Yukino stood up, rubbing her head. The steps had fallen away from under her, but she
had luckily landed on a pile of old fishing nets. She looked at the pile of rubble that
seconds before had been the beauty salon. She walked closer. “Hello, can anyone hear
me?”
There was no reply. “Hello, can anyone hear me?” she called again. She listened,
but there was only silence.
Yukino turned and was about to head to the hospital to check on Seko’s
grandmother when she heard a faint voice. She ran closer and shouted, “Can you hear
me?”
“Hai, koko desu! Yes, here!” The voice was clearer and to her left, where she
guessed the door had been.
Yukino climbed the pile of rubble. “Where are you?”
“Here,” came the woman’s voice.
She searched the rubble.
“Here,” called the lady frantically.
Yukino saw the waving hand protruding from the rubble. She scrambled over
and peered into the small hole from where the hand stretched out. A narrow shaft of light
lit the terrified face of the woman she had seen standing in the doorway.
“Are you hurt?” asked Kumiko.
“No, I’m OK. Please help me.”
“Are there others?”
“They’re dead. Please help me. Please hurry,” the woman pleaded.
Yukino tried to lift a stone off, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried another way, but
her attempts were fruitless. “I need to get help,” she shouted.
“Please don’t leave me…please!” The woman’s voice was on the verge of
hysteria.
“I need to get help. I won’t be long,” Yukino replied.
Just then the wail of tsunami sirens echoed through the streets.
“Don’t leave me!” screamed the woman hysterically.
Yukino was about to reply when the announcement came over the town
speakers. “Evacuate to higher ground, evacuate to higher ground,” the announcement
repeated.
Yukino looked down at the petrified eyes staring back at her. “I’ll be right back
with help,” she said, but her voice couldn’t hide the uncertainty.
The woman’s hand grabbed Yukino’s wrist. “Don’t leave me! Help me!” she
pleaded desperately.
Yukino clasped her fingers around the woman’s hand and then said as calmly as
she could, “I’ll be back with help. I promise.”
“Promise?” said the woman.
“Yes, I promise,” replied Yukino.
Yukino scrambled down the side and ran off in the direction of the hospital. The
wailing of the sirens echoed through the streets.
**
Light streamed through the broken window into the darkness. Kumiko was pinned on top
of her husband, her face just centimeters from his.
“It’s OK,” she whispered, managing to lift her hand and stroke his hair. “It’s
finished.” She kissed his forehead softly.
His breathing was erratic.
“It’s OK,” she whispered again.
“Uhhh…” he moaned almost choking on the sound.
She ran her fingers through his hair and began to sing the melody of “Aka
Tombo, Red Dragonfly.” Slowly her husband’s breathing returned to normal.
She struggled to position her hands on either side of him. She braced herself and
then pushed up against the weight on her back; pieces of plasterboard slid off onto the
floor. She stared through the dusty stream of light at the broken sheets of plasterboard
littering the floor and other shards dangling from the ceiling.
Suddenly the siren opposite her house began to wail and her husband’s eyes
went wide; terrified, his eyes shot in all directions in search for the source.
“It’s all right,” she said, climbing off the bed.
“Uhhh…” groaned her husband. His breathing quickened.
Kumiko searched through the wreckage and quickly found what she was looking
for—a battery-operated portable CD player; she pressed the play button and “Red
Dragonfly” began to play.
She moved beside him and stroked his hair; his breathing slowed and he smiled
up at her.
“I’ll get you some ice cream,” she said softly.
A smile came to his lips.
She patted him on the head, got up, and made her way through the wreckage to
the living room, where the ceiling was still intact. She could hear the announcement
blaring. “Evacuate to higher ground, evacuate to higher ground.” She dashed down the
stairs into the kitchen.
The kitchen was a mess; food littered the floor, and the table and chairs were
overturned. She entered the shop and stood there in dismay. All the shelves had toppled
over, and goods and broken bottles were scattered across the floor. The freezer at the back
of the shop had broken free from the wall and lay facedown.
“Father!” she called.
There was no response.
“Father!” she called again.
Only the wailing of the sirens and the call to evacuate to higher ground
penetrated the eerie silence.
Kumiko looked at her watch: 2:55. She estimated the quake had hit at around two
forty-five and knew, as it was common knowledge in Japan, that she had around twenty
to thirty minutes before the tsunami would hit. She dashed out of the shop and up the
stairs.
Her father groaned and his eyes flickered open. He tried to move and pain shot
through his body; the freezer had landed on his legs, pinning him solidly to the floor.
He heard the siren and tried to move again, but it was in vain. “Help!” he called
out. But then he heard it—the distant rumble and then the thunderous roar. It hit shaking
the shop so violently that parts of the ceiling smashed to the ground. The freezer slapped
up and down on his legs and he screamed in agony.
Kumiko shielded her husband’s face from falling debris with her body.
**
Yukino stopped and crouched on the road; the earth heaved up and she fell onto her side.
“Stop it!” she screamed.
Then it was gone; the 6.4 aftershock roared away to batter other towns and cities.
She got to her feet and looked at her watch, 3:00, almost fifteen minutes since the
first quake. She knew she didn’t have much time; she needed to find help quickly.
People ran from houses, clutching whatever belongings they could carry, quietly,
orderly, and following the evacuation plans that they had practiced over and over
throughout the years. It was ingrained into the subconscious of costal Japanese dwellers.
The rule was don’t wait or go looking for others; evacuate immediately to your designated
evacuation zone on foot, not by car, as this would reduce the chance of people being
caught in traffic jams. Everyone was headed for the emergency stairs that had been built
into the nearby hills.
Three young men ran past Yukino. “Hey!” she shouted.
The men stopped. “What do you want?” they asked.
“There’s a woman trapped in a collapsed building!”
The tallest of the three shook his head. “There’s no time. You’ll never save her.
Get to higher ground.”
“Please, I need your help!”
“The tsunami is going to hit any minute now!” he insisted. His tone was urgent.
“Follow us!”
She swallowed hard and looked him straight in the eyes. “No, I must help her. I
promised!”
“Hurry! Let’s go!” cut in one of the other men.
Yukino shook her head defiantly.
The men turned and ran toward the hill.
Yukino stood there alone; her mind was desperate, but her eyes blazed with
determination. She ran toward the hospital. Someone there will help me, she thought.
**
Seko looked at her house; it sat tilted at a forty-degree angle in the field after slipping off
its foundations. She ran to one of her neighbors who was heading up the road to the
evacuation zone. “Saito-san!” she called out.
The middle-aged woman stopped. “Seko-san, you must get to the evacuation
zone.”
“I need to borrow your car. My grandmother is in the hospital.” She tried to keep
calm, but panic was in her voice.
“Where are your parents? Can’t they pick her up?”
Another tremor shook the ground and both women crouched on the road; it
lasted but a few seconds and they both stood up.
“My parents are in Kamaishi!” Her voice was now urgent.
The woman took out the keys from her pocket and handed them to Seko. “Be
careful.”
“Thank you,” Seko said, taking the keys.
“Be careful,” the woman repeated. “You don’t have much time!”
Seko nodded and ran over to the silver Pajero Mini parked in her neighbor’s
driveway, got in, and raced down the hill. At the bottom she turned left and sped along the
side of the harbor, the breakwater wall towering beside her.
**
“Damage report,” asked Kenichi calmly.
“Water cooling pipe to Reactor One is broken,” said one of his men.
“Are the reactors shut down?” asked Kenichi.
“All reactors have gone into SRUM, automatic shutdown.”
“Good,” said Kenichi. He was trained for emergencies like this. He could deal
with it.
“Tsunami warning just came in, sir,” shouted another man. “Fourteen meters
high, approximate time to impact fifteen minutes.”
The control room went silent.
Kenichi stared at the data on the screen in front of him in disbelief. He picked up
the phone and rang Mr. Suzuki, but there was no answer.
“Send some men down to make sure the emergency generator doors are secure,”
he ordered, taking control of the situation.
**
Yuta’s body protruded horizontally from the wall of mud and rock about ten meters above
the beach. The initial wave of the landslide had gone over him, but the tail had caught him
and taken him down. He was set into the wall waist-deep, facing down on what was left
of the beach.
He struggled, trying to free himself, clawing away as much mud as possible and
then trying to wriggle his body out. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, he dug himself free.
“Chikusho! Damn!” he screamed out loud. Exhausted, he let his body flop onto
the side of the wall, eyes cast down. That’s when he noticed the water receding quickly,
leaving the beach bare. He knew what it meant: a tsunami was on its way. He began
digging frantically.
**
A man shook Sachie, but she lay there unconscious. He picked her up in his arms a made
for the emergency stairs.
**
Mr. Suzuki took out his mobile phone and dialed Kenichi, but the line was busy. He tried
the plant’s switchboard, but it was also busy. He got in his car and drove at full speed in
the direction of the plant.
**
Mackeller had been ordered to fly out to sea and film the tsunami. He was about fifty
kilometers off the coast when he saw it. Staring down, it looked as if someone had
thrown a rock into a pond and the rings were spreading outward. But these were not
ripples. These were gigantic tsunamis heading for the Japanese coast.
“Oh my god!” exclaimed the copilot. “Your dream was true.”
Mackeller ignored the comment. “Start filming,” he ordered bluntly.
The copilot fixed the camera on the spreading rings.
“I’ll take us closer to the coast so you get a better shot,” said Mackeller, banking
the chopper to the west.
“Roger,” said the copilot, watching the walls of water race toward the coast at a
speed of 800 kilometers per hour. He swallowed deeply, knowing the waves would deal
total and absolute destruction.
**
All the children were assembled in the schoolyard; some were crying while others were
silent. Erica was squatted scratching the number four in the dirt with her finger. The two
girls wearing Mickey Mouse shirts stared at her.
The principal was away on business, and the deputy principal and some of the
teachers were debating where to evacuate. The designated evacuation zone was situated
800 meters north across the river, but some of the teachers wanted to go up the hill, which
lay immediately next to the school.
“It’s too steep,” said the deputy principal again. “We must follow the rules and
go to the designated evacuation zone.”
Hiro looked at his watch. Twenty-three minutes had passed since the quake. He
calculated it would take at least seven minutes, if not more, to get the children the 800
meters to the evacuation zone but only a minute or so to the hill on the south side.
“We don’t have enough time,” challenged Hiro.
“We have plenty of time,” countered the deputy principal, “and we are six
kilometers inland.”
“The tsunami could come up the river,” said Hiro urgently, pointing to the river
they would have to cross to get to the evacuation zone.
“Nonsense. We are well out of reach of the tsunami.”
Hiro fought back his temper. “Are you willing to risk the lives of these children
because your rulebook says you must go–”
The tremor came from nowhere, and panic swept over the children. They
screamed as they were thrown to the ground.
“Stay together!” Hiro shouted over the roar.
The rumbling quickly died away into the distance, and the children stopped
screaming.
“That was at least a magnitude 7,” said Hiro. “There could be more than one
tsunami.”
The deputy principal looked shaken, his face pale. “Follow…me,” he stuttered
nervously and led the way north to the evacuation zone.
Hiro cursed as the children and other teachers followed the deputy principal; he
was like the Pied Piper leading the rats to their death.
Hiro unwillingly stepped into the procession at the rear.
**
The mayor sat at the head of the conference table on the third floor of the town office. He
had called an emergency meeting with his staff.
“Don’t you think we should evacuate to higher ground?” asked a young man.
The mayor glanced out the window in the direction of the harbor. He was stone-
faced, but his eyes couldn’t hide the fear. “No, we are on the third level and must stay at
the command post.”
A lady in her late twenties interrupted. “Mr. Mayor, my daughter is at school.
May I be excused to pick her up?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Anyone else who has children, please leave and report
back after they are safe.”
Three other women got up, bowed, and left.
The young man watched with envy.
**
Hunched over, Mrs. Sasaki rummaged through the remains of her house and pulled out a
framed photo of her wedding day. She looked at her husband and tears came to her eyes.
She knelt down and held the picture to her chest and began sobbing. “Why did you leave
me?”
**
Mr. Kubo sat straddling a roof beam. Almost all the tiles had fallen from the roof, and the
lady had resumed her previous self, shouting abuse at him about his poor workmanship.
**
Ryota lay shivering on the rocks. He had been in the icy water for more than five minutes
and was on the verge of hypothermia. He forced himself to his feet and started walking.
He walked in a straight line across the sand where the water had been minutes ago.
**
“Push!” shouted Tatsuya.
Tatsuya and the other three firemen pushed the huge iron tsunami gate, which
separated the harbor and fish processing factory from the town.
“Wait!” came a woman’s voice.
The men stopped, leaving a narrow gap.
“Thank you,” the old lady said, squeezing through, a few belongings stuffed
under her arms.
“Anyone else left in there?” asked Tatsuya.
“No, I’m the last.”
“You’d better get to high ground,” said Tatsuya, pointing to the nearby hill.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing and then added. “You take care.”
“Push!” shouted Tatsuya. The iron gate rolled forward and slammed shut.
Tatsuya locked it and said, “One more to go.”
They all jumped back in the fire engine and headed south in the direction of the
floodgates.
**
Kamata’s boat crashed over the huge swell. He estimated it to be at least ten meters.
A few minutes later his eyes opened wide and his stomach knotted. On the
horizon was a massive wall of water. It began to feather and he pushed the throttle down
as far as it would go, his boat cutting straight for it.
**
Yukino sprinted down the street. Destruction was everywhere, the wailing of the sirens
deafening, but determination was chiseled across her face and the eyes of the trapped lady
were etched into her mind. Up ahead she saw the hospital; it seemed deserted, aside from
the silver Pajero parked outside. A young woman and an old lady scurried out of the
entrance.
It was Seko and her grandmother. She jumped and waved. “Seko-san! Seko-
san!” she shouted.
Seko helped her grandmother into the car and then ran around to the driver’s
side.
“Seko!” she shouted again.
S e k o
s t o p p e d
a n d
l o o k e d
f r o m
s i d e
t o
s i d e .
“Seko, it’s me Yukino,” she screamed at the top of her voice.
But the sound of the sirens drowned out her screams, and Seko got in the car and
sped off.
“Wait…I need your help.” Yukino stopped, devastated. She knew she couldn’t
help the trapped woman by herself; she needed to find someone to help her. She turned
and ran back toward the trapped woman.
**
Yuta struggled frantically to free himself from the wall; the rocky beach below had been
sucked dry by the unquenchable thirst of the oncoming tsunami. He looked out at the
horizon and his heart stopped. Rushing toward him was an enormous wall of grey water.
**
The grandfather’s face drained of color as the dark shadow appeared on the horizon. His
grandson sat looking towards land. “I’m a little cold. Would you mind making me a cup
of coffee, there is hot water in the thermos below,” he said. His voice amazingly void of
panic.
“Yes, of course,” the grandson replied, climbing down into cabin.
**
“Help!” screamed Yukino’s grandfather at the top of his lungs. “Help me!” But the siren
deafened his cries. He tried in vain to wriggle himself free from the freezer.
**
Kenichi’s eyes were locked on the screen displaying the information from PTWC, The
Pacific Tsunami Warning Center. The center was established in 1949, following the
Aleutian Island earthquake that triggered a tsunami ranging in height from fourteen to
forty-six meters. A string of buoys were positioned around the Pacific ‘Rim of Fire.’
These buoys transmit detailed information about tsunamis while they are still far offshore.
Each buoy consists of a seabed bottom pressure recorder at a depth of 1,000 to 6,000
meters, which detects the passage of a tsunami and transmits the data to a surface buoy via
acoustic modem. The surface buoy then radios the information to the PTWC via the
GOES, Geostationary Operational Environmental Satellite system, which is then sent to
countries at risk from the tsunami. There are never false alarms. If the PTWC issues a
tsunami warning for a particular area, the tsunami is already on its way and will hit.
“Fourteen meters,” Kenichi said to himself. He looked at his watch and a knot
formed in his neck. Impact was imminent. “Why hadn’t anyone listen to me?” Why hadn’t
anyone taken the reports seriously?” he cursed under his breath. Suzuki had been the plant
operator when the 2008 report was submitted and he had done nothing.
**
Suzuki’s car screeched to a halt. “Chikusho! Damn!” cursed Suzuki. He got out of his car
and observed the hundred-meter section of road that had disappeared. He walked over and
stared into the gaping trench. He had tried other roads, but they were either blocked by
fallen debris or had suffered a similar fate as the road in front of him. He looked toward
the Daiichi plant around one kilometer away; he’d have to go on foot.
**
The grandfather watched the shadow rise out of the ocean like death’s claw. It hit the
outer reef and the crest broke, millions of tonnes of whitewater crashed down and then
exploded towards them.
“What’s happening?” called his grandson innocently.
“Nothing, it just the wind picking up,” replied the grandfather. He couldn’t
believe the calmness of his words.
The mighty wall of white water charged at them.
“I have mine with two sugars,” he called to his grandson.
“OK,” came a reply.
The wall of whitewater hit, turning the boat over and over and then smashed it to
splinters against the cliff.
**
Tomo’s boat skimmed quickly over the water towards the waterfront. He had managed to
get the American businessman and three others off the ship. The captain and crew had
stubbornly refused to abandon ship.
“Look!” shouted the driver. “The water is receding! We won’t make it to the
docks!”
Tomo looked in horror. “We’ll have to run for it!” he yelled.
“Too late for that!” The driver pointed behind.
Fear and panic welled up in Tomo as he saw the water surge over the harbor’s
outer breakwater wall. “Turn us around!” he shouted. “We’ll have to hit it head on—it’s
our only chance.”
The driver swung the boat around and headed for the wall of whitewater.
Sachie’s face surfaced in his mind. “I’ll make it,” he muttered to himself.
**
Yukino ran down the deserted road. She could make out the remains of the hair salon
about 200 meters ahead. The ground shook and she stopped, waited for the tremor to
pass, and then ran again only to stop a little farther. Her eyes grew wide; about 300 meters
past the hair salon, water splashed over the tsunami breakwater wall. She swallowed hard,
her stomach tightening with fear, her heart banging against her chest. And then her worst
nightmare came true. Water spilled over into the street. She could see the woman’s
petrified eyes in her mind and could almost hear the woman’s pleading. She ran toward
the salon and was only fifty meters from it when the water poured over the wall as if the
floodgates of a dam had been opened. She froze and stared at the wall of water that was
rushing toward her. The water hit the fish processing plant and tore it from its foundations
and then slammed it into the adjacent building, splitting it in two. The right side was
ripped away and then swept down the street.
Yukino knew she couldn’t help the trapped woman. Her fate had been sealed.
She managed one last glance at the ruined salon and caught sight of a hand waving
frantically from the rubble before she turned and ran toward the hills. The wall of water
gushed down the street, smashing into houses and shops, ripping them to pieces and
dragging the shattered remains behind. The sea rose above the breakwater wall and
poured over, forming a black wave of wreckage: broken houses, shards of glass and
metal, wood, cars, bicycles, trees, and mud. Whatever stood in its way was swept before
the churning wave of filthy water.
Yukino ran for her life. She could hear the lampposts snapping behind her.
Ahead was an apartment building. She sprinted for it and pulled open the glass door;
water rushed under her feet, and the door was ripped from her ha