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The Heat Will Kill You First

Life and Death on a Scorched Planet

4.3 (7,460 ratings)
28 minutes read | Text | 9 key ideas
In the crucible of a warming world, where the land smolders and ice turns to water, Jeff Goodell's "The Heat Will Kill You First" unravels the terrifying new normal of climate chaos. With a journalist's keen eye and a storyteller's heart, Goodell plunges into the heart of our planet's fever, where the relentless rise in temperature reveals societal fractures and threatens to reshape our very existence. As heatwaves morph from rare to routine, the once vulnerable become the universal prey. Goodell's incisive narrative weaves cutting-edge science with visceral human stories, warning us of a future where summer days in cities like Chicago and Boston could easily surpass 110°F. This gripping exposé challenges us to confront the existential threat of extreme heat, urging immediate action before it's too late.

Categories

Nonfiction, Health, Science, History, Politics, Nature, Audiobook, Environment, Ecology, Climate Change

Content Type

Book

Binding

Hardcover

Year

2023

Publisher

Little, Brown and Company

Language

English

ASIN

0316497576

ISBN

0316497576

ISBN13

9780316497572

File Download

PDF | EPUB

The Heat Will Kill You First Plot Summary

Introduction

On a scorching summer day in Phoenix, Arizona, temperatures soar above 115 degrees Fahrenheit. The air feels solid, a hazy curtain of heat radiating from parking lots through your shoes. Metal bus stops become convection ovens. Flights delay because planes can't get enough lift in the thin, hot air. In such extreme conditions, electricity isn't merely a convenience—it's a survival tool. This scene, once exceptional, increasingly represents our new normal as rising temperatures reshape human experience across the planet. Heat is not merely a rise in temperature; it's a fundamental force that has shaped life on Earth since its fiery beginnings. From the evolutionary adaptations that allowed our ancestors to hunt on the African savanna to the modern infrastructure that enables cities like Dubai and Singapore to exist in hostile climates, our relationship with heat defines where and how we live. Yet the accelerating pace of climate change is pushing this relationship into uncharted territory, creating thermal challenges that fall unequally along lines of wealth, geography, and power. Understanding this evolutionary journey—how humans have managed heat throughout history and how rising temperatures are transforming our world—offers crucial insights for navigating our increasingly hot future.

Chapter 1: Evolutionary Origins: Heat Management as Survival Strategy

When we think about the origins of heat management on our planet, we must travel back to the earliest days of Earth's formation, when the planet was a stupendously hot, incredibly dense nugget that gradually cooled as it expanded. Life emerged around volcanoes that rose above the primordial ocean, in hot geyser-fed ponds bubbling with organic compounds. For the first three and a half billion years of evolution, creatures managed heat by letting their body temperatures change with their environment—these "cold-blooded" animals, or ectotherms, warm themselves by basking in sunlight or sitting on warm rocks. Around 260 million years ago, a revolutionary heat management strategy emerged: some animals developed the ability to control their internal temperature regardless of external conditions. These "warm-blooded" animals, or endotherms, effectively turned their bodies into heat engines, allowing them to operate independently of environmental temperatures. This evolutionary leap gave mammals and birds tremendous advantages, enabling more precise functioning of cells in the nervous system, heart, and muscles. Our human ancestors took heat management even further as they ventured from the trees onto the savanna, evolving two crucial adaptations: bipedalism and eccrine sweat glands. Standing upright helped early humans catch breezes and dissipate body heat more easily, while the development of millions of eccrine sweat glands across their bodies created an internal sprinkler system that doused their skin with water when overheated. As this water evaporated, it carried heat away, cooling both skin and the blood circulating beneath it. To make this cooling system even more effective, our ancestors lost most of their body hair, which would have interfered with efficient heat transfer. These innovations gave early humans remarkable advantages—unlike other predators that had to stop and pant when overheated, humans could sweat while continuing to move. This evolutionary advantage allowed early humans to venture farther from water holes, travel longer distances, and expand their hunting range. They became excellent hot-weather hunters who could pursue prey in the midday heat when other animals couldn't function. In the Kalahari Desert, modern hunter-gatherers still demonstrate this ability, chasing kudus (a type of antelope) for hours until the animals collapse from heat exhaustion. However, the heat management strategies that served us well for millennia have been optimized for the "Goldilocks Zone" we've inhabited for the past ten thousand years. As our planet rapidly warms due to human activities, these adaptations may no longer be sufficient—we're like silent film actors suddenly cast in speaking roles, our evolutionary skills no longer matching the world we now inhabit.

Chapter 2: Urban Heat Islands: The Making of Temperature Inequality

In downtown Phoenix during a scorching summer day, the sunshine assaults you, driving you to seek cover. The air feels solid, a hazy, ozone-soaked curtain of heat radiating up from parking lots through your shoes. Metal bus stops become convection ovens. Flights delay at Sky Harbor International Airport because planes can't get enough lift in the thin, hot air. Power lines sag and buzz, overloaded with electrons as air-conditioning demand pushes the electrical grid to its limits. Modern cities are empires of asphalt, concrete, and steel—materials that absorb and amplify heat during the day, then radiate it back at night. Air conditioners exhaust hot air, exacerbating urban heat buildup. This phenomenon, known as the urban heat island effect, can make downtown areas up to twenty degrees hotter than surrounding rural regions. In Phoenix, there were 339 heat-related deaths in 2021, more than triple the number from a decade earlier. A recent study by the National Academy of Sciences found that globally, heat risk in urban areas has tripled over the last forty years, putting 1.7 billion people at risk. The cascading dangers of extreme heat in urban areas create the potential for catastrophic failures. Mikhail Chester, director of the Metis Center for Infrastructure and Sustainable Engineering at Arizona State University, envisions a scenario beginning with a blackout triggered by a wildfire knocking out a major power line or a substation failure. Without air-conditioning, temperatures in homes and office buildings would soar. Traffic signals would fail, highways would gridlock with people fleeing the overheated city. Urban heat creates islands of isolation and hardship, especially for those without means or social connections to access cool spaces. Consider Anjalai, a thirty-nine-year-old woman living in a small hut with a palm-leaf roof in Chennai, India. During May, the hottest month, her daily routines are defined by heat. Before leaving for work cleaning houses, she wets down the thatched roof and spreads water around the dirt base of her hut. She worries constantly about her husband, who works in construction outdoors with no respite in air-conditioning. In wealthy neighborhoods, she finds temporary relief working indoors in air-conditioned homes, but must eventually return to her sweltering community. The heat burden falls unequally along lines of class, wealth, and often race. Temperature itself becomes a signifier of privilege. In Portland, Oregon, Professor Vivek Shandas measured a 25-degree temperature difference between Lents, one of Portland's poorest neighborhoods with few trees and abundant concrete, and Willamette Heights, a tree-lined suburb where the median house price is about $1 million. As cities grow and temperatures rise, the future increasingly resembles a kind of temperature apartheid, where some people chill in bubbles of cool air while others simmer in debilitating heat—hardly the foundation for a just, equitable, or peaceful world.

Chapter 3: Climate Migration: Species and Human Movement in Warming World

As the world heats up, it moves. This is true at the molecular level as well as the species level. All creatures, from ancient cedars to microbes in deep thermal vents, have evolved within specific temperature ranges. When those ranges change too rapidly, living things must find more habitable climate niches or perish. For humans, the decision to stay or flee extremely hot places often depends on money, which buys access to cooling systems, clean water, and food. But most living things don't have the luxury of air conditioning or ordering cases of bottled water. For them, adaptation often means moving to higher latitudes or elevations where temperatures are cooler. In the past decade, scientists tracking four thousand species found that between 40 and 70 percent had altered their distribution. On average, terrestrial creatures are moving nearly twenty kilometers every decade, while marine creatures move four times faster. Some animals are making spectacular leaps—Atlantic cod are moving north at a rate of a hundred miles per decade. In the Andes, frogs and fungi species have climbed four hundred meters upward over the past seventy years. Even seemingly immobile creatures like coral polyps in Japan are traveling about two miles north every year. Plants are on the move too. In the eastern United States, trees are shifting north and westward at an average rate of about two miles per decade. Among the speediest travelers are white spruce, migrating north at about sixty miles each decade. Not all species can relocate easily. Polar bears need floating sea ice to hunt seals; without it, they starve. Arctic birds like thick-billed murres and snowy buntings, with dark feathers that absorb heat, have nowhere cooler to go. The climate crisis has put humans on the run as well. Unpredictable rainfall in Southeast Asia has pushed more than eight million people toward the Middle East, Europe, and North America. In the African Sahel, millions of rural people stream toward coasts and cities amid drought and widespread crop failures. The UN estimates that seven hundred million people will be on the move by 2030. In 2022, catastrophic floods in Pakistan—caused partly by heat-driven glacier melt in the Himalayas—displaced 33 million people, about 15 percent of the country's population. Surprisingly, the 2020 US census revealed that Americans are moving toward places with the highest climate risks—especially extreme heat. According to an analysis by Redfin, a real estate brokerage, the fifty US counties with the largest share of homes facing high heat risk saw their populations increase by an average of 4.7 percent from 2016 through 2020. The most attractive hot place in America was Williamson County, Texas, part of the Austin metro area, which saw its population grow 16 percent despite every home facing high heat risk. Climate migration decisions are complex and deeply personal, involving weighing risks against opportunities, family connections against environmental threats. But as temperatures continue to rise, the calculus of these decisions will inevitably shift, reshaping human geography in ways we're only beginning to understand.

Chapter 4: Oceanic Transformation: Marine Ecosystems Under Heat Pressure

The Blob went unnoticed at first. In the summer of 2013, a high-pressure ridge settled over a Texas-size area in the northern Pacific, pushing the sky down over the ocean like an invisible hand. Without waves and wind to break up the surface and dissipate heat, warmth accumulated in the water, eventually raising temperatures by five degrees—a huge spike for the ocean. When scientists noticed this temperature anomaly in satellite data, they had never seen anything like it. Nick Bond, a climatologist at the University of Washington, nicknamed it the "Blob," after a campy 1958 sci-fi movie about a gelatinous monster. This oceanic heat wave proved far more deadly than anything Hollywood had imagined. The hot water killed phytoplankton—microscopic algae—that live in the top few hundred feet of the ocean. The tiny organisms that feast on them starved, including krill, the small shrimplike creatures that are preferred food for whales, salmon, seabirds, and many other creatures. By killing phytoplankton, the Blob disrupted the entire Pacific food chain. Over the next two years, it drifted down the coast from Alaska to California, causing thousands of whale and sea lion strandings, the collapse of the Alaska cod fishery, the vanishing of great kelp forests, and the starvation and death of a million seabirds—the largest single mass mortality of seabirds ever recorded. Despite our intimate connection to the sea, for most of human history the ocean has been as strange to us as a distant planet. Scientists still have only a vague understanding of how ocean currents are driven, how ocean temperatures impact cloud formation, or what creatures thrive in the depths. But they know enough to recognize that the ocean is undergoing profound changes. Until now, the ocean has been the hero of the climate crisis—about 90 percent of the additional heat trapped by greenhouse gases has been absorbed by it. "Without the ocean, the atmosphere would be a lot hotter than it already is," explains Ken Caldeira, a senior climate scientist with Breakthrough Energy. But that heat hasn't vanished—it's stored in the depths and will be radiated out later. Marine heat waves are driving a massive reorganization of underwater life. "Right now, you can go diving off the Monterey pier and see spiny lobsters," says Kyle Van Houtan, former chief scientist at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. "They are a subtropical species normally found in Baja. It's absurd to see them up here." Bull sharks now hang out off North Carolina, five hundred miles north of their Florida habitat. Lobsters have vanished from Long Island Sound. These migrations are radically changing underwater ecosystems and the lives of people who depend on healthy fisheries. Nations in the tropics will likely be hit hardest—by 2100, some countries in northwest Africa could lose half their fish stocks as species move to colder waters. Marine heat waves are also inflicting massive damage on coral reefs. Australia's Great Barrier Reef, a UNESCO World Heritage site visible from space, has suffered six bleaching events since 1998. According to Terry Hughes, a marine scientist at James Cook University, 93 percent of the corals have been impacted. "We've now added enough greenhouse gases to the atmosphere that mass bleaching is at risk every summer," Hughes warns. "It's like Russian roulette." By midcentury, virtually every reef in the world could be eroding away—a staggering loss for ecosystems that have thrived for 250 million years.

Chapter 5: Labor in Extreme Heat: The Human Cost of Rising Temperatures

On the first day of the Pacific Northwest heat wave in 2021, Sebastian Perez worked alone in a field at Ernst Nursery & Farms in Oregon's Willamette Valley. He had arrived from Guatemala two months earlier, hoping to earn money to build a small house for himself and his wife, Maria. As temperatures climbed past 100 degrees, Perez dragged thirty-pound irrigation pipes between rows of young trees. By early afternoon, with the temperature reaching 106 degrees and still climbing, his heart pounded and he felt light-headed. Around 3 p.m., as other workers finished for the day, they found Perez lying in the field, barely breathing. They gave him water and dragged him to the shade of a Douglas fir, but it was too late. By the time the ambulance arrived, Perez had stopped breathing. For a middle-class American, the risk of extreme heat might seem manageable—you stay indoors with air conditioning, run errands in the early morning, wear hats and cool clothes. But for fifteen million Americans who work outdoors or in poorly designed buildings, heat is a workplace hazard they confront daily. Postal workers and delivery drivers are particularly vulnerable, as their vehicles often lack air conditioning and heat up like convection ovens. In 2021, Jose Cruz Rodriguez Jr., a twenty-three-year-old UPS driver, was found dead in the company's parking lot in Waco, Texas, just days after starting the job. "People are dropping like flies out here," one UPS driver told the New York Times. Farmworkers face even greater risks. A 2015 study found they are thirty-five times more likely to die from heat-related causes than those in other occupations. In Qatar, where tens of thousands of migrant workers labored to build stadiums for the 2022 FIFA World Cup in temperatures as high as 113 degrees, hundreds or thousands died from heat exposure despite regulations prohibiting outdoor work in unshaded areas during the hottest hours. Beyond the immediate risks of heatstroke, there can be serious long-term health consequences. In El Salvador and Costa Rica, an epidemic of chronic kidney disease has killed twenty thousand sugarcane workers since 2002. The disease is rising among workers in hot climates worldwide, including Florida and California. Heat also reduces productivity and increases workplace accidents. Researchers at UCLA found that even a modest temperature rise led to twenty thousand additional injuries per year in California, with a social cost of $1 billion. Worker productivity losses from extreme heat in the US totaled $100 billion in 2020 and could grow to $500 billion by 2050. The economic impacts will be felt most powerfully in the Global South. In Dhaka, Bangladesh, heat and humidity already cause productivity losses of about $6 billion each year, primarily affecting sidewalk vendors, garment workers, and brickmakers. Despite these risks, there are no federal rules in the US related to heat exposure for workers. Farmworkers, who are excluded from national laws requiring overtime pay and the right to collective bargaining, are particularly vulnerable. At the time of Perez's death, only California and Washington had rules for outdoor workers. In Oregon, farmworker advocates had been fighting for heat rules for nearly a decade without success. A few weeks after Perez's death, officials in Washington and Oregon finally announced emergency rules requiring shade and drinking water whenever temperatures rise above 80 degrees. Had these rules been in place, would they have saved Perez's life? It's impossible to say. But the simple truth remains: in twenty-first-century America, nobody should be doing physical labor in an open field when it's 107 degrees.

Chapter 6: Melting Ice: Antarctica's Rapid Changes and Global Consequences

Antarctica is the size of the United States and Mexico combined, with a permanent population of zero. Seventy percent of the Earth's water is frozen here in ice sheets that can be nearly three miles thick. Until recently, climate scientists didn't worry much about Antarctica. It is, after all, the coldest place on Earth, and except for a small part of the Antarctic Peninsula, it hadn't been heating up much. The United Nations' Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change projected from 1.2 to 3.2 feet of global sea-level rise by 2100, with very little coming from Antarctic ice sheets. But then things got weird. The first alarming event was the sudden collapse in 2002 of the Larsen B ice shelf, a vast chunk of ice on the Antarctic Peninsula. An ice shelf is like an enormous fingernail that grows off the end of a glacier where it meets the water. The glaciers behind the Larsen B, like many in Antarctica, are known as marine-terminating glaciers because large portions lie below sea level. Ice shelves don't directly contribute to sea-level rise since they're already floating, but they perform the crucial role of buttressing, or restraining, the glaciers behind them. After Larsen B vanished, the glaciers it had been holding back started flowing into the sea eight times faster than before. Satellite imagery showed ice shelves throughout the continent were thinning, especially in West Antarctica. Scientists discovered that due to changes in winds and ocean circulation, more warm deep water was being pushed up under the ice shelves, melting them from below. "Just one degree of change is a big deal to a glacier," explained Ted Scambos of the National Snow and Ice Data Center. The whole continent was in dramatic flux—ice shelves thinning, warmer water pushing beneath glaciers, and glaciers flowing faster. "Antarctica used to be the sleeping elephant," said Mark Serreze, head of the National Snow and Ice Data Center. "But now the elephant is stirring." The first person to understand the risks of a sudden collapse of West Antarctica was Ohio State glaciologist John Mercer. In the 1970s, Mercer focused on the floating ice shelves that buttress West Antarctic glaciers. Because they're thinner and floating in the ocean, they'll be the first to go as waters warm. When they do, they'll not only reduce friction that slows the glaciers' slide into the sea, but they'll change the glaciers' balance, causing them to float off their grounding lines. This would accelerate their retreat down the reverse slope beneath them, creating what scientists call marine ice-sheet instability—essentially, a mechanism for catastrophic sea-level rise. In 2019, the first expedition of a $50-million, five-year-long joint research project between the National Science Foundation and the British Antarctic Survey set out to explore the risk of sudden collapse of Thwaites Glacier, one of the largest in West Antarctica. Nicknamed the "Doomsday Glacier," Thwaites could contribute several feet to global sea-level rise if it collapsed. Scientists on the expedition found evidence of rapid melting, with warm circumpolar deep water flowing beneath the glacier. The ice shelf was more chaotic than expected, with big crevasses and sloping shoulders indicating significant melting at the base. For Peter Sheehan, a young researcher on the expedition, the sight of Thwaites was overwhelming: "For me, it's hard to envisage something so big, so permanent, so vast, to be as fragile as it is. We equate size and grandeur with permanence—like you look at a mountain, and you think, That will always be there. But looking at Thwaites forces you to realize that is not always the case."

Chapter 7: Disease Expansion: How Heat Redraws Pathogen Boundaries

In the summer of 2020, Jennifer Jones was bitten by a mosquito while gardening at her home in the Florida Keys. It wasn't a garden-variety mosquito but Aedes aegypti, an exquisitely designed killing machine that is one of the deadliest animals in human history. The mosquito carried dengue fever, a tropical disease also known as "breakbone fever" because it makes sufferers feel like their bones are breaking. A week after the bite, Jones developed a fever, rashes, and pain behind her eyes. "I felt like I was a ninety-nine-year-old lady who had been hit by a truck," she recalled. Her son soon showed symptoms too, as the Florida Keys experienced a dengue outbreak amid the COVID-19 pandemic. Heat rearranges the natural world and rewrites disease algorithms on our planet. It creates new opportunities for microbes, opening fresh biological landscapes for them to explore. According to the World Health Organization, before 1970, only nine countries had severe dengue epidemics. Today, the disease is endemic in a hundred countries, with an estimated 390 million infections annually. As the world warms, making more of the planet comfortable for heat-loving Aedes aegypti, the mosquito's range will expand northward and to higher altitudes. By 2080, five billion people—60 percent of the world's population—may be at risk for dengue. "We have entered a pandemic era," wrote Dr. Anthony Fauci in a paper with colleague David Morens, citing HIV/AIDS and "unprecedented pandemic explosions" of the past decade, including H1N1 influenza, chikungunya, Zika, Ebola, and various coronaviruses. While the precise origins of COVID-19 remain unclear, the simplest explanation involves a virus emerging from horseshoe bats in southern China before making the jump to humans. The pandemic has infected more than 680 million people and caused nearly seven million deaths worldwide. Yet scientists warn we got lucky—COVID-19 is relatively docile compared to other potential pathogens. "Imagine a disease with seventy-five percent case fatality that is equally transmissible," says Stephen Luby of Stanford University. "That would be an existential threat to human civilization." Climate change is accelerating disease emergence in multiple ways. Thawing permafrost in the Arctic is releasing pathogens that haven't seen daylight for tens of thousands of years. Vibrio bacteria that cause cholera thrive in warmer waters. But the biggest impact may come from new pathogens jumping from animals to humans. As species migrate to more hospitable environments due to rising temperatures, they encounter new animals and humans they've never crossed paths with before. Colin Carlson of Georgetown University calls these events "meet cutes"—random encounters where viruses jump species and new diseases are born. Bats are particularly effective disease carriers. The list of viruses that have jumped from bats to humans includes Hendra, Marburg, Ebola, and rabies. "Climate change is affecting bats in profound ways," explains Raina Plowright of Montana State University. "Many bat species are insectivorous, so climate change has a big impact on their food sources, as well as on their physiological stress and where they live and how they interact with humans." As climate disrupts their natural habitats and food sources, bats increasingly move into human settlements, creating more opportunities for viruses to spill over. Mosquitoes and ticks are also expanding their ranges as temperatures rise. Aedes aegypti, which can carry dengue, Zika, yellow fever, and chikungunya, is moving into previously inhospitable areas like Mexico City. In Nepal, dengue cases jumped from 135 in 2015 to over 28,000 in just nine months of 2022. Meanwhile, ticks are moving as much as thirty miles north each year. The Asian longhorned tick, first reported in New Jersey in 2017, has spread to at least nine states and continues to expand as winters grow milder. As Dennis Bente, who studies tick-borne diseases at the Galveston National Laboratory, puts it: "Nature is complex. I don't like the narrative that says we are one tick bite away from catastrophe. But at the same time, I can't say it won't happen."

Summary

The Heat Age represents a fundamental shift in Earth's operating conditions, one that is reshaping every aspect of life on our planet. Heat is not merely rising temperatures on a thermometer—it is an active force that can bend railroad tracks and kill before you understand your life is at risk. As a prime mover of the climate crisis, heat drives cascading effects from sea-level rise to drought to wildfires. It creates temperature apartheid in cities, forces mass migrations of species and humans, transforms marine ecosystems, endangers vulnerable workers, accelerates ice melt, and expands the boundaries of disease. These impacts fall unequally, with the poor and marginalized suffering first and most severely. The story of heat is ultimately about adaptation and its limits. Throughout evolution, species have developed remarkable strategies to manage heat, from the eccrine sweat glands that gave our ancestors an edge on the savanna to the air conditioning that enabled the development of the American Sun Belt. But these adaptations have costs and boundaries. As temperatures continue to rise, we face difficult questions about who can adapt, who will be left behind, and what kind of world we're creating. The choices we make now—about fossil fuel consumption, urban design, worker protections, and global cooperation—will determine whether we can build a future where all life can thrive within its Goldilocks Zone, or whether we continue down a path where heat becomes an increasingly destructive and divisive force.

Best Quote

“Heat moves less like a river through a canyon and more like laughter through a crowd,” writes physicist Brian Greene.” ― Jeff Goodell, The Heat Will Kill You First: Life and Death on a Scorched Planet

Review Summary

Strengths: The review highlights the book's engaging narrative style, describing it as more than just a factual account but a vivid "travelogue of a dying Earth." The writing is praised for being riveting and effectively conveying the horror of climate change impacts, with comparisons to Jeff Vandermeer’s work. The book's ability to make statistics and environmental effects come alive is also noted as a strength. Weaknesses: Not explicitly mentioned. Overall Sentiment: Enthusiastic Key Takeaway: The reviewer is highly impressed by the book's ability to transform the dire realities of climate change into a compelling and impactful narrative, making complex environmental issues both accessible and emotionally resonant.

About Author

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Jeff Goodell Avatar

Jeff Goodell

Jeff Goodell’s latest book is The Heat Will Kill You First: Life and Death on a Scorched Planet. He is the author of six previous books, including The Water Will Come: Rising Seas, Sinking Cities, and the Remaking of the Civilized World, which was a New York Times Critics Top Book of 2017. He has covered climate change for more than two decades at Rolling Stone and discussed climate and energy issues on NPR, MSNBC, CNN, CNBC, ABC, NBC, Fox News and The Oprah Winfrey Show. He is a Senior Fellow at the Adrienne Arsht-Rockefeller Foundation Resilience Center and a 2020 Guggenheim Fellow.

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The Heat Will Kill You First

By Jeff Goodell

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