracking, willing to disturb the dead to get it, until now. Tala Whitecloud holds the key, a force so powerful and a revelation so shocking it forever alters mankind's destiny. A unifying voice representing The United Indian Nation, Tala is dying to be heard and it's "A Good Day to Die." This is her story.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGary Koz Mraz
    Release dateOct 7, 2018
    ISBN9780463365281
    HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud
    Author

    Gary Koz Mraz

    Gary "Koz" Mraz, an author and renowned moto-photo journalist writes for prominent travel and lifestyle magazines. He has published numerous travel books and the Adventures of Zac King thriller series. Koz travels the world on two wheels -- from China's great wall to the Himalayan Mountains, to Europe and the back roads of America. His travel adventures feature interesting people and unique destinations in entertaining prose. Raised by a Wiccan Priestess, who published a magazine called "Occult Americana," and a father who owned a nightclub called "The Zombie Club," Koz was surrounded by beatniks and hippy chicks psychedelics at 13, motorcycles and metaphysics at 14. Since then, travel and adventure have become his mantra.

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      Book preview

      HOKA HEY - Legend of Tala Whitecloud - Gary Koz Mraz

      The Adventures of Zac King

      HOKA HEY

      Legend of Tala Whitecloud

      Gary Koz Mraz

      Published by FIRE & a PRAYER PRESS

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any process – electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author.

      Tales of the Midnight Writer: HOKA HEY: Legend of Tala Whitecloud - by Gary Koz Mraz

      ISBN: 9781726811149 Print Editions

      Editors – Christina Fior and Kevin Flores

      Special thanks to Keith Ball for his inspiration, Will Barclay, the real Midnight Rider, Julianne Paolella and all the readers and riders who help the Midnight Rider survive his Graveyard Runs.

      Printed by Createspace and distributed by Amazon.

      FIRE & a PRAYER PRESS

      Chapter 1: The Shapeshifters

      A 3am church bell echoed into the blackened air. White and yellow road lines of microcrystalline reflective paint became vanishing points in the desolate darkness while other roads simply disappeared in disrepair. Signage loomed over passageways like glowing tarot cards foretelling a foreboding future. U.S. Route 91 is as dark and lonely as it gets.

      I pushed a thousand-miles on my Harley toward the Roadway Inn at Pocatello, Idaho. As a veteran rider on a 22-hour beat, you know what to do and not to do. Always be prepared for inclement weather and be armed with extra gas, food and water.

      Yet there’s something a seasoned rider should never do, which I did at the last gas stop. I had a few beers. The lure of a crisp, cold brew was just too enticing, not to mention the flirtatious bartender whose spicy conversation provided a much-needed distraction from my ominous ride to who-knows-where. Yeah, it took the edge off, but it was the edge I needed to survive riding the dead dark of a moonless night. It’s times like these when fear becomes your best friend, your silent savior as the cold concrete grinds ruthlessly beneath you.

      Route 91 in Idaho is not exactly ‘God’s Country.’ In fact, it’s an absolute wasteland. This wasn’t my first time motorcycling all night long. I actually live for it. Yet, I couldn’t wait to get out of this God-forsaken pit of desolation. There were no cars or street lights to signal my progress, only a vague flicker of far-off farmhouses in the void. These empty early hours felt unusually eerie, and I had no choice but to press on.

      My gaze fixated on the bike’s headlight tunnel piercing the darkness before me. Trapped in my own sad song; I was alone, not really heading towards anything meaningful, rather away from everything painful. I was a fugitive, running from a string of failed relationships and meaningless encounters.

      My name is Zachary King…Zac will do. I’m a moto-journalist who travels the world on two wheels, writing travel features and covering motorcycle-related events. Yet, this story started with the 2017 Standing Rock Dakota Access Pipeline protests.

      A high-profile magazine hired me to cover the demonstration. They picked me because I had covered Keystone XL protests in North Dakota in 2015. I covered the Keystone protests because I had covered the Sturgis South Dakota biker rally for years and somebody thought my background was good fit for a story. As far as I was concerned they were wrong, but in need of work, I took the job.

      Barreling down Route 91, I encountered a wisp of mist that grew denser as I progressed. Backing off the throttle, I became engulfed in a brisk morning fog. My headlight exposed a spindly ghost-like figure directly in my path. I intended to blow right through it for fun, but instinctively dodged it.

      Something in this smoke-like miasma looked shockingly human. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled like an angry porcupine. As I replayed the odd image in my mind, another shape-shifting apparition appeared. I slowed to see if the dew and morning incandescence were brewing another spurious concoction.

      Approaching at half the speed, the eerie form revealed in detail, a markedly broken human figure. Rattled, and with my heart racing I twisted the throttle to put space between me and this specter, only to encounter three more aberrations filling the road ahead of me. I downshifted and accelerated, blowing through the twisting mist.

      Cresting over a small hill, my headlamp’s beam descended onto the roadway below, illuminating dozens of these ghostly shape shifters all drifting directly toward me. As I charged through them, I saw faces -- they had eerie ancient faces! Panic set in; this midnight ride was taking me headlong into horror.

      My headlight revealed a writhing mass of gangly ghosts filling the roadway as far as I could see. Locking up the rear tire, I came to a stop 40-feet away from this god-forsaken army.

      Making a U-turn in sheer terror with a massive Harley-Davidson Street Glide on a dark two-lane roadway is agonizing. As the front tire edged the gravel on the opposite side, I had to duck-walk the bike backwards to complete the turn, praying every second I didn’t drop the 800 pounds of metal beneath me. Suddenly a ghostly phantasm was inches from my face.

      It was withered; it looked angry and passed ethereally right through my body with an icy chill that froze my bones and temporarily paralyzed me. I hammered the throttle and got the hell away from these abominations as fast as possible. The last town I passed was some 30 miles back and once again, that’s where I was headed. Was I hallucinating? A delusional state when the mind is deprived of sleep and body fatigued, as if dreaming while awake? I’ve read about things such as sensory deprivation in isolation tanks.

      Midnight-riding these byways isn’t much different. Roadways are changelings at night, becoming glowing shape-shifters of reflective signs, white lines and trance-shattering drunk bumps.

      The hypnotic drone of the road and mesmerizing tunnel of light in total blackness is truly narcotic for someone like myself who has a vivid imagination. I’m a surround-sound-technicolor-3-D dreamer, yet these hallucinations were too damn real.

      Oncoming headlights appeared in the distance and I was going to warn these unsuspecting travelers. Flashing my headlight off and on and switching on my emergency blinkers, I pulled over to the side of the road. A large white pickup truck with blinding off-road lights slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

      Hey, you broke down man? A young, good-looking farm boy, probably in his late twenties, queried.

      "No, no I’m ok, but I thought I should warn you, I uhh, I saw something pretty

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