When Gerald picked me up, my twisted leg jarred, making me bite my lip and breathe through my nose. There was no time to bind or secure it. My fall might have been heard, someone might be coming to investigate anytime now. We had to hurry.

Behind some bushes a way back, Gerald had hidden a large wheelbarrow, filled with plastic bags of garbage. He helped me climb into one with holes cut into the sides, so I could breathe.  Then, he closed the top with a knot and bodily threw me over the pile, putting more bags over to camouflage any movement I might not be able to help.

Thus, with my hurt leg folded wrong, myself shoved uncomfortably in a sack, with the rotting smell of garbage swirling around my head, I felt my rescuer start to push. On we rolled, every bump in the uneven ground making me hiss, the sweat on my brow trickling down the slope of my nose in an unceasing rivulet.

The sound of men talking was the first indication that we were among people. I stiffened further, imagining bones made of concrete. The rapid thudding of my heart could have been heard miles off.

Gerald, though, did not stop, did not give any sign of strain. He had done this many times before, and he knew what his motions were, what his next step would be.

“Some party, huh, Gerry?” a man said, the voice sounding terribly loud. “Sad that you won’t be here for it.”

“Quite sad,” Gerald replied.

“That’s a lot more stuff than normal,” the man commented, his voice receding as we left him behind. He shouted, “When did we make all that trash?”

I swallowed the bile in my mouth.

“When you started living on your own, Penn, that’s when,” Gerald said easily. “It’s filled with your diapers.”

There was collective laughter all around us.

“Fuck you, Ger-ber.”

The rumble of a truck soon filled my ears. Were we there? Did we make it?

It seemed that we did, for the sound of garbage bags being thrown around could be heard. I felt myself being lifted roughly by the legs, an arm gripping my right shoulder to steady me before I flew up in the air and landed in a bed of trash. A sharp pain in my side told me not all the garbage was soft.

There I lay in the trunk of a garbage truck, a glass shard digging into my side, too afraid to move, rolling down a road I couldn’t see, to a place I didn’t know.

About a half-hour later, the car stopped.

“You can come out now,” Gerald said, coming around to the back, “but keep low. I have to do something real quick. I will be back.” And he was gone.

Fear gripped me again. I didn’t move.

Five minutes passed.

The cry of a baby tore through my head, giving me no time to prepare. Eyes wide, I waited.

“Zara, come on,” Gerald urged. The baby screamed some more.

I moved then, fingers frantically ripping at the plastic. The frail thing tore under my fingers, revealing to me a half-moon shining. Gerald stood by the tailgate of the truck. In his arms, a bundle stirred.

I crawled to the edge, almost transfixed, forgetting the pain. What was this? In the middle of this hell, what was this?

My arms lifted on their own volition. Gerald handed the bundle over. “Take care of her. Her mother’s dead and the father’s a no-go. I tried to help, but there is nothing more I can do. This is my price. I got you out, you look after her. Be her mother.”

I stared at the baby in my arms, her pale face scrunched as she dug at my breast. Look after her? How could I?

“The Evans’ will help you,” Gerald insisted. I lifted my head to his, silent. “Will you?” he asked.

His phone rang. Pulling it out, he looked at the number. His expression darkness. “They know. We need to hurry. Will you?” he asked again.

“Yes,” someone breathed. It might have been me.

Gerald nodded once, business-like, then walked back to the car door without a backwards glance. The engine revved.

I hunched against the metal wall, feeling light and free. A smile stretched my face. The child was still whimpering softly, fists pumping my chest as her mouth wet my dress. She’s hungry, I thought, feeling a pang for her dead mother.

That was the moment that I knew we would make it. Because we had to. For her, this little child just born, we had to.

We had to. I looked up at the night sky, breathed the clear, cool air, and laughed.

We would.