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E-book Come Hell or High Fever : Readying the World's Megacities for Disaster
Haruki Akamatsu had not felt the ocean crust heave 10 metres upward. He was not there to see the 6-metre tsunami surge inland, drowning thousands and clawing the earth bare with its retreat. He had, however, clutched the carpet beneath his desk as the twenty-first-floor office in Tokyo swayed sickeningly, thinking the worst was over when the swaying stopped. It was not, but Haruki would not know that until later, for he did not hear the nuclear power station reactors 274 kilometres north of Tokyo explode after cooling pumps failed and nuclear cores superheated. The pumps’ reserve generators failed as well, submerged as they were beneath tsunami waters. He could not see, nor smell, nor taste, nor hear the radiation in the air, but it was there. He knew he should not be able to feel it, but his skin prickled, nonetheless. Yes, it was there, being inhaled into millions—no, tens of millions—of lungs, for this was the most populous urban area in the world. Haruki was one of the many millions trying and failing to flee Tokyo. They sat trapped behind steering wheels, in bus seats, on trains. He rubbed his eyes, which were dry from staring skyward at the invisible radiation, and returned his gaze to the gridlocked road. Cars packed every lane in shared motionlessness. Even the righthand lanes—normally filled with vehicles coming into Tokyo—had been recruited and were now part of the failure.He had thought the Shutoko, Tokyo’s system of elevated and underground highways, was a better choice than the surface streets. Haruki looked down. The traffic below was as still as that above. Only pedestrians moved; open doors and vacant seats told him that some drivers had abandoned their vehicles to join them. He wondered whether the same had happened ahead, whether people had run from their cars and down exit ramps, blocking everyone behind. It had not surprised him when the Tokyo metropolitan police officer directed traffic on to both sides of the highway three hours ago. Why not? No-one would seek to enter Tokyo other than police, firefighters, soldiers and others whose duties demanded they turn their faces into the disaster everyone else was fleeing. Trying to flee. Streets would be open for them. Everyone knew disaster reaction plans reserved certain passageways for that purpose.The flow of people had started from the north, trickling, then building into a stream before becoming a deluge that quickly settled into this anxious but motionless lake. The flow had been smooth but slow when he set out four hours ago. He had moved only 8 kilometres since then, covering the first 5 before the traffic slowed to a crawl, then oozing to a halt. That had surprised him. He had travelled to many other cities for work: Singapore, Manila, Jakarta, Los Angeles, Bangkok. None had adapted to the daily tides of humankind as well as Tokyo. Well, maybe Singapore, but none of the other big cities. Most were overwhelmed on a typical workday. Only today, after the government belatedly admitted that the wrecked reactors’ radiation was advancing directly on the capital, did the flood of the desperate clog every passageway and with it hope of outrunning the unseen rider on Honshu Island’s southbound winds. He could only hope his parents had made good the exit he now could not. They lived—had lived, he corrected himself, for surely none would return to the capital for some time to come—in Tokyo’s southern suburbs rather than one of the more posh and exciting commercial centres. He had called once and texted countlessly after the prime minister’s announcement, receiving two messages in response before phones and Facebook, the internet, Instagram, Twitter and, well, everything, stopped working, smothered by the hundreds of millions of calls, texts, tweets, updates, photos and other desperate attempts to reassure, be assured, share and reshare. Yes, he assured himself, Sone and Tetsu Akamatsu must have made good their escape.
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