"Waves, Smoke, and a Kid from Nowhere"

Everything on the island was as usual—the muggy air, the smell of saltwater, the sound of crashing waves, and the cries of seagulls shrieking as if someone had taken their debt. JJ sat on the roof of Pope's van, his legs dangling carelessly, smoking a blunt, watching the sun slowly roll toward the horizon. A bad day, an even worse outlook.

John B and Kiara had brought some old crates from the harbor—supposedly from a ship that had run aground a week ago. Not much value, but every Pogue knows: one stinking find can lead to bigger crates—maybe even gold, or at least a bottle of rum.

And then she appeared.

A little girl. No more than five. With a dirty face, an oversized "Paradise on OBX" T-shirt, and bare feet where sand had long since replaced shoes. She had huge, dark eyes and a look like she'd seen hell. Or worse, like she'd seen what JJ had done last week at Rafe's party.

"Are you seeing this, or am I going to give up already?" JJ muttered, glancing at you sitting next to JJ in the van.