He rolls onto his back and grabs my arm with his bloody hands.
One of his eyes has a massive, bleeding gash right through it. It’s obvious he will never see from that side again.
His other eye is so wide with shock it’s bulging from his head.
“My eye,” he screams, his fingers tightening around my arm.
“I’m going to help you. Just breathe. I’m going to help,” I do my best to reassure him, not knowing if he can even hear me.
I move fast, tugging my cardigan off and wrapping it around his head, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.
The man is whimpering but letting me help.
“Let’s get you up, away from the fire,” I say.
He lets me slip my arm around his back to try pull him to his feet, but he’s weak and in shock and very heavy.
Another worker sees me and comes to help. Together we get him on his feet.
I wrap the man’s arm over my shoulder and say to our helper, “I’ve got him from here, thanks.”
“Take him out front. The medics are coming,” he shouts, and runs to help someone else.
We make our way through the chaos towards the front parking area, where I set the man down with his back resting against one of the cars. “Stay here, okay? The doctors are coming. I have to go and see who else needs help.”
He grabs my arm. “Thank you—thank you,” he repeats.
Standing up too fast, my head spins again, and I lean against a car for a moment, taking deep breaths of fresh air, not realizing how tight my lungs are from the smoke. My eyes are burning. I rub across my cheek with the back of my hand, but gag when I realize that I’m covered in someone else’s blood, mixed with black soot and dirt, and my face is dry from the smoke.
I hurriedly wipe my hands on my jeans, but it’s no good. I’m filthy. It doesn’t matter. I have to go back in there and help people.
Where is Benedikt? Is he okay?
Squinting into the chaos, I try to find him, but I can’t. I can hardly see anything in there. He could be anywhere inside the warehouse. He could be badly hurt.He could be dead.No. Don’t think that.
For now, I have to focus on the things I can control—the people I can help. I have to hope for the best—that someone is helping him if he needs it.
I run back inside, my heart racing, my lungs burning from the thick air. I spot a man lying face-down and kneel next to him, trying to roll him over. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to do it—except there is a piece of metal, blown from the blast andsliced straight into his neck. He’s dead. His lifeless eyes are open as he stares up at the ceiling.
I gag and stagger away from him.
Help someone else. Help someone else,my head screams at me, stopping the panic from freezing me in place.
I find another man, blood oozing from a wound in his leg.
“Give me your belt,” I demand.
He looks at me in confusion.
“Your belt. Now,” I shout.
He tugs it off, moving in pain, and hands it to me.
I work quickly, creating a tourniquet above the wound to stop the bleeding. When that’s done, I want to get him to his feet, but he’s even bigger than the last guy, so I know I’ll need help.
He’s not in danger from the fire, but the smoke is thick enough here to do damage. I can’t leave him here.
I stand up, looking around. I’m about to yell for someone to help me lift him when a man arrives at his side and pull him to his feet.
