I looked down at Ole again. ‘We can’t throw him in there alive!’ I said. ‘That’s just … sick.’

‘Pigs aren’t predators,’ Imo shouted through the racket. ‘We would have needed to starve them first, at least. No, we’ll have to chop him up.’

Chop him up.

Jesus.

The biggest thing I’d ever killed was a wasp. And even that made me feel queasy.

Everyone can be a killer. That’s what I had said to my mates. Now I had to become one myself.

And that’s when I knew.

I was never going to do it.

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Which is why I shook my head and said no. Imo turned and looked at me. ‘What did you say?’ The pigs were still grunting.

‘I can’t do this, Imo.’

He just stood there staring at me.

‘I can’t kill Ole. And I’m not going to chop him to pieces so the pigs can eat him. No fucking way.’

Imo said nothing to begin with, just stared at me. ‘Even, we have no choice.’

‘Yes, we do,’ I said. ‘This is wrong, and you know it. You’re not crazy.’

‘No, but can you tell me any other way out of this?’

I thought.

Hard.

And I couldn’t.

‘You have to help me,’ Imo begged. I could see the plea in his eyes.

I wished there was something I could do to make this all go away. Tears welled up in my eyes again.

Imo walked quickly towards me. For a brief moment I was afraid that he was going to hit me or drag Ole into the pen himself. Instead he walked straight past me and out of the pig shed.

Where the hell was he going?

I stared at Ole, uncertain of what to do – scared of what might happen in the next few minutes if I didn’t do something. I bent down and removed the gag from his mouth. Immediately he gasped for air.

‘You have to call the police, Even,’ he wheezed, ‘Quickly, before he comes back.’

I needed a few seconds to pull myself together. I thought about what might happen today – or perhaps next month or next year – if we went ahead and got rid of Ole. How could Imo trust me to keep my mouth shut?

He couldn’t. So maybe he’d kill me too. To remove any doubt. To protect him, to protect Mum, the love of his life.

I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. My hands were shaking violently as I tried to tap in the three numbers for the police. I could barely hold the phone.

Ole gasped, just as I noticed a movement in the doorway.

Imo was standing there, looking at us. He had a gun in his hand. And he was pointing it at me.

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