The headlight on the floor at the top of the stairs was dim. Then I realized it was rammed into the carpet. Mong wasn’t moving. I gave him a kick in the ribs and yelled at him to get up.
18
He was lying on his side, head twisted. Blood poured from the inside of his thigh. The carpet tiles were soaked. It wasn’t good. It was too quick. He was bleeding too fast.
‘Mong!’ I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him over. Blood spurted up at me like water from a burst pipe. His femoral artery had been severed. Maybe he’d been knifed. The femoral artery is connected to the aorta. Blood was pumping out of him at mains pressure.
I pushed down on the puncture site with one hand and tried to rip his cargoes with the other. Blood coursed up my wrists. I had to get my thumb and forefinger into the wound and try to squeeze the artery closed.
‘BB!’
My fingers slithered around the hole in his thigh. It was like trying to locate a small rubber tube buried in grease.
‘BB!’
Mong’s head lolled and his torch beam bounced along his leg. He saw what was happening. ‘Shit! I feel it. I’m going, Nick.’
‘Shut up, dickhead.’
But we both knew he had less than three minutes.
‘BB!’
I knew he couldn’t do any more than I could but he was a patrol medic. I rolled Mong on to his back and his head flopped. No resistance from his neck muscles.
Flames shot out of the door of 2-17 and licked along the suspended ceiling. Tiles ignited. There were no sprinklers because there was no electricity. Our shadows danced as the flames advanced towards us. Thick black smoke filled the top half of the corridor. It would soon sink down to our level. Mong knew that. ‘Fuck off, Nick. Go.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’ I stood up and pressed the heel of my boot into his groin, just above the wound. I pushed down with both hands on my knee. He groaned with pain. We both knew it was too late. We needed surgical clamps to stop it.
My torchlight fell on his face. His pupils didn’t react to the light.
‘Nick, remember what you promised.’
‘Shut up. You’re going to fucking look after her yourself.’ I pushed harder. ‘BB!’
Blazing tiles fell from the ceiling. The heat got more intense as the flames licked closer. I was starting to choke on the smoke. I had to bend down further. But I wasn’t going to release the pressure until he was dead. I knew it was useless. He knew it was useless. But that didn’t matter. I’d fucked up. I shouldn’t have let him go and take on the looters.
This was all I could do for him now.
He fought to get the words out. ‘Remember … Tracy …’
‘Of course I’ll look after her, you stupid fucker …’
He went quickly. No reaction to the pain. He just closed his eyes and that was it. Life had leaked out of him.
19
I lifted my boot and touched my hand to the wound. There was no blood pumping out any more. It had all gone. The smoke was just a metre off the floor. Staying on my knees, I shoved my hands under Mong’s armpits and dragged him towards the staircase. I could feel the air rush up from the smashed windows below. The flames were sucking it in.
Mong was too big to pick up and put on my shoulders. His legs bumped behind me as I dragged him down the stairs.
‘BB!’
I swept my torch beam across the floor to make sure he wasn’t lying there too.
I reached the downstairs office and lugged Mong towards the exit. I had to stop under the window, fighting for breath. Air rushed through the gap we’d come in through. I slid down the wall and leant back against it, with Mong’s head in my lap. ‘Sorry, mate.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Smoke curled down the stairs. I got to my feet and pushed the plywood further away from the frame. I had to use my head to keep it open as I eased his torso through. A gust of wind rushed past us to feed the flames.
Mong dropped to the ground and folded like a rag doll. I wasn’t going to leave him there. I’d get him to the fence and then go back for BB.
Hands beneath his armpits and linked across his chest, I started to drag him away from the building.
The windows above us shattered. Flames leapt out. Mong’s heels bounced over the tarmac.
Headlights on the main road ahead, moving left to right. They hesitated, then turned onto the tarmac.
The 4?4 slewed to a halt, side-on.
‘Get him in!’
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
‘He told me to get the wagon! Get the fuck in here! The army’s coming from the other side of the river.’
PART TWO
1
It was only a short drive from the crematorium to Mong and Tracy’s place in King’s Acre, to the west of the city. Cupcakes and little quarter-sandwiches were waiting for the few of us who were invited back. I took Tracy in a black Audi 6 I’d hired for the day.
The service had been standing-room only. Even Crazy Dave was there, pushing himself to the front in his space-age wheelchair. Most of the faces I recognized had sun-tans and ill-fitting suits. The ones I didn’t were in Royal Marine blazers and ties, crisp white shirts and neatly pressed slacks. The Corps had also sent representatives in full service dress. Boots and medals gleamed. The only one not there to pay his respects was BB. Crazy Dave tried to cover for him by saying he’d sent him away on a job, but I knew better. There you go.
But so what? He was leaving the UK soon. The job that Crazy Dave hadn’t got him was anti-piracy in the Indian Ocean, working out of Mogadishu. Sitting on a ship all day looking for Long John Silver was perfect for him. No one to work with, so no one to annoy.
All the speakers — mates, relations, people from the Corps — said fantastic things about Mong. But all I could think was what a waste it was. Then the priest or vicar or whoever got a few prayers going. I didn’t listen. What a fuck-up. I was team leader, and that made his death my responsibility. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have stuck to my guns and kept him with me.
I’d looked around me. I’d never been one for funerals, but at least I turned up. It was another part of
