The food sheds have becomes huge crackling bonfires spitting black smoke into the air and showering the surrounding compounds with white-hot embers and flaming straw. Smaller fires burn near each of the dogs’ pens where someone has dragged bales of straw to the end and set them alight, then pushed flaming torches through the gaps in the fence, setting light to toys and bedding. The dogs have all retreated inside, scratching at the doors, pacing back and forth and barking, or else pressed into a corner, their eyes huge and fearful.

I fumble my keys into the lock then run down the corridor, the hem of my polo shirt pressed to my mouth as I open door after door. The dogs knock at my legs as I free them, barking, yelping, jumping on each other in their desperation to reach cool, fresh air. I gather two of the smaller dogs into my arms then shoo the larger stragglers through the corridor and towards the open doorway. We spill out of the building and into the yard. I head for the cat compound, further away from the food sheds and not on fire, but the dogs are still confused and scared, circling this way and that, barking at the fire and jumping up at me, so I change my mind and run towards the field. It’s secure and there’s no danger of them running into the road. Freddy squawks at me as I run past the small animal enclosure and pecks desperately at the sides of his cage.

“I’ll come back for you,” I shout as I speed past him. It’s only fifty or so metres to the field. I can still get him, there’s still time to get him out. He screams as I disappear round the corner, and I falter. Is there? Is there enough time? The air is thick with smoke. If I’m struggling to breathe, how will he—

He screams again and I stop in my tracks. I turn to go back to him.

And all the hairs on my arms stand up as the scream continues – a terrified, piercing screech.

That wasn’t Freddy. That was human.