Rozie felt the water running over her feet. She watched it gurgle up through the ground as she stood in a small creek. The stream had carved back the soil, leaving a gray rocky streak in the earth that disappeared into the trees at the edge of the clearing.

  Thirst gripped her throat, so she stooped, dipping a cupped hand into the water. Her body felt so light that she nearly gasped. She could see her feet. Her belly, the baby, was gone. Relief momentarily warred with guilt. But wherever Little Lowry was, she knew he was safe. She brought her hand to her lips, and despite the familiar acrid smell, the water tasted sweet. Like a cordial, the coolness rushed down into her stomach and out through her body.

  She sat in the water. The act surprised her. She watched water rose in its channel, her body damming the creek. When it grew level with her crossed knees, she leaned back into the small pool. It rushed over her, submerging her ears. Rozie tilted her head and opened her mouth, allowing more of the water to flow down her throat. She felt her stomach swell, but she couldn’t stop. Her tongue, sticking to the roof of her mouth, demanded more. A shadow fell across her face.

  She opened her eyes to see a man standing over her. His bare chest shone like bronze in the afternoon sun. She didn’t see the stone he carried until he placed a foot on her wrist. With her ears underwater, she heard the smooth rocks in the creek grate under the pressure. Pain. She cried out, tried to push him away with her other hand, but something held her arm down. Another man stood next to her. Water rushed over the foot that stood on her other wrist. The flash of anger gave way to fear.

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  Above her, a woman approached. Her gray hair danced in the wind whipping about her face. But her eyes, cold and so brown they were nearly black, bore down into Rozie. She nodded sharply at the man.

  Rozie flinched, expecting the first blow. But it never came. The man placed the stone almost gently on her chest. The other did the same. Then more. Men, women, children, each struggling under the weight of the rocks in their hands. The pile grew higher, trapping her. The men stepped off her wrists only to be replaced by more stones. She struggled, but it was no use. Rocks bound every limb to the ground. The water rose from beneath dozens of brown and gray stones.

  And still she drank. She swallowed again and again, even as the water covered her face. She became the living foundation of the dam.

  The old woman kneeled in the pool. Rozie saw her grim expression through the rippling surface. Bony hands placed rocks around Rozie’s head, like a wreath. When the circle was complete, taller than her head, the two men shuffled close. They stumbled through the creek bed, carrying the largest rock of all. They stepped to either side. Time slowed as the stone descended toward her. Rozie watched as it obstructed the sunlight, until it settled on the crown of rocks. A lid to the box they created, obliterating Rozie’s vision. She wanted to scream, but her mouth was already open, water flowing in ceaselessly.