Nil on Fire by Lynne Matson

stopped walking and faced Calvin, his eyes piercing, all humor gone. “I want the truth and I want it now.”
    Calvin ran a hand over his head, his powerful muscles glistening in the sunlight, then shook his head, a slight movement that Molly suspected wasn’t meant for anyone but himself.
    â€œLook. I told you the truth, Davey. Straight up. I was running, and I found two bags. One had clothes. The other had some food, but it was bad. Seriously rank. And, it was hard to tell because of the rotten food, but that bag also had something that looked kinda like a pillow.” Calvin shrugged. “It was weird.” Then he swallowed, and blew out a nervous breath. “Okay, and—there were bodies. Two of them. Skinny kids. One white, one black. Boys, both about”—he glanced at Davey, and met his eyes—“our age. Just laid out, dead. And they were wearing clothes like these.”
    â€œWhat?” Molly felt the blood drain from her face. “You found dead bodies? And they were wearing clothes like these?” She jerked her head down to look at her wrap shirt as if it were ready to come alive and choke her. She whipped her eyes to Calvin. “Oh my God. Did you take these clothes off dead bodies ?”
    â€œHell, no!” Calvin’s eyes went wide. “Man, I’m not about to disrespect the dead. But their bags? That was fair game. These”—he gestured to his loincloth—“and those”—now he pointed to Molly’s skirt and top—“were in the bags.”
    â€œBags that were beside dead bodies,” Molly said. She felt as though a black hole might come and swallow her whole any second. “Of boys,” she added. “Like you two.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what he said,” Davey said drolly.
    Molly glanced at him; for a moment she’d forgotten he was there. Such a jerk , she thought. But Davey’s predictable asshat behavior helped her refocus with less panic.
    â€œThe question is, why?” Davey continued, oblivious to Molly’s cool gaze. For an instant she thought he actually looked worried, then his normal cocky expression slid back in place, marring his handsome features. “Why did they die? Why were they here?” Davey waved around his guava. “Why are we here?”
    â€œI can answer that, at least in the general sense.” A male voice sounded behind them. Molly turned first. Her eyes met a boy’s caramel ones, set in a tanned face. He stood a few meters away on the white sand beach, a calm smile softening his angular features. No shirt, familiar cloth shorts, and tribal tattoos wrapping one taut bicep. “I’m Paulo,” he said casually.
    â€œMolly,” she replied.
    Calvin jerked back. “Jesus! Is that a rat?” He pointed at a boy with a blond buzz cut standing slightly behind Paulo, something furry dangling from his hand. It struck Molly that the boy appeared to be Paulo’s bodyguard, not that Paulo seemed to need one. It also occurred to her that ginormous, muscle-bound Calvin was shaking.
    â€œYes,” the hulking blond boy said, a serious expression on his face. He raised the rat slightly. “But we will not eat it. Rats carry disease, and are better buried. But I would not be so cruel as to bury it alive. Its death was swift.” He frowned, glancing at the dead rat in his hand. “Still, the blood. I fear the island craves it.” He sighed and turned to Paulo. “I will bury the rat while you talk to the newcomers. They are not the hidden people I fear.”
    He strode off.
    Davey yelled, “Watch out for the tiger!”
    Without turning, the blond boy raised the rat in acknowledgment and disappeared into the thick brush.
    â€œHidden people?” Calvin looked bewildered, then whipped his head toward Davey. “And what’s with you and tigers?”
    Molly stepped closer to Paulo. “What