HLM – Chapter 160 Disaster Relief Begins

For those who have never experienced an earthquake, a magnitude 6.5 quake is just a number—hard to grasp. But for comparison, China’s Ya’an earthquake was a magnitude 7.0, affecting 1.52 million people across 12,500 square kilometers.

However, this earthquake had one advantage: it occurred during the day, and most of the affected areas were plains, which reduced the difficulty of rescue operations.

The newly completed Highway No. 8 was visibly impacted. The ground cracked in many places—fortunately, the fissures were not too large and could be repaired later.

Driving toward Wanderer Town, however, the conditions on some of the lower-grade roads were much worse. Near the town, sections of road were twisted and warped—evidence of the quake’s terrifying force.

On both sides of the road were farms and pastures. Wang Bo rolled down the window and looked out—most of the houses had collapsed, fences were shattered, and herds of cattle and sheep had escaped, blocking the roads.

“Fuck!” Charlie, who was driving, slammed his hand on the steering wheel. He honked the horn, which only startled the animals further and made the chaos worse.

Wang Bo looked around and shouted, “Why the hell are you honking?! Get off the road and go around through the grass!”

The Marauder had over one-meter-high tires and an air-suspension chassis that could be raised further. Charlie steered it off-road, bumping across the uneven grassland as they moved forward.

The South Island has a sparse population—280,000 square kilometers with only a million people. That’s less than four people per square kilometer.

Apart from urban clusters, most of the land was desolate grassland. Occasionally, they’d pass a farm or ranch, so the overall damage from the quake was somewhat limited.

As they traveled, the situation seemed relatively optimistic. But once they approached Wanderer Town, everything changed. The full horror of the natural disaster became apparent.

They had been to this town before—this was the place where Little Hani and the others had stolen their car, wallet, and phone. Back then, the town was lush and green, dotted with quaint buildings—like a paradise on earth.

Now, nearly all the buildings had collapsed. Several cars were overturned by the roadside. Trees leaned or had fallen. Livestock ran loose everywhere. Cries and wails from frightened Māori filled the air.

People were struggling to move vehicles to clear a blocked intersection. Wang Bo opened the car door and jumped out, staring in shock at the ruins ahead: So this is the horror of an earthquake?

The sky was overcast and threatening to rain.

The Marauder was hard to miss. As it pulled up, a police officer ran over and shouted, “Mate, please help—can you tow this damn car away?”

Wang Bo had a police badge hanging from his chest. He nodded and said, “No problem. Just tell my driver. Also, I wanted to ask—has Chief Smith from Oak City made it here?”

Though earthquakes are common in New Zealand, their disaster relief personnel weren’t exactly known for high efficiency. Many officers were already in town—at least a dozen or more—but there was no coordination; everyone was working on their own.

That officer guided Wang Bo through the wreckage, asking around until they finally located Chief Smith. The chief was personally helping dig people out from a collapsed building and was completely swamped.

When he heard someone calling out, Chief Smith looked up and, spotting Wang Bo, let out a small sigh of relief. “Wang, how’s your area? How many people did you bring?”

Wang Bo replied, “You know, there aren’t many people or buildings in my town. And we’re far from the epicenter, so we’re in pretty good shape. I brought everyone I could. What about Oak City?”

Chief Smith sighed. “It was affected too. A few buildings collapsed, but based on current reports, no casualties so far. Wanderer Town’s in a worse situation, as you can see. We’ve called in police and fire units from all around.”

He assigned Wang Bo to a task. Only then did Wang Bo realize the disaster scene wasn’t as chaotic as it looked. Police and firefighters were each leading small teams of residents to rescue people.

Wang Bo was given a team of ten Māori locals. Including Hani, Charlie, Bowen, Anderson, and Juan, that made fifteen men under his command. And of course, one dog—Zhuang Ding had come along too.

After learning some buildings had collapsed in Oak City, his first instinct was to call Eva.

The signal had been restored, but no one picked up—he tried multiple times, growing more anxious with each failed attempt.

Still, he couldn’t leave for Oak City. He had a mission now.

Putting away his phone, Wang Bo looked around. He hadn’t received any formal disaster relief training, so he didn’t know what to do. He turned to Charlie and asked, “Old Charlie, what’s the priority here?”

Charlie frowned deeply, lines creasing his forehead. “Do we have any personnel lists? Which households are unaccounted for? Which buildings should be rescue priorities?”

A local Māori, voice trembling, said, “There’s no way to tell. We have to go house to house. We don’t even know where help is most needed…”

In other areas, things might have been easier—New Zealand homes generally had good earthquake resistance. But Wanderer Town was mainly inhabited by Māori, whose houses were built in traditional styles—mostly wood and stone. Once they collapsed, rescue became extremely difficult.

What was worse, there was no coordination—no disaster command center. Wang Bo had only seen Chief Smith so far. No town mayor, no inspectors—no one else.

Nearby, several people were digging furiously at a collapsed house. Wang Bo ran over and asked, “Hey, guys—are there people trapped under here? Do you need help?”

A burly man replied, “We’re not sure. Maybe. But even if there’s no one under here, we have to dig it out. If there is someone, then our help is necessary, right?”

Wang Bo was nearly at a loss for words. Even without being a professional rescuer, he knew this mindset—better to waste effort than miss a chance—doesn’t apply to disaster relief.

The first hours of rescue work are the golden window. You have to focus all resources on the most effective rescue efforts. What they were wasting wasn’t just strength—it was time.

And right now, time was the most precious resource.

Charlie understood too. He shouted, “Hasn’t anyone done a proper headcount? Is there no rescue priority system at all?”

A few of the Māori with them were losing patience. One of them snapped, “Are you helping or not? Or are you just gonna stand there all day?”

The “strategy” now seemed to be: pick any collapsed house at random and start digging. Whether it was worth the effort didn’t seem to matter.

From the look of things, no one cared whether their work was effective—only that they were working.

But Wang Bo didn’t want that.

He genuinely wanted to make a difference in the face of such despair.