Half of my life was spent ignoring high people. I had seen people on Molly. They acted happy, unconcerned, sometimes wild. It was scary, watching them be happy, because I knew little else mattered to them in those moments: even a child, even me. Even their own child. People on opioids, maybe like Kaylee, didn’t hurt you, they didn’t want to. They just fell asleep. Sometimes forever.

“You can’t take care of her?” I asked. “Help her?”

Jamey shook out a sheet so hard it snapped. “We don’t have internet. We don’t have heat. We definitely don’t have oxy. Or methadone. Not anymore. Nobody does.”

“You have to get out of this place.”

Jamey was staring at me, numb as the baby. “Jake ain’t never gonna let you leave.”

Jamey took the sheets to the river, and handed me the baby to watch. I think she thought I wouldn’t run away with her baby in my arms: another mouth to feed, another person to take care of, one who wasn’t even mine.

The child went willingly with me—too tired, too cold, or too used to it to complain. For a few minutes, I thought about running, anyway, taking her with us to California and away from this, whatever this was, with the skating and the guns and the men who burned cars.

I wondered what that would be like. Where would we find milk for her, if all the stores had closed? Did she still drink milk? What would my mama say, when we caught up with her? I had a sudden memory of Lisbeth, when we were little, kissing all her dolls.

I had to get out of the shed. Even the cold was better than this stinking shack, stifling and freezing at the same time. I wrapped the baby’s legs in an adult-size fleece I found on the floor, which looked mostly clean. Outside, the air, even tinged with gas and the smoke from the barrel fires, felt better in my lungs.

I sat on a log in the woods a little distance from the creek and rocked the silent child. It was strange how quiet and compliant she was, unnatural. She took to me instantly. I wondered what her name was. Through the trees, I could hear water running over rocks. Otherwise, the woods were silent. I listened to the soft smacking sounds the baby made with her mouth. She started to play with a thread on my gloves, picking at it until it ran. She made a red zigzag, like a heartbeat.