Drought Read Online Free

making a slow path around the clearing. He looks up at me and stops walking.
    My hand falters and water escapes onto the side of the cistern. But I correct myself quickly and soon the pouring is done. I hope that an Overseer didn’t see my sloppiness. There would be punishment, and Mother would bear it on her shoulders.
    When I reach the bottom, Mother holds up a wet fingertip. “You are distracted,” she says.
    Shame burns in me, and I cannot meet her eyes. “It was just a slip.”
    She raises her eyebrows, then climbs the ladder with her cup.
    Nobody can leave until all the water has been poured into the cistern. Then Darwin decides if we get supper—or his fist.
    Soon as Mother has climbed off the ladder, Darwin pulls the chain from his pocket. “Five of you Toads failed today,” he shouts.
    “Five people,” Mother breathes.
    Yesterday was three. How can she possibly bear it for five?
    “Get up here, Toads!” Darwin cries.
    The Overseer with a clipboard calls five names; five failed Congregants shuffle forward. All but one is a Pelling, including Jonah, not looking so merry now. They dart their eyes toward Mother, waiting for escape. The last one is Meg Newman. She’s a hard worker, and strong, with a body young enough to show barely any gray hair. But even hard workers don’t get lucky, sometimes. She stands tall and does not look our way.
    The Overseers form a tighter circle around us; we gather closer. The new one is standing behind Darwin. Another guard is telling him something, his voice too low to hear. When the new one nods, his lips pressed tight, the two men take a few steps from each other and turn their guns to point them at us.
    Darwin folds his arms over his chest and looks at Mother.
    “We want supper,” Mother says.
    “And I want my Water,” he growls. “The truck’s coming soon, and what’ll happen when the cisterns stand half empty?”
    Mother keeps her eyes steady on him. “We’ll work harder if we have food.”
    “You think I’m a brute?” Darwin shakes his head. “You see what happens if we don’t have that Water.”
    I don’t know much about the man who comes with the truck every year, to pick up our Water. But I know it’s the only time I see Darwin’s hands shake.
    Darwin nods to an Overseer, the one with the scar over one eye. He stands behind Meg and pushes her to her knees. Darwin lifts his chain.
    “No. Not tonight,” Mother says.
    “It’s your fault. If you loved me, none of these people would suffer,” Darwin says.
    “I’m not the one who hurts them,” she snaps back.
    Darwin’s thick arm muscles bunch, and he slides the chain over his shoulder, ready to strike.
    “Take me instead,” Mother says—like she does every night when he’s got a taste for hurting.
    “Mother, no, please.” I grab her hand and try to pull her back. It is selfish of me, I know. She has a secret way of healing from these beatings that nobody else has.
    She has my blood to rely on.
    “Trade accepted.” Darwin smiles and nods.
    The Pellings melt into the crowd without even a thank-you. I fix a hard look on them, but if they feel my stare they don’t show any sign.
    Still Meg will not stand up.
    “Don’t take it for me,” she says behind gritted teeth. “I can bear it.”
    Most of the time, people step aside for Mother. She kneels beside Meg. “Let me carry this load for my Congregation.”
    “Why? It’s not your fault that he beats us.” Meg spits on the ground, dangerously close to Darwin’s boot.
    I want to step forward. I want to take the lickings, for once. But I’ve promised Mother, and the Elders, not to put myself in danger. I’m the only one who can heal Mother … heal our leader. I’m the only one who can make the Water what it is.
    Until Otto comes back, that is.
    “So it’ll be two of you tonight,” Darwin roars.
    Meg’s husband John—third husband, since after a while even good people tire of each other—pushes to the front.
    “Don’t do