A few years ago our ancient sea wall was raised by two metres. When the Ministry decided that we would still be unsafe from the rising waters they built a second wall, 6 metres higher, a hundred meters out to sea. Even this may not be high enough.
This year we have endured record temperatures. Today at 9am it’s already 40 Celsius and I know it will 50 by lunchtime. Spring high tides are due and the overheated air will bring us a hurricane. The hazard is so widedspread that the Government have ordered a total evacuation of the endangered areas.
I decided to stay it out and think I am probably the only man left in this town . I’m sure that my cottage with its 2ft thick walls will survive. Just keep calm.
The harbour is full of yachts and fishing vessels, sheltering from the storm. The dock gates are closed. I walk short, exhausting,distance to the train station to get a better view. The offshore wind generators are turning very slowly. They will stop altogether when the wind rises. On the horizon a container ship moves slowly eastwards...
A driverless train is at the station. A man stands by an open door. He’s yelling and at first I cannot understand him. Over and over again. Eventually I can hear him shouting, “It’s all wrong..all wrong…wrong.”
“What is?”
“This weather. God is angry. He’s going to drown us. It’s all those fossil fuels and windmills and automation causing the trouble.” Before I could say anything he steps onto the train and the door slides shut.
Really feeling the heat now I return to the harbour and walk along the wall. Below me is a narrow finger of beach. A ragged man is digging in the hot sand. I watch him scoop up a stone. He studies it closely. He tests it with his teeth, licks it and then, as if satisfied, places it carefully on a small pile.
I ask him what he was doing. “Aint it obvious? I’m building a sea wall. The one’s we’ve got won’t be enough to stop the storm.” He discards the rounded remains of an old brick. and hurls it towards the incoming waves.
I’m nearly back at my house when the robotaxi draws up and stops by me. The door slides open. A voice greets me, “Would you like a trip to the lighthouse Mr Baines?” I get in. The safety harness wraps itself round me and we set off. The screen in front of me tells me that my fare has been collected, that it’s 42 degrees outside but a chilly 25 in the car. An ad for anti heatstroke follows and I note down the details.
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