Roland the child had been in a state of shock, refusing food or drink. The orange cordial in paper cups smelled of pigs’ guts. He had seen slaughter and blood as in a nightmare. Squealing victims herded from a sealed truck, running in panic down a concrete ramp towards men in rubber aprons and gumboots inches deep in blood, in their hands electric stunners, the flash of knives slitting throats, naked bodies suspended by chains round ankles approaching massive doors swinging open to a white jet of roasting flame, then corpses spinning in boiling water scoured by revolving drums with steel
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