There was no ceremony. The Pakistani forced the Somali’s exposed arm onto the tabletop. Skull-cap drew his machete, raised it high and brought it down. The blade took off the Somali’s hand and half his forearm. The Pakistani released his prisoner and he fell to the ground, at first numb with shock, then screaming with pain. The arm rolled off the other side of the table and fell onto the sand.
Skull-cap bent down and picked up the severed limb by the thumb. He held it up to the crowd as the clothes-stealer was led away towards the school. The kids parted like the Red Sea for Moses. They stared open-mouthed at the mess that was left of his stump and the blood it dripped into the dust.
The oldest of the mullahs, stern and grey, slapped the miserable offender across the head with his shoe. He then beat the sole across his back as he was dragged towards the school. This lad was going to be taught the error of his ways, Wahhabi style, before he received any medical treatment — if he ever did.
The other mullahs sorted out the kids and herded them back into the pack for the main event.
4
Skull-cap screamed and shouted as the Pakistani led his AS team back inside. He wasn’t shouting to them, but to the crowd. He pointed at us, then jabbed his finger skywards. His words were rapid and aggressive.
A different kind of murmur swept through the crowd as the two Somali couples were led out. This time it was disapproval. Some hissed.
All four moved very slowly. They didn’t have to be pushed. Their heads were down. They’d given up hope. The women had their heads covered but their faces showing. As they made their way through the compound they displayed no emotion, not even fear. They were led to where Skull-cap waited by the bloodstained table.
I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t at least try to run. They stood in front of their allotted holes, heads down, eyes half closed against the light.
Still screaming at the crowd at the top of his voice, Skull-cap thrust his hand under the chin of each prisoner, lifting the head for all to see.
As he passed each victim and moved on to the next, the Pakistani pushed them into the holes. They had to kneel, with only their head and the tops of their shoulders showing above ground.
A group of young guys arrived from nowhere at the front of the crowd. They wore the same kind of headgear as the boss, and black-and-white shemaghs. Their eyes burnt with zeal. They shovelled sand into the holes to hold the bodies firm. The two women cracked. Both burst into tears. The men rocked back and forth in prayer. The youths shovelled faster to pack them in.
The four AS big dogs headed back inside the building.
My chest heaved. I couldn’t help it. My breath quickened. I tried to control it. My skin broke into a sweat. My whole body felt like it was going to burst.
Anna filled my head. I was going to lose the only two women I cared for in the space of the same night.
Where the fuck was Awaale?
The Pakistani led Tracy out. She carried Stefan in her arms. His head was on her shoulder, his legs wrapped around her, her arms wrapped around him. She was struggling to carry him. Both of them shielded their eyes from the bright lights, as they started the long walk.
It took all three of the other al-Shabab to bring BB out.
Skull-cap shrieked, pointing at these evil people coming towards us like they were Satan come to Merca.
BB’s eyes darted around. He was trying to suss out what was going on. It dawned on me. They didn’t know what the fuck was happening. Otherwise he would have tried something by now. The three of them were dead men walking. What had they got to lose?
They reached the gates. The old school mullah walked up to Tracy and grabbed Stefan. The boy was his now. But Tracy had other ideas.
She pulled back her child and uttered a long, heart-wrenching cry that silenced the crowd. The women around me moaned quietly. Hands went up to mouths as Stefan hollered out for his mother. His arms clung tightly around her neck as Tracy tried to break the old mullah’s grip.
Skull-cap brandished his blood-covered machete at her and yelled to the crowd.
BB didn’t move a muscle to help her. He did exactly what he should have done. He looked around, taking everything in, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with the information.
BB then saw the four getting buried, and the two empty holes, and knew precisely what was about to happen.
I moved forward from the crowd, pushing up the burqa so I could get the weapon into my shoulder.
5
The Pakistani swung to face the crowd. He would have seen straight away why they were screaming and who they were running from.
As I got the weapon into the shoulder I pushed the selector all the way down to single shot. The Pakistani fixed his eyes on me. I had both eyes open, focused on the foresight. The Pakistani pushed BB out of the way to get his own weapon up but he was too slow. My weapon kicked and he went down. I’d got him with one round into the chest.
The noise around me faded the further the crowd dispersed. Then I heard gunfire. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or where it was going. Tracy was just metres away now. Stefan had disappeared.
One of the other AS big dogs was bringing his AK up but BB had grabbed the Pakistani’s weapon and gave him a three-round burst. He helped himself to a chest harness full of mags.
‘Tracy! Tracy! Here — with me! It’s Nick! It’s Nick!’
BB was still firing. He took on the other AS to my right.
‘It’s Nick!’
Tracy couldn’t compute.
‘It’s Nick!’
BB looked round. He got it.
I grabbed hold of Tracy and pulled off my burqa at the same time. I wanted to get her into the shelter of the wall. Rounds rained in from the right of the compound.
She was rooted to the spot; confused; scared.
‘Nick …?’
‘Come on.’
I grabbed hold of her and began dragging her into cover. BB was changing mags. I got eye-to-eye with him and he started closing in. I pulled her down on her knees, so that her head was below the parapet. The crowd was still scattering in all directions. They didn’t know which way to run. The fire was coming from the court-house. They could get a lead on us pretty much anywhere they liked if we tried to make a break for it across the open ground.
BB took up position alongside us and knelt with the AK.
Tracy tried to pull away from me. ‘Stefan! I must get Stefan!’
She pointed frantically at the madrasah. ‘Stefan!’ She tried to crawl past me.
Everything was total confusion but her screams were louder than the crowd’s.
I looked over the wall. Skull-cap was on the veranda of the main building with the others, weapon up. They were shouting, more in anger than in fright. They’d been done out of a good day’s stoning.
To our right, the Somali women scrabbled to get out of the dirt. The lads accused of shagging them were well and truly gone.
The skull-caps on the veranda popped in and out of the doors like Swiss cuckoos, firing indiscriminately at anything that moved. A burqa’d figure took a hit at the edge of the square and tumbled into the dust.
A burst stitched along the wall the other side of us. 7.62 is a big-calibre round. The sound of at least a dozen of them thumping into the block-work nine inches from our heads was deafening. I felt the tremors.