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Lon Walker sits in the cab of his big rig and presses his cell phone to his ear, trying to hear the voice on the other end over the noise of the traffic around him. What was the name again? Ellen Walker. She's 72 years old with short curly hair. I'm sorry, sir. We don't have any patients by that name or matching that description. Thank you.
Walker hangs up the phone. He's called every hospital in the area, but he's had no luck finding his wife. He stares down at his phone, praying that Ellen calls. He just wants to know she's alive. It's the afternoon of November 8th, 2018. Walker is parked on the shoulder just a few feet away from a police roadblock near Oroville, California.
He left his home in Conkow, 20 miles north of here, early this morning. He was 100 miles away from home when he heard that a fire had broken out and that Conkow's residents had to evacuate.
Walker turned right around and headed home. His wife Ellen suffers from fibromyalgia and migraines and is frequently bedridden. He didn't think she could evacuate on her own, but police officers refused to let him enter the area. He told them that he needed to get to his wife, but they didn't budge. Now, he's been parked outside the roadblock for hours, determined to go home the second the police lift the barricade.
Walker's phone rings. He checks the caller ID. It's one of the neighbors. His hands shake as he answers. Nerves, hope, fear all course through him. Hi, Lon. I was calling to... Is Ellen with you? I'm sorry, Lon. We stopped by your place when we evacuated. We knocked, but no one answered. Walker feels like he's been punched in the stomach. Oh, okay. Maybe someone else picked her up first.
Yes, I'm sure that's what happened. Thanks. Thanks for calling. Walker hangs up. He ignores the little voice in his head that tells him Ellen was asleep and missed the neighbor knocking. The medication she takes can put her out cold. He tries to remind himself that he doesn't know what happened for sure. In 2008, a fire came roaring through Con Cow. Their neighbor's house burnt to the ground, but their house was untouched.
Miracles happen. Walker just has to keep the faith. He picks up the phone and tries Ellen's cell phone again. He's going to find her. He has to.
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On the morning of November 8th, 2018, a blaze called the Camp Fire broke out in Butte County, California. High winds and dry vegetation from years of drought caused the fire to spread at historic speeds. Soon after ignition, it reached the small towns of Pulga and Conkow.
Ninety minutes later, it spread to Paradise, a town of 27,000 people. The city was ordered to evacuate. Built on a mountain ridge, Paradise only had four roads leading out of town. All of them soon became snarled in traffic, unable to accommodate the volume of cars all at once.
Residents and first responders became trapped as the flames engulfed the town. They were forced to find refuge anywhere they could. By the mid-afternoon, the fire had largely moved through Paradise. But the town that people had known and loved was destroyed, leaving survivors to deal with the devastation and loss. This is Episode 4, Containment.
Rachelle Sanders cradles her newborn son Lincoln as she stares out the car window. She looks at the burned trees and smoldering shrubs along the side of the road. The ash that coats everything. It's a horrific scene, like something from a post-apocalyptic movie.
It's the afternoon on November 8th, 2018. Rachelle and Lincoln are finally on their way to Chico with David, the hospital tech that evacuated them and his Nissan sedan. They first left Feather River Hospital around 8:30 this morning, but as the fire approached, they got stuck in traffic. It ended up being safer to go back to Feather River.
Half an hour ago, they were given the okay to leave the hospital for a second time. Soon, Rochelle will be at the Enloe Medical Center in Chico. Her husband, Chris, will be waiting for her there. Her baby, Lincoln, will get examined. And Rochelle will get postnatal care. The incision from her C-section aches, and her legs still feel weak.
Rochelle feels the car slowing. They're approaching Highway 99, which will take them north to Chico. They're 12 miles outside of Paradise, ahead of the fire for now, but it's coming this way. She looks out the windshield and sees a police barricade ahead.
What's going on? I don't know. David rolls down the window and speaks to the police officer manning the barrier. Excuse me, officer. I have two evacuees from Feather River Hospital. We need to get to the Enloe Medical Center in Chico. The policeman shakes his head. The highway's closed. Sir, one of these patients is a premature baby less than 24 hours old. This area is under an evacuation order. You'll have to head south to the hospital in Oroville.
Rochelle feels her breathing getting faster. She can't go to Oroville. That's a small hospital. Lincoln was born three weeks premature, and he's been inhaling smoke all day. The hospital in Oroville won't have the resources to take care of him. All the trauma of the day is catching up to her, and she's on the edge of her breaking point. She just wants to get her son the medical care he needs. David pulls onto the shoulder.
We're gonna figure this out, I promise. But Rochelle can't be comforted. Not by him. Right now, she just wants her husband. Rochelle picks up her phone and dials Chris's number. She knows it probably won't go through. She's already tried him dozens of times. But she needs to hear his voice.
To her surprise, after half a ring, Chris answers. Rochelle, are you okay? Where are you? How's Lincoln? Rochelle is so surprised, she can't speak at first. Rochelle, are you there? Can you hear me? Rochelle pulls herself together, getting control of her emotions as best she can. I'm here. Thank God. She quickly tells him where they are and how they can't get to Chico.
Chris doesn't flinch. We're getting you and Lincoln to Enloe. Don't worry. There are other ways into Chico besides Highway 99. Put the driver on the phone. I'm going to tell him where to go. Rochelle closes her eyes in relief. Chris grew up here. He knows every back road in the county. If anyone can find a way around the roadblocks, it's him. School bus driver Kevin McKay pulls into the parking lot of Biggs Elementary School.
An American flag and California's state flag each flap in the wind. Leafy green trees and grass dot the area. It feels calm and tranquil after what he's seen in paradise. There's nothing burning, nothing turned to ash. It's mid-afternoon on November 8th, 2018 in Biggs, California, 30 miles southwest of paradise.
The original plan had been to bring the kids to a school in Chico, but those roads were closed, so they came here instead. For six hours, McKay drove a bus holding 22 kids and two teachers through an inferno. And now, at last, he's brought them to safety. McKay opens the doors. Mary Ludwig and Abby Davis, the two teachers, lead the kids off, but McKay doesn't move.
He just watches as the kids step out onto the parking lot. Many of them cough from all the smoke they've inhaled during the journey. They all seem dazed.
An administrator comes bursting through the school doors into the parking lot, her arms extended out. "Hello! We're so glad you're here safe and sound. Come on in! We have water and snacks inside and a movie set up. You can all sit and relax while we wait for your parents, okay?" The kids follow the administrator inside the school. Ludwig stops and looks back at McKay. "You coming? In a minute. I'm just gonna do an inventory of the bus."
Ludwig takes a few steps and then turns back. "I truly believe you were sent from heaven to drive those kids to safety. You're a hero." McKay blushes and looks away. "I was just doing my job." Ludwig shakes her head at his modesty and follows the children inside the school.
McKay goes through his post-drive checklist. He checks the brakes, the blinkers, the fluids. He walks the aisle, picking up any trash. The ritual calms him. The bus has been through the ringer. It reeks of smoke and body odor. The ceiling is black with soot. Ash covers the seats. But McKay feels an immense sense of pride in the old bus. It's a battle wagon now.
As he exits, he pats the side of it like a trusty steed. You did good. He walks across the parking lot to the school. He's going to wait until the last kid is picked up. And if any of the parents can't get there, he'll take the kid somewhere else. After all, he's their bus driver.
Police officer Rob Nichols holds up his hands. He's trying to get the dozens of people crowded around him at the Optimo lounge to settle down. But he's having no luck. If you please just listen. You can't make us stay here. That's kidnapping. Nichols sighs, frustrated. He understands that people are tired, hungry, and scared. But there's a plan. He just needs them to listen to it.
Nichols, a handful of other first responders, and more than 100 residents have spent several hours huddled in this paradise mini mall. They've waited out the fire amidst the redwood paneled walls and vinyl covered booths. With no good routes out of town available, this was the safest place to wait for the fire front to pass. Now it's safe enough to leave, and Nichols has scouted an exit route. But he wants an orderly exodus.
Safe enough to leave doesn't mean it's actually safe. Spot fires still rage throughout the town, and they could expand with the slightest shift in the wind. Nichols tries again. There are buses on the way. They will— I'm not abandoning my car. Me neither. A sharp whistle pierces the din, and the room instantly quiets. Nichols sees the highest-ranking firefighter standing on a chair in the middle of the room.
He looks around with a scowl on his face. Listen up. This is what we're going to do. If you have enough gas to get down the mountain, you can drive. The rest of you are going to get on the buses. The firefighter whistles again. I'm not done. Those of you driving, you will follow the given route exactly. You will not go look at your house. You will not go look for your cat. There are not enough firefighters to rescue you. Do you understand me?
Good. Officer Nichols is going to tell you the route. Listen carefully. Nichols clears his throat and relays the route. People actually listen this time. Soon, the buses arrive, and the people who need them get on board with little complaint. Nichols spends the next hour helping people back to their cars and directing traffic. Finally, the Optimal Lounge is cleared out.
Nichols hops in his cruiser. More Paradise residents have been waiting out the fire at a nearby Kmart, and he's going to help direct them out of town. As he drives away from the mini mall, he sees the roof of the Optimo ignite. It's a stark reminder that the fire is far from contained. Rachelle Sanders rubs her cheek on her pink hospital gown.
The garment is tattered and smudged with gray streaks. It's barely covering her at this point. Tears of relief pour down her face. It's afternoon. David is pulling up in front of the Enloe Medical Center in Chico while Chris parks his car. The cream-colored building is the most beautiful place Rochelle has ever seen. She can't believe she's actually finally here.
Half an hour ago, David and Richelle met Chris on a back road in Richvale, a small town 17 miles south of Chico. Richelle quickly greeted her husband, and they decided she should stay in David's car. Chris led them through the back roads among the rice fields that dominate the area. Just as he promised, he found them a way to Chico. A nurse opens the door to the car while an orderly pushes over a wheelchair.
The nurse takes Lincoln from Rochelle, tucking him gently in the crook of her arm. "You're from Paradise, right? This is the premature baby?" Rochelle nods, too overwhelmed to speak. "Great, we've been expecting you." Chris comes rushing over from the parking lot. He and the orderly help Rochelle into the wheelchair. Before Rochelle knows what's happening, she's being wheeled inside. Nurses, doctors, and other staff rush around her under the fluorescent lights.
The nurse keeps talking as she walks beside the wheelchair. "We're going to get you admitted and take your baby straight for testing, okay?" Rochelle nods. The nurse places a hand on her shoulder. "Good job, Mama. You got here." Rochelle starts to say that, actually, it was David who got her here. When she remembers she hasn't said goodbye to him. That she hasn't thanked him for everything he did to keep her and Lincoln safe.
She whips around in her wheelchair, ignoring the searing pain in her incision. She sees David pulling away from the hospital in his car. Rochelle waves, trying to communicate all of her gratitude in this one gesture. She's not sure if he sees her. Rochelle looks up at Chris. "I don't even know his last name." Chris squeezes her shoulder and smiles, not knowing what to say.
Rochelle slumps back in her chair, letting her body fully relax for the first time in ages. She made it. When you're hiring, time is of the essence. That's why more than 3.5 million businesses worldwide use Indeed to find exceptional talent fast. Indeed's powerful matching engine works quickly. So quickly that, according to Indeed data worldwide, every minute 23 hires are made on Indeed.
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Deese and her father Gordy have spent the whole day making their property defensible, watering their roof and the plants around their house, using a weed whacker to cut back nearby undergrowth. They thought they could ride out this fire rather than evacuate. But as they were eating dinner, they saw the glow of the flames close by. When they went outside for a better look, both sides of the canyon were ablaze. They knew that they had to get out immediately.
Anna got their two dogs, Luna and Sirius, into the back of her car. But Gordy insisted on going in for one last thing. And now, that looks to be a fatal mistake. The car parked next to Anna's bursts into flames. If the fire spreads to hers, she'll be trapped. Anna starts the engine and shifts into reverse, still honking and screaming for her dad.
But when she hits the gas, the car doesn't move. She presses her foot down harder. She can feel the wheels turning, but the car stays in place. Her breath goes fast and shallow. Anna cracks open the door of the car and looks down. Her tires are oozing into the ground, melted like cheese on a pizza. A chill comes over her despite the extreme heat. She's trapped in this ferocious blaze.
She looks at the house. The flames have taken it. There's no way her father has survived. And if she doesn't move, she won't either. Anna flings open the door and jumps out of the car. She opens the back door and her two dogs jump out.
Anna runs down the driveway away from the house. Her dogs are right next to her. Flames surround them, tearing across the property. Behind her, the car she just left erupts into flames. Frantic, Anna runs onto the uneven road. The land around her is all pine trees, dried grass, and wooden fences. The fire will rip through it in no time, and she won't be able to outrun it.
As she approaches her neighbor's property, she spots a ditch. Miraculously, there's water in it. It's not much, but it's something. Anna flings herself into the ditch and the dogs follow. Breathing hard, she splashes herself down with the brown shallow water and then rubs as much as she can over the dogs. They tremble with fear and pant heavily.
Anna huddles with the dogs in the ditch as the fire spreads around her. It's okay. We're okay. Embers shower down on them as flaming leaves and pine cones skitter across the ground. She reaches into her purse and fishes out her phone. She hopes she has service.
She dials with shaking fingers. "911, what's your emergency?" "I'm in Butte Creek Canyon. There's fire everywhere. My car's burnt. I need help." "Give me your exact address." Anna tells her. "We'll send someone as soon as we can." Anna hangs up the phone. She splashes more water on herself and the dogs, hoping it's enough to fend off the embers. They just have to hang on until the fire department arrives.
Dispatcher Beth Bowersox talks into the radio while staring up at a monitor. All around her, other dispatchers work the phones. Sit tight. There's a crew clearing the power line right now, and we have more engines coming in. It's early evening at CAL FIRE's Emergency Command Center in Oroville. Bowersox has been on duty for nearly 24 hours. Her shift was almost over when the call came in this morning about a brush fire near Camp Creek Road.
It's CAL FIRE policy that if an incident occurs at the end of your shift, you stay. So for 12 hours, Bowersox has been communicating with fire officials and answering 911 calls. It's been a long and exhausting day. Too often, she's had to tell the person on the other end of the line that there's nothing she can do to help them.
Bowersox hears footsteps behind her. She turns to see her captain standing over her shoulder. "I know you're scheduled to work the night shift tonight." "Yup." "Enough reinforcements have come in. It's okay if you want to take off and get some rest."
Bauer-Sox's home is in paradise.
Hours earlier, she rushed back to her house and evacuated her cats. But she's certain that by now, her house is gone. Right. I'm so sorry. Bowersock shakes her head. It's okay. I want to work. Her captain looks at her hard for a moment, then nods. All right. We're glad to have you. He walks away. And Bowersock gets back to the radio. Another call has come in.
Lon Walker steps out of his truck and talks to the officer manning the police cordon outside Oroville. Look, I promise I won't get in anyone's way. I just need to go to my house and check if my wife's there. Sir, we have told you, no one can go through. The fire is still burning and the roads are dangerous. I'll assume the risk, okay? Just let me in. I can take care of myself. This isn't a debate, sir.
Walker fumes. It's nighttime on November 8th. Walker has been sitting outside of this police cordon for hours. He's called hospitals. He's called neighbors. He's called Ellen's cell phone dozens of times. And he still has no idea if his wife is okay. He has faith that Ellen's alive, but he needs to get to her. He called the sheriff's department, asked them to check on her, to help her evacuate. But he never heard back.
He doesn't think it's fair. Why are the police keeping him out if nobody else will do anything? The police officer gives Walker a stern look. I don't know if I can put this more plainly. You're not getting through this barrier. Go find somewhere else to spend the night. Defiantly, Walker shuts the door of his truck and stays put. He's spending the night right here. He bows his head and whispers a plea. Dear God, please let Ellen be okay.
Let her know that I'm not giving up. I'll never give up. Just like she always says. Ellen's favorite song is Never Give Up, Jesus is Coming by the Heritage Singers. And Never Give Up has become her catchphrase. Whenever he leaves for work, she kisses him on the cheek and repeats those words to him. Tonight, he's taking them to heart. He's going to do whatever he has to do to find her, even if that means disobeying the police.
Anna Dees jumps as she hears a tree fall in the distance yet again. Trees are falling all around her, and propane tanks have been exploding, but each one startles her. The dogs hate it too. Sirius shakes and whines, his eyes darting in every direction. Luna cowers in fear, trying to make herself as small as possible.
It's night on November 8th. Anna and her dogs have been in this wet ditch for hours. The fire still rages around them. Where is that fire engine? Anna reaches for her phone. The only thing on her she's trying to keep dry. She doesn't have much battery left. She dials 911 again.
911, what's your emergency? I called earlier. I'm stranded in Butte Creek Canyon. I'll send someone as soon as I can, but we just don't have the resources right now. Anna hangs up. Help isn't coming. She's on her own. Another tree cracks and falls over. This one much closer. It hits the ground and the thud echoes in the canyon as a torrent of embers swirls around her. Anna jumps again.
Sirius lets out a whine and bolts out of the ditch, running back up the road toward Anna's house. Sirius, no! Come back! She stands up, determined to run after him, but embers rain down on her. She sinks back into the ditch in defeat. Sirius! She throws her arms around Lumen, burying her face in the dog's fur. It's wet and muddy and reeks of smoke, but Anna doesn't care.
She lost her mom two years ago, and now her dad's gone, and her dog. She sobs with Luna as the fire burns. She just wants to give up. But after a moment, the stubbornness she inherited from her father kicks in. Anna wipes her tears. She can grieve later. This is a time to fight. She's not going to let this fire beat her.
She's getting super tired, so to stay awake, she tells Luna a story from one of her favorite books. It's about a boy in London whose parents died in an accident when he was just a baby. He had to go live with his aunt, uncle, and cousin named Dudley. They treated the boy terribly, making him live in the cupboard under the stairs and mocking the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his face.
A propane tank explodes in the distance. But Anna keeps telling the story. She has to stay awake, or the fire will consume her. This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.
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The sun shines through the smoky haze. Spot fires still burn and trees glow red, but the main fire front has passed through. Anna stayed awake the entire night, telling her dog stories to pass the time. Now it's time to get out of the canyon. Luna follows her out of the ditch. Her pale yellow coat is caked with mud and ash. So is Anna.
In the light of day, Anna sees a duck pond on her neighbor's property that she'd missed the night before. She throws herself down at the side of it and uses her hands to cup water into her mouth. It tastes musty and pieces of silt get in her mouth, but she doesn't care. Luna laps it up as well. Stated for the time being, Deese walks back to her property. She dreads it, but she has to see the damage.
Her heart stops as she approaches. The house has completely collapsed. She shudders as she thinks about her dad, buried under there. She hopes it was quick for him and he didn't suffer. With trepidation, she creeps around the property, taking it all in. This doesn't feel like home anymore. It feels like a foreign land. The car she'd tried to evacuate in is now just a charred, metallic skeleton.
Her dad's vintage motorcycle t-shirts are nothing but ash within. All the vegetables she and her father tended to are burnt to the ground. She struggles to breathe. Her dad was so proud of this property. He passed that pride onto her. And now, the place is decimated. Anna hears Luna barking. The dog is standing over a large object covered in ash.
As she looks closer, she sees the object moving. Slow, shallow movements, like breathing. Anna sprints over. Sirius! She throws herself on her knees next to Sirius. The dog is completely covered in ash, but he's alive. Sirius, wake up, Sirius! She gently nudges him.
Sirius stirs, but he doesn't open his eyes. Please, Sirius, wake up! Please! She pets his head, rubbing off some of the ash. Please, Sirius. The dog blinks open his eyes. He slowly sits up. She throws her arms around him, and he licks her face, lapping up the tears running down.
Lon Walker puts his hands on the dashboard as a police officer points a gun in his face. He can't believe it's come to this. It's Saturday, November 10th. Walker is sitting in the passenger seat of his friend's truck. For two days, he's been trying to find his wife. He's visited the shelters set up for evacuees. He's waited at the hospitals, and he's called the sheriff's department. But he still hasn't found Ellen.
This morning, he met up with a friend from church who has a truck with four-wheel drive. The two of them were determined to find a route around the roadblocks to get to Walker's house. But every route they tried was blocked off. Finally, his friend just floored it and shot past a police roadblock. They sped 100 miles per hour down the highway. But they didn't make it far before they hit another barricade, forcing them to stop.
Police quickly approach the truck, guns drawn. Don't move. The police officer pulls open the driver's side door and yanks Walker's friend out. He spins the friend around and slaps handcuffs on him. You're under arrest. I'm just doing what you should have done days ago. This man's wife is missing. He's been trying to get you to check on her and you just ignore him. Another officer walks over. Walker sees that his name tag IDs him as a sergeant.
The sergeant does a double take as he sees Walker's friend. I know you. You worked on my boat last year. Walker's friend nods. The houseboat. That's right. The sergeant approaches the passenger side of the truck and looks at Walker. All right, tell me what's going on. Walker launches into the story of how he's searching for his wife. It feels like it's the hundredth time he's told it. By the time he's done, the sergeant just nods. Give me a minute.
He walks away and goes back to the other officers. They confer for a few minutes. Walker watches them anxiously. The sergeant walks back to him. He gestures to two of the officers standing by. These two gentlemen are going to take you up to your house, okay? Walker's heart races. Thank you. Thank you. Good luck, sir. Walker gets in the back of one of the police cruisers. As they pull away, Walker sees the officer uncuff his friend.
Through the cruiser window, Walker looks around at the charred trees, the remnants of cars and houses. It doesn't look anything like the place he's lived in for decades. As they pull onto his street, Walker closes his eyes and prays. He prays that Ellen is alive. He feels the cruiser slow down. Walker opens his eyes. Where his house once stood is a smoldering pile of rubble.
There's a yellow ribbon tied around one of the collapsed beams. Walker feels nauseous. Why is that ribbon there? The police officers exchange a look. What does that ribbon mean? Finally, one of the officers speaks. It means they've found human remains. Walker desperately tries to get out of the cruiser, but the door won't open. Let me out! I gotta see her! I'm sorry, sir. We can't let you out. It's not safe.
Walker slumps back into his seat. The adrenaline and hope and desperation that had been keeping him going the past two days drains away. All he can see is what he saw when he last left the house two days ago. Ellen lying peacefully in their bed. He should have stayed. She'd wanted him to retire years ago, but he was too stubborn, and he abandoned her when she needed him most.
He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to forgive himself. Rochelle Sanders pulls on a white hazmat suit inside her husband's Suburban. Next to her, Chris does the same. Rochelle looks at Chris. Ready? Chris shrugs. Rochelle isn't sure she's ready either. It's mid-December 2018. This is their first time back in paradise. They've been staying with friends in Chico since escaping the fire.
Lincoln spent a week in the hospital, but was discharged with a clean bill of health. Now, over a month after the fire, officials are finally letting residents back in to survey their properties and salvage what they can. Should we count to three? Chris nods. One, two, three.
They fling open their doors and get out of the car. Rochelle is first struck by the smell. The crisp, pine-scented air she's associated with paradise her entire life is gone. In its place is a nauseating odor of smoke and burnt plastic. She hangs back while Chris slowly circles the pile of charred debris that used to be their house. She hears broken glass crunch under his feet. It feels different to see it now.
The first time Rochelle saw the rubble, it had been a part of a feverish nightmare of trying to survive the fire. It got mashed together with every other horrible thing she saw that day, and with the fear she felt for herself and her newborn baby. But this is the cold light of day. She spots her kids' bikes twisted and melted. She doesn't know why, but that's what tips her over the edge. She starts to weep. Chris walks back over and wraps her in a hug.
Their hazmat suits swish against each other. She looks down at the jumbled mess of burnt wood and metal. It's hard to believe that this was once her house, and before that, her grandparents' house, a place she had known since she was a baby. It still doesn't feel real that Lincoln will never live in that home. She hugs Chris tighter. They're lucky, she reminds herself. They have each other. They have a healthy infant son.
they'll rebuild everything else. A few days after Thanksgiving Day 2018, just over two weeks after ignition, the fire that rampaged through Paradise was declared 100% contained. The campfire burned over 150,000 acres, including more than 18,000 structures. 85 people died in the fire, including Ellen Walker, Lon Walker's wife, and Gordon Deese, Anna's father.
It was the deadliest fire in the U.S. since 1918, and the deadliest ever in California history. Pacific Gas and Electric, who owned the transmission line that ignited the fire, was deemed responsible. They were accused of delaying critical maintenance in an effort to cut costs. In June 2020, PG&E pleaded guilty to 84 counts of involuntary manslaughter,
They were fined the maximum fine of $3.5 million. They also agreed to pay a $13.5 billion settlement to the victims of the campfire and three previous wildfires. The ramifications of the fire are still being felt today. By 2020, less than 5,000 residents had returned to Paradise, 20% of its population at the time of the fire.
Feather River Hospital, where Lincoln was born, and Ponderosa Elementary School, where Kevin McKay picked up the students, remained closed. McKay returned as a student to Cal State Chico and continued to work as a bus driver for the Paradise Unified School District.
Beth Bowersox still works as a communications operator for CAL FIRE in Butte County. She suffered profound PTSD in the wake of the Paradise Fire and is now a fierce advocate for mental health care for first responders.
Rochelle Sanders and her family moved to Chico. Her husband, Chris, died of leukemia less than a year after the fire. She has taken over his landscaping business and is raising her children from her previous marriage, as well as Lincoln, now almost four years old.
In terms of property damage and loss of life, the Camp Fire was the most destructive wildfire in California history. But it was far from the biggest. The extreme heat and drought brought on by climate change are feeding conditions that cause fires to start easier and spread faster.
The seven largest wildfires in the state's recorded history have all occurred since 2018. One of those, the Dixie Fire, burned nearly a million acres in 2021 and narrowly missed hitting paradise again. As the planet gets warmer and wildfires get larger and harder to control, experts believe it's only a matter of time before another American town becomes the next paradise.
On our next episode, I'll speak with journalist Lizzie Johnson, who spent two years covering the Camp Fire and its aftermath. We'll discuss her book, Paradise, one town's struggle to survive an American wildfire, and what it was like heading into the fire zone.
This is episode four of our four-part series, Wildfire in Paradise. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this story, we recommend Fire in Paradise by Alistair Gee and Danny Angiano, as well as Paradise by Lizzie Johnson. I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. This episode was written by Austin Rackless. Our editor is Sean Raviv. Our
Our audio engineers are Sergio Enriquez and Andrew Law. Sound design is by Rob Shielaga. Script consulting by Danny Angiano. Produced by Matt Almos and Emily Frost. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our managing producer is Tanja Thigpen. Our coordinating producer is Matt Gant. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis. For Wondery...
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