Drought by Pam Bachorz Read Free Book Online Page A

table, really, brought from someone’s home in Hoosick Falls when the Congregation fled—is in front of her. A single, small bottle of Water rests on it. That is what they are all waiting for—the Water made from my blood.
    Even when I stare straight at Mother, the Overseers hover at the edge of my vision. Darwin stands the closest, one hand in his pocket. His eyes never leave Mother. Then there’re always three more men, all in reach, all holding guns.
    My tongue stumbles over the psalm while my eyes rove. Where is the new Overseer? Is he here, or waiting in the woods for the harvest to start? Or has Darwin already dismissed him? I can’t find him.
    “It is too hot for the word today,” Mother says, reaching for the bottle of Water. I know why she is really skipping her sermon: she wants no excuse for the Overseers to deny Ellie’s turn at Communion.
    “Ten minutes,” Darwin growls from the corner.
    “Come forward,” Mother tells the Congregation. The Overseers come close now, making sure that we’re lining up in the same order as every week. Once in a while they make small adjustments, pushing one person ahead of another.
    Usually I stand near the front of the line. The strongest Congregants, the most valuable ones, are in the front. The weakest are in the back—just in case the Water runs out. Sometimes the Overseers don’t give Mother enough.
    Ellie walks to the back, and I follow her, away from my place. I take hold of Ellie’s arm. She will be last, but I will be certain that she makes it there.
    “Not your spot,” an Overseer growls at me. His breath smells bitter.
    “Go,” Ellie whispers.
    I tighten my grip on Ellie’s arm and shake my head. The Overseer lifts his gun higher in the air. Somehow I find the courage not to flinch.
    “Your loss,” he mutters, then walks away.
    Now I see the new Overseer. He’s in the back corner of the room, watching, his face rigid. As soon as I look at his face, he looks at mine. He lifts his other hand—the one not holding a gun—to touch the gold medal at his throat. His face softens a little.
    I turn away fast, but my face burns as if he’s touched me.
    Mother puts a single precious drop of Water on each Congregant’s tongue. Her shoulders, draped in white linen, glow in the predawn gloom. Darwin edges closer, until he’s nearly pressed against her. Every Congregant faces Mother and Darwin at the same time.
    Her low, rich voice says the same thing with each drop.
    “In the name of Otto.” Drop. Swallow. The Congregant steps away fast enough to satisfy Darwin.
    Another Congregant is ready.
    “In the name of Otto.”
    But this one is too slow. Darwin deals him a hard slap.
    “Move faster,” he barks. “You’ve got to meet quota by noon.”
    Mother freezes, only her eyes turning to stare at Darwin.
    “Every single Toad gets a shovel when you’re done getting your Water,” Darwin announces. “We got big plans.”
    A groan creeps through the Congregation, like fog over the Lake. I wonder what plans Darwin has, other than tormenting us and stealing our Water.
    “We’ll never—” Mother starts.
    “You want to waste your precious Communion time arguing?” Darwin asks.
    Mother shakes her head and lifts the dropper high. The line hurries now: drop, swallow, step away. But then another Congregant is too slow. He gets a poke with the barrel of Darwin’s gun.
    “You keep up this pace, no dinner,” Darwin bellows. “You’ll live.”
    Ellie is leaning heavy on my arm; I struggle to make it look like I’m not dragging her down the aisle.
    “I should sit down,” Ellie whispers.
    “Not before you get Communion.” I tighten my arm around hers.
    “They won’t give me any,” Ellie says.
    All the Overseers care about is having strong bodies to harvest the water. If someone is too sick to work, they don’t get Water—or food. It is, they say, a waste.
    I hush her, my eyes flicking to the Overseers. They hold their guns against their shoulders like