“Did you check its diaper?” Yuma asks. She was a nanny in another life, looked after the children of the richest man in Cincinnati.

“I just changed it,” Elijah says.

“Then it’s probably hungry.”

Elijah hands her the bag containing formula and diapers. “This came with it,” he says.

“Any of you fuckers know how to mix formula?” Yuma says.

“Just give it a tit,” Bob 2 says, trying to be funny.

Grumbling, Yuma sets about preparing a bottle.

Antonia brings out Moore’s original $25,000 and sets it on the table next to the twenty-five she and Elijah got from the possum. Minus Beaumont’s ten percent, everyone but the Bobs will receive $7,500. Johnny and Real Deal do the divvying, licking their fingers and dealing the bills into six stacks.

Yuma finishes shaking the formula. She picks up the baby and sticks the nipple of the bottle in her mouth. The kid stops crying and starts sucking.

“Enjoy your last meal,” Bob 2 says.

“You ever had a child?” Yuma asks him.

“Depends how you mean.”

“You’re a sick fuck.”

“The sickest,” Bob 2 says. He pulls a big hunting knife from his belt. “How about I nick the brat right now and make you sore losers watch us drink?”

Real Deal draws his knife.

“How about I cut you in half?” he says.

Bob 2 glances at Bob 1—who, with a tiny shake of his head, tells him to back down. Bob 2 twirls his knife like a gunslinger playing with his pistol before returning it to its sheath. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. Real Deal puts his blade away too.

“We need to take a vote,” Antonia says, looking to ease the tension. “We’re pulling out of here tomorrow night. All in favor of New Orleans as our next stop, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes rings out. It’s unanimous, as Antonia knew it would be.

“New Orleans it is, then,” she says. “Now, who’s next to feed?”

They’ve worked things out so their feedings are staggered, thereby leaving a narrower wake of dead and disappeared behind them.

Pedro raises his hand. “I’m up.”

“Seems like it’s been a while.”

“Forty-five days, but I can’t go much longer. I’m getting itchy.”

“We’ll find something along the way, set you right.”

Johnny gestures at the piles of bills on the table in front of him. “Come and get it,” he says.

Pedro, Antonia, and Elijah grab their stacks. Real Deal pockets his.

“Snag mine, doll,” Yuma says to him. She’s still feeding the baby.

“Go on,” Bob 1 says to Yuma. “I’ll take the nipper.”

Yuma hesitates, primal reflex tightening her grip on the child, but she quickly overrides it. Bob 1 rests the kid in the crook of his arm and tosses the bottle away. He picks up the drawstring sack and slips the infant back inside.

“Feed somewhere else,” Antonia says.