“I’m in the dumpster.” Hank projected his voice loud enough for me to hear.
I threw the lid up, leaning it against the building wall, then looked inside: garbage everywhere. Still too dark to see.
Cell phone.
I pulled the cell phone out from my back pocket and turned on the flashlight. Why I hadn’t thought of this sooner was beyond me.
Rachel called out to me from above, “What’s happening? Is he in there?”
“I think so. Hang on,” I answered.
As I flashed the light around the inside of the dumpster, Hank’s head was visible, though his body was buried in trash.
“Jeraline, I’m stuck,” Hank groaned.
“What happened?” My shoulders both untensed and tensed at the sight of Hank. On one hand, I was relieved to find him, but on the other . . . dumpster.
“I climbed in like a young fool. They all make dumpster diving look so easy. I think I broke my ankle. These fumes are killing me. I’ve been here over a day,” he confessed.
“Hank!”
I couldn’t climb in fast enough, my guilt guiding me. I landed my feet gently on the garbage, careful not to step where Hank’s body might be.
But once I was there . . .
The smell.
I retched, though nothing came out. I imagined what Hank had gone through having lain in the bottom of this cesspool for the last day, and my stomach twisted in sympathy.
And another problem.
I wasn’t strong enough to lift a full-grown man out of a dumpster. I needed help.
Calling up to Rachel, I said, “Call an ambulance and get down here and help me. I can’t lift him out of here alone.”
In the darkness I saw the whites of Rachel’s eyes widen in terror. “I’ll call the ambulance, but we should wait for them to move him.”
Right.
Afraid to leave her house.
It was always a theory, but now, from the horrified expression on her face, I knew it was true. But I couldn’t pull out Hank alone. I wasn’t physically capable. I needed to convince her.
“Rachel, I need you,” I said sternly, hoping she’d overcome her fear and race down to help.
But she simply stared at me with frightened eyes.
“Please,” I begged, though I knew I was arguing with someone’s deep-rooted phobia, and I wasn’t sure if a simple please would work.
I had to try alone. There was no other choice.
Turning to Hank, I kept my voice calm. “I’m going to try and dig you out of here.”
Clumps of wet paper, plastics, and rotted food all covered Hank with a dense thickness that stuck to my hands when I peeled the layers away. Hank’s hand appeared as he managed to shove some of the garbage aside as well. I used it as a beacon and slopped off clumps of decay until his arm was free.
The stench caused me to gag once more, but thankfully no vomit. Just what this dumpster needed: another foul-smelling ingredient to add to its disgusting soup.
“Why didn’t you call for help?” I asked Hank as we both managed to free his second arm.
“I did. No one heard me. I thought I was going to die here.” Hank’s breath was ragged and fast.
My worry, concern, and guilt motivated me further as I leaned down and placed Hank’s arm over my shoulder. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the sixty-year-old idiot who climbed in here.” Hank positioned his arm so that I could pull him up.
“You’re not an idiot. You were hungry.” Because I forgot to give you food. My fault. My fault. Sandwiching my feet solidly on the garbage, I squatted into position. “We’re going to try and get you to stand on three . . . One, two, three.”
We moved a few feet up, then my foot shifted from the unstable garbage, and we both fell back down. This time I was also lying on the bed of filth.
“Maybe we should wait for the paramedics.” I began to see the intelligence in Rachel’s idea.
Hank shifted his arm so he sat up a bit more, then stared down at me, serious. “If the boss lady told them I was a bum, they’re not coming, or they’re not coming for a while anyway. They have more important people to save.”
No.
My hands shook with rage and determination. “You are just as important. We’re doing this.” Pushing myself up, I stabilized my feet once more on the precarious garbage flow.
One last glance up at Rachel’s window to ask for help, but it was closed. She’d given up on us, expecting the paramedics to do their job.
“It’s just you and me, Hank. We got this.” Our eyes met, and we both understood each other. I would get him out of this dumpster or die trying.
A touch on my arm, and it wasn’t Hank.
Rachel stood there, her shaking hand now bracing my arm, eyes pried open from terror. “I’m here. I’m helping.” Her voice quavered, and her breathing was hard despite the wretched smell.
Placing my hand on hers, I forced her to make eye contact with me. “We’ll get you back inside as soon as we help Hank, okay?”
Rachel’s breath was fast and panicked, but she nodded in agreement. “Let’s get this over with.”
I’d take it.
She threw her leg over the side of the dumpster, and I helped her the rest of the way inside. Her hands continued to shake, and I was sure we were finally going to add some puke to the mix, but not yet anyway.
We positioned ourselves on either side of Hank while he placed one arm on each of our shoulders.
“Ready?” I asked.
They nodded.
“Now.”
With a large, unified grunt, we lifted Hank to his feet. As soon as his feet had pressure on them, he groaned in pain. “Yup, it’s twisted, maybe broken.”
“We gotta get you out of here so we can get a better look.” I honestly wasn’t sure what kind of assessment I’d be able to make, as I knew absolutely nothing about injuries, but I did know we all needed out of this rot pit.
Shifting an inch at
