Drought

  Fear freezes me. I stare straight ahead.

  “This is more than blood.” Mother grasps my sleeve, squeezes it. A trickle of Water comes from it and lands on the ground. “This is Water.”

  “You did what you had to,” I say. “And so did I.”

  Mother lets out a low moan.

  Now the Overseers have reached the empty cistern. They clasp the enormous hook over the top. I close my eyes and send a silent prayer to Otto.

  Have mercy, I beg him. Save us. Save me.

  “Where did you get it, Ruby?” Mother asks.

  I do not answer.

  The Overseer operating the crank pushes a button. The cistern jerks—and then it flies high through the air. Without the weight of Water, the tug of the truck is too strong.

  The chain is slack at first, and the cistern flies toward the crowd. Darwin dives to the ground, but the Visitor, nearly in the middle of the crowd, only turns and watches while we Congregants scatter.

  The cistern reaches the end of its tether, landing just inches from Mother.

  She swings her head to stare at me.

  “Is he alive?” she asks me.

  “No.” I meet her eyes. “You killed him.”

  Darwin strides up to the cistern; the Visitor follows, just a foot away from me now. The hair on the back of my arms pricks like it’s tipped with needles.

  “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it all,” Mother mutters.

  The Visitor raps the cistern with his knuckles. It sounds hollow, not the satisfying thud of a cistern ready to be capped and delivered.

  “It’s empty,” he announces.

  Then he looks at me and smiles—his tongue slipping over his lips again. A roil of nausea sweeps over me.

  The Congregation explodes into noise: hot sizzles of worry and speculation, suspicious eyes flicking over everyone’s face.

  “Who did this?” Darwin roars.

  Chapter 39

  “It wasn’t us.” Mother is edging in front of me, shielding me from Darwin. “We didn’t take any Water.”

  Darwin’s eyes dart from Congregant to Congregant, never settling on one more than a second. His look barely lands on me. Even if he did, he might not notice my dress is wet. It is so thoroughly soaked, it simply looks darker.

  Still, I take another step behind Mother.

  “Those cisterns were full.” Darwin takes two steps, and then he is but inches from Mother. “You greedy Toads always want more, don’t you?”

  Behind him, the Visitor lifts a hand, nearly touches him—but lets it drop. He pulls a watch from his pocket, the chain gleaming in the sun. “I should have been gone by now.”

  “A minute. Just … give me a minute,” Darwin says. His voice is an unfamiliar whine.

  “The Water—” I start.

  The Visitor’s eyes flick up from his watch, landing on me.

  “Ruby.” Mother snaps out the command without turning to look at me.

  “What does she know?” Darwin asks Mother.

  “That girl? All she knows is sleep. I had to wake her this morning. Lazy thing.” Mother turns around and aims a slap so hard on my face, it sounds like a branch snapped off a tree. I press my hand against my cheek, sure it must be bleeding.

  The Visitor draws in his breath so sharply, he hisses like a snake.

  “Stop wasting our time,” Mother orders me.

  She doesn’t want me to confess, I think. Mother wants to control everything in this world.

  “You know where my Water is?” Darwin asks me.

  “My Water, actually,” the Visitor corrects. He gives me a smile. But I do not return it.

  “Where is it?” Darwin roars at me.

  My mouth is as heavy and unmovable as if stuffed with gravel.

  “None of us Congregants took the Water,” Asa says.

  “Nobody else would,” Darwin says.

  “Did you say one of your men was missing?” Mother asks.

  Darwin looks around at the Overseers, then nods slowly. “Schuyler didn’t show today.”

  “Missing Water, missing man …” Mother waves one hand in the air, slowly. “Doesn’t that make sense?”

  “It wasn’t him,” I blurt out.

  Mother’s head drops heavy, chin against her chest.

  “The girl does know something,” Darwin says.

  “Ruby doesn’t know anything,” Mother says.

  “Leave them alone.” The Visitor lays his hand on Darwin’s shoulder, lightly.

  Darwin flinches. “They’re thieves.”

  “No. They’re not thieves,” the Visitor says. “You are.”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear it. I would never take anything from you.” Darwin sweeps his hat off his head and holds it against his chest. His head looks wrong, too vulnerable, the blond hair matted in a ring where his hat sat.

  The Visitor folds his arms, a simple movement, no energy wasted. The rest of him is very still. “We have a contract, Darwin West. You owe me this Water, on this date. Not a day later.”

  “I know. And I had it. I had it!” Darwin whirls to face Mother, then stares at me. “She knows where it is.”

  The Visitor looks over Darwin’s turned back, straight at me. “Tell me something, girl.”

  I push back the urge to turn and run. “Yes?”

  His eyes travel over me. I school my eyes to stay steady, not to move for one moment toward Ford’s hiding place.

  “A promise is a promise, isn’t it?” the Visitor asks me.

  “You’ll get your Water,” Darwin says.

  “Isn’t it?” the Visitor asks me.

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice cracking over that one word.

  “How will that promise be met now?” the Visitor asks.

  “We’ll harvest,” I say, my voice so small, tiny, I sound like a little girl.

  Now the Visitor smiles, broader, broader, and gives the air a delicate sniff. I look down at the ground and will his eyes away.

  He comes closer to me, leans near.

  “Blueberries,” he whispers. “And mint.”

  I step back quickly. Mother frowns, but she says nothing.

  “The girl’s right. We’ll work double hard. We’ll work all night. Won’t we?” Darwin gives Mother a threatening look.

  She does not answer.

  The Visitor raises his voice, only a little, but even that tiny bit of extra power is more dangerous sounding than Darwin’s bellowing. “I want it today.”

  “They’re not all empty.” Darwin points at the two remaining cisterns.

  “How do you know?” The Visitor arches an eyebrow at Darwin.

  “I’ll show you,” Darwin says.

  The Visitor circles behind me first.

  “That was a little excessive,” he whispers. “A few gallons heal even the worst wounds, don’t they?”

  He steps back around me, faces me. Our eyes meet and a chill travels down my back.

  “I’ll show you,” Darwin says loudly.

  I watch as they slowly, slowly make their way to the other cisterns. Darwin wants to rush the other man, but he will not be hurried. He stops by nearly every Congregant and breathes in deeply. Always his face looks disappointed afterward—and always he looks back, again, at me.

  The Visitor’s walk is so light, it’s almost as if he doesn’t touch the ground. And yet, it’s clear that he is the most fearsome person here. One need only watch Darwin’s face to know that.

  “What did he say to you?” Mother asks me.

  But Hope rushes up to us before I’m forced to answer, Boone directly behind her. He has eyes only for Mother.

  “You killed him,” I say.

  Hope closes her eyes tight and nods.

  “We had to,” she says.

  “You don’t have to explain,” Boone tells her.

  The Visitor raps his knuckles on the first cistern and makes a satisfied face. Then he slowly moves to the next—but not before he glances at me.

  “The Visitor is staring at Ruby,”
Mother says. “Like she’s not ours.”

  Boone gives the wrist of my dress a brief squeeze. “You’re soaking.”

  “We know what you did,” Hope whispers.

  “There’s no way you can punish me more,” I say.

  Her eyes go to Mother. But Mother looks away, toward the cisterns.

  “Then … the Water didn’t work?” Hope asks.

  “Nothing worked,” I answer.

  The Visitor is saying something to Darwin that we cannot hear. Darwin holds up his hands, as if to defend himself.

  And then Darwin begins to cry.

  “Who took the Water?” Darwin screams to the crowd, tears running down his face. He reaches into his pocket to pull out his chain.

  But the Visitor grabs it first. He whips the chain from Darwin’s pocket and drops it on the ground behind him.

  “No,” he says.

  “Tell me!” Darwin rages at us all.

  The Elders move as a group to the front, and I follow.

  The Congregants are whispering, staring at one another as we move through the crowd. Now a few eyes are skimming down my dress.

  But nobody speaks a word against me. Not even Asa, who is behind us now, muttering something.

  “You must pay,” the Visitor tells Darwin.

  “We’ll get it to you, twice as fast as before,” he says.

  The Visitor shakes his head. “That’s not enough.”

  Darwin nods at the Overseers around us. A few lift their guns to their shoulders, aim them at the Visitor.

  “If I’m not home in an hour, the police come,” he says.

  Some drop their guns. Others swallow, but keep their weapons firm.

  Police … Darwin told me about them. They’re supposed to protect people, save them, even. They’ve never come here before. Why should anyone believe they’d come now?

  But the Congregants are excited. A current of whispers grows, again, even as we all strain to hear what the Visitor will say next.

  He points at two of the closest Overseers. They are among the shorter ones of the bunch, but thick, with ugly blue tattoos on their necks. They are nothing like Ford.

  “Bobby Saunders. Gary Markham. You think you want to go back to jail?”

  They look at each other, startled.

  “You know our names,” one says, slowly.

  “I know all about you, each of you—and if I’m hurt here today, then the worst you’ve ever imagined will come true. For each and every one of you.” The Visitor looks from Overseer to Overseer.

  And one by one, they drop their guns.

  Darwin’s breathing becomes fast and shallow, like an animal panting, like he’s run a very long way to be here.

  “Will anyone help?” the Visitor asks.

  He looks directly at me—but not at my face. His gaze travels down my sleeves, to my wrists, and lingers there.

  I could answer him. I could offer my blood, now, and refill the cisterns.

  Somehow, I think, he knows this. I don’t know where he comes from, or what kind of person or beast he is. But he knows my secret, even if Darwin West doesn’t.

  The Overseers are looking at one another, muttering, shaking their heads.

  The Congregants stand still, silent.

  Once I asked Mother why we all grew quiet just before Darwin West pulled out the chain—how we all seemed to know, before he told us, that pain was coming.

  “Congregants know the smell of violence,” she told me. “We smell it before we see it.”

  All are still now. Something terrible is coming; something has wafted over us already.

  The Visitor bends at the waist—hinges, almost, a spare and elegant movement.

  Darwin whirls and takes three frantic, stumbling steps away from him. But running away from the Visitor means running into the Congregants. Asa stops him, grips his upper arms—then turns him to face the Visitor.

  The Visitor stands and holds a shining knife high in the air.

  “Put that away,” Mother orders. “We don’t want anyone to be hurt.”

  I let out a harsh laugh, one I didn’t know was waiting until it burst out of me.

  “I’m a good supplier. I give you all that you want, year after year—even when there’s a drought,” Darwin says. “You can’t hurt me.”

  The Visitor smiles slowly. “Oh, but I can do almost anything I want.”

  He swings his arm wide. The Overseer closest to him leaps back.

  The knife arcs down and across Darwin’s stomach. He makes an animal sound before the knife’s arc has finished.

  Everything happens so fast after that. First he’s standing and then he’s crumpled, both hands pressed over his belly. The Visitor looks down at him, his face blank.

  Darwin sinks farther. Blood pools around him.

  “Give me my Water and he will be healed!” the Visitor tells us.

  It would be so easy. We’d fill the cisterns from the Lake, or with any sort of water. Then I could give the cistern enough blood in one day, or two.

  But if I did that, all would know my secret. And Darwin would live. He would still own us—or worse, the Visitor would.

  Finally I can be the Leader the Congregation needs. I can pay back the debt I made when I took the Water. I can do what Jonah said I could: I can free all of us.

  I will stay silent. Let Darwin West lie and suffer. I will end him by doing nothing.

  Boone releases Mother. She kneels beside Darwin, puts his head in her lap.

  A wave of shock hits me like a slap. How can she give him tenderness?

  When Mother looks up at me, there are tears in her eyes. “What will I do now?” she asks. “Help him, Ruby.”

  The Visitor hears her. He sniffs the air, again, and smiles at me.

  I’ve let Mother and the Elders command my blood for so many years. But my body is my own. My blood is a gift that I choose to give.

  It’s a gift I can choose to withhold.

  The blood has soaked Darwin’s shirt. Already his eyes have slid shut. I can’t tell him all the things I’ve dreamed of saying. He won’t hear them.

  I won’t endure any more.

  “Darwin West doesn’t deserve your comfort,” I tell Mother. “He doesn’t even deserve to live.”

  She bows her head. I wonder if she will speak. Will she give up my secret to save him?

  But she stays silent.

  “Then he dies,” the Visitor says.

  Chapter 40

  Mother starts the singing. It’s a hymn, one we sing in the woods sometimes.

  Let us die in gentle grace

  Let us die in his embrace

  We might have sung it for Ellie or Jonah, if we had buried them. But instead, they sing it here. He doesn’t deserve this. Not a single note.

  At first some stay quiet. Boone keeps his lips sealed shut, even though he crouches next to Mother. And I catch sight of Earl, arms crossed, silent.

  But then Mother gestures and the sound swells, every Congregant soon picking up the tune—except me. I stay quiet.

  Mother still sits with Darwin’s head in her lap. She leans close, ear by his mouth. When she pulls her head back up, her face is streaming in tears.

  Then she lifts her head and rejoins the song.

  I’ve never seen a person die so fast before. It takes weeks to wither—months, sometimes, for the body to disintegrate, a little each day. That is all the dying I’ve seen.

  But Darwin was alive just minutes ago, screaming at us, so sure that he controlled his future.

  Now he lies in his own blood, pale, motionless.

  The sun is full up now, without any clouds in the sky. A trickle of sweat runs down my back, where the most of the rays shine. My dress doesn’t feel wet anymore.

  Mother lays Darwin’s head on the ground, gently. As she rises to her feet, she still sings.

  But when she faces me, her song stops. Her lips quiver. “Otto save your soul, Ruby.”

  She beat an innocent man. I let a devil d
ie.

  “Otto would be proud of what I did,” I tell her.

  “You did nothing.” She looks down at Darwin.

  I did nothing, and I did everything.

  The Visitor glides up to us, close, and lays his finger on his lips. “What should I do with you now?”

  “He’s dead.” Mother lifts her chin and gives the man the same defiant stare she used to save for Darwin.

  “Yes. He repaid his debt.” The Visitor looks around. “But now I’m left with this mess.”

  “Just take your Water and go,” I tell him.

  “Ruby,” Mother says in her warning voice. “You let us talk.”

  “I hate this place.” The Visitor looks around.

  The song is fading, quieter, fewer people singing, and even those lowering their voices, I think.

  The Overseers are picking up their guns, one by one. But instead of looking at Darwin, they are looking at the Visitor.

  Soon we will have a new master, and everything will be the same.

  This time I won’t let her ignore me. I grab Mother’s sleeve and lean close to whisper in her ear. “We’re free. Don’t let him have us.”

  She shakes her head and turns away.

  “It would be easiest to kill you all—well, most of you,” the Visitor says. He draws his words out, as if tasting them.

  The Overseers look at one another. One lowers his gun. But most only shoulder them higher.

  “Spare our lives and we can give you more Water,” Mother says.

  “That’s an interesting proposal.” The Visitor tilts his head and looks at me. “How much Water could you give me?”

  “Two cisterns,” Mother answers.

  “Darwin West gave me five.” He waves his hand toward the cisterns.

  “He worked us nearly to death,” she says. “This summer, especially.”

  “It’s not difficult,” the Visitor says. “I never understood why I only got five. Unless … it’s just the one.”

  He points at me.

  Mother looks at me, then back at him, a confused look on her face. “Ruby is only one of many.”

  “She’s special,” he says.

  “She’s a lazy, disobedient girl. She’s near worthless.” Mother gives him a firm shake of her head. “I’ve got nearly sixty others who work harder. We’ll harvest every day.”