Anders’ mouth is open. Everything has started dissolving inside him; the only permanent thing left is the sharp sound inside his temples.

A shout is heard from the car but it is so far away it doesn’t concern him. I should call Johanna, he thinks to himself and pats his jacket; I need to tell her there’s something wrong with me. That my nose is bleeding and I can’t stand up. So she can call an ambulance. Because I think I’ve bloody pissed myself too. He looks for his phone by patting his jacket and trousers. When he has felt all his pockets, he starts over again, mindlessly.

After a while, he notices that there is someone standing behind the car, watching him. A hunched-over and emaciated little old man. Who is stark naked. He gets it into his head that he is an elderly person lost in the night and remembers his father, the way he looked toward the end of his life. How small he became. A shrivelled child with anxious eyes. His legs won’t carry him, so he crawls; his only thought is that he needs to help this poor sod immediately.

Geir is lying in the snow, curled up like a foetus. He has pulled his hat down over his face and is holding it with both hands as though trying to stop someone from pulling it back up.

Anders is on all fours now, watching him blankly. Then he looks up at the monstrous creature standing on misshapen wolf’s legs in the red light of the tail lights. Wrinkled and cross-eyed like a witch of old, with the transmitter like some kind of extravagant, futuristic piece of jewellery around its neck.

He turns and crawls away, whimpering in horror. Eventually, he gets to his feet and runs as fast as he can down the snow-streaked road that leads into the distant darkness.

SATURDAY TWENTY-FIRST OF JUNE TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN

Seated in a plastic chair…

Seated in a plastic chair in the exercise yard, Lennart studied his severed arm. Blood filled the grotesque creases of the scar tissue and was dripping down into the grass, where a small puddle had collected.

He wiped his mouth with his fingers and glanced over at Dennis, who was standing by the door, head bowed, mesmerised by his mobile phone. Then he sank his teeth into the mangled stump. The bits that came loose he gathered up with his tongue and spat out.

He was not entirely steady on his feet; he stood swaying for a short while before setting off toward the door. He shuffled across the lawn in his plastic slippers; a thin rope of blood dangled from the arm he was holding out in front of him. He was breathing heavily, wheezing with deep, rattling undertones. Dennis tore his eyes away from the screen and stiffened. Took a step back. Slipped his phone into his pocket and cursed.

*