The oldest boy swore and argued, ripped the scars on his cheeks and accused her of destroying everything. Anita wiped her tears with the back of her hand, but didn’t relent. It was as if she wasn’t really with them, as if she had only one thing on her mind. The other two sobbed like children, with their faces behind their hands.

Lelle was so cold he was shaking, despite the warmth of the kitchen.

‘Where’s Meja?’ he wanted to know. ‘Is she alive?’

Anita’s answer was to turn the rifle on him. Her face was red under the white hair.

‘We never meant for anyone to die,’ she said. ‘Birger promised me it would all work out, that in the end it wouldn’t matter. When the world came to an end the girl would be grateful to be safe underground. Alive. That was what we thought.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘But there is something wrong with my boy, and we can’t help that.’

The darkness was soon filled with flashing lights. The police brought new chaos in the form of heavy footsteps and the static of radio communication. Shrill voices that didn’t quite reach them. Anita put down the rifle and clasped her chapped hands.

‘He’s out in the clearing. It was me who shot him. The girl is also there.’ She pointed at Göran. ‘He’s the one you’ve got to take care of. He’ll never be like other people.’

Everything happened very quickly, but also in slow motion. When they put the cuffs on Anita, Lelle saw her crumple, as if in relief that it was all over. It was Göran who put up some resistance. When the police approached him he started shouting and threatening them with his hunting knife. His eyes burned black.

‘You’ve got no business here,’ he hissed. ‘This is our land!’

It was his brothers who made him give up the knife. They closed in on him and made some kind of manoeuvre they must have practised often enough through the years. They got him down on the floor and one put his knee between his shoulder blades while the other twisted the knife out of his hand. They were both pale and weeping.