IN THE sweaty air under the autobahn bridge, the detritus of death lies untouched.
Trampled glasses, trampled bottles, torn belts and a deodorant promising “24-hour protection”. If only. Nearby lies a half-empty infusion bag disconnected hours earlier when one love parader lost their battle for life and became victim number 16.
All that is left of their hellish end is the bag and a white sprayed outline of the body. Two more outlines lie adjacent. Around the corner, beyond the bridge, are two more body outlines, and a bigger shape, as though a pile of bodies collected at the foot of 26 steep stone steps to survival.
It was here, between two bridges – each 100m long and just 16m wide – where 19 party-goers died.
This was the route taken into the disused freight train station by over one million paraders until around 4.30pm on Saturday afternoon, when the entrance was shut and the crowds began to build up under the bridge.
Fatally, police watching from helicopters and controlling the crowds couldn’t see the timebomb in the tunnel. Party-goers like Timo Tasche, who did, got out fast.
“As soon as I got in I saw it was too full – people were stood together like matches in a box,” said the 29-year-old, staring numbly into the dark tunnel.
“There was a barrier in the middle to separate people coming in from those going out but nobody was controlling. I got out half an hour before the hell began.”
Florian Dittmann and his friend Timo, both 17, weren’t so lucky. Around 5pm, when the panic broke out, they were on the ramp up between the two bridges where most party-goers lost their lives. On the far side, people scrambled up a sandy embankment, tearing at the ground with their fingers.
“We were carried with the crowd, first left, then right,” said Florian, his voice cracking, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “A blonde woman beside me just started screaming and screaming until people lifted her up and over. I still can’t deal with it.”
The two watched as, before them, people scrambled up walls, hoardings, cables: anything to get out.
“A layer of heat lay over the crowd and no air. You had to stick your head up to breathe,” said Timo. “I saw a pregnant woman screaming for air, then go down. It was impossible to help her. I think she got out, but I’m not sure.”
The two teenagers were lucky to be among the first few dozen hauled out.
“I kept calling Florian’s phone, but kept getting the mailbox, it was the longest three hours of my life,” said Manuela, his mother. “I’m so thankful he’s here and felt compelled to come down here to remember those who weren’t so lucky.”
At a makeshift shrine beside the bridge, surrounded by dozens of red candles, a white top hat holds the names “Anne” and “Anita”. An adjacent card reads: “Sacrificed for human stupidity.”
