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Joe Kennedy plows through the backyard of a small ranch house, riding high in the seat of his Caterpillar Bulldozer. With its thick treads and massive steel shovel, the vehicle looks more like a tank than a bulldozer. Kennedy crashes over bushes and vegetation, tearing up everything in his path. Heavy metal music blasts from the bulldozer's sound system.
It's late morning on November 8th, 2018 in Paradise, California. Kennedy is a heavy equipment operator for CAL FIRE. He's 36 years old, tall with broad shoulders. Earlier this morning, he was dispatched from his home 75 miles away to help fight the fire in Paradise.
At first, he was sent to Feather River Hospital. But when he arrived, there was nobody there to give him orders. So he's taken it upon himself to save as many houses around the hospital as he can. Smoke and embers fill the air. Kennedy's heart is pumping, and every one of his nerves feels on edge. But as an adrenaline junkie, it's a feeling he knows well.
- Kennedy works his way around the property, grinding up earth to create a buffer zone around the house. Ordinarily, his job is to create a perimeter around a fire. He knocks down trees and uproots brush to create a swath of land with nothing to burn, boxing the fire in and preventing it from spreading. But today is different. The wildfire has become an urban fire
The flames are jumping from structure to structure. Maybe this way, he can at least slow the spread. As Kennedy makes his way to another house, his radio chirps. This is John Jessen. We're on Pearson Road. We are in urgent need of air support. We're trapped and the firewall is directly ahead of us. Kennedy's head snaps up. He knows John Jessen. They fought fires together. And Kennedy knows that the smoke is too thick here for any aircraft to help.
Kennedy grabs his radio. John, it's Joe. Tell me exactly where you are. Kennedy plugs the intersection into his iPad. It's a little over a mile away. Hang tight. I'm coming for you. Kennedy turns up the music and takes off. His bulldozer maxes out at six miles per hour. But he shaves off time by ignoring the roads, smashing through backyards and forests.
He cuts through a patch of woods and comes to a sharp decline. Kennedy hesitates. Pearson Road is just below, but it's risky to take the bulldozer down such a steep angle. He can't afford to flip this thing over. Air is thick with smoke. All around him, tree trunks are exploding with loud pops. Sweat pours down Kennedy's face. Jessen and his crew won't survive long trapped in these conditions.
Kennedy eases the bulldozer forward and lets gravity do most of the work. He crushes bushes, even knocks over a few trees on his way down. To his relief, he makes it to the bottom safely. But as he straightens out onto Pearson Road, his stomach sinks.
Abandoned cars fill both lanes and the shoulders. At least half of them are on fire, flames shooting out from their engines, roofs, and tires. No wonder John Jessen's fire engine is stuck. These abandoned cars are blocking him in. Kennedy knows what he needs to do. He has to clear a path to Jessen and his crew so he and other trapped drivers can get out.
Instead of maneuvering away from the flames, he's got to head right into them. Kennedy hits the gas and points the bulldozer at the nearest burning car. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder. If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love,
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On the morning of November 8th, 2018, a faulty transmission line sparked a wildfire in Butte County, California. Driven by high winds and dry brush, the fire spread rapidly across mountainous terrain. Roughly 90 minutes after ignition, the fire hit the eastern edge of Paradise, a community of 27,000 people.
The entire town was ordered to evacuate, including the elementary schools and the hospital. The roads quickly clogged with traffic, trapping residents as fire burned all around them. As the flames closed in, first responders and ordinary civilians had to take extraordinary measures to survive. This is Episode 3, Engulfed.
Joe Kennedy pushes the shovel of his bulldozer against a charred Silverado. Something shifts in the backseat, and he jumps. It's the body of someone who got trapped. All Kennedy can see now are the blackened remains. It's late morning in paradise. Kennedy is trying to clear the abandoned and burned cars on Pearson Road so he can rescue a fire crew and other drivers trapped up the road.
As he prepares to shovel the Silverado and its passenger aside, Kennedy pauses. It feels wrong. This was someone's loved one, a family member, a friend. But that's the job. Kennedy reminds himself that there's nothing he can do for this person. But there are still people who are alive and counting on him. He takes a deep breath and shoves the car down into a ravine.
Kennedy joined CAL FIRE four years ago, after his son was born. He was drawn to the stability and great health insurance. Before that, he worked for years as a heavy equipment operator in the private sector.
In his time with CAL FIRE, he's heard other firefighters talk about a special kind of fire. They're called career fires. So destructive, you only see one of them every few decades. But in just a few years, Kennedy's already seen four career fires. The rising temperatures and drought in California are causing wildfires to burn hotter and spread faster than ever before.
Kennedy backs up and makes his way to the next car. It's a Prius with flames shooting out the sides. He lines up the shovel and starts to push the Prius aside. Suddenly, all the windows of the bulldozer shatter. Flames flare up around him. Kennedy feels like he's cooking. His lungs burn as he gasps for air. Fear surges through him. This is it. He's going to burn to death.
Soon, he'll be nothing but a blackened skeleton, like the body in the Silverado. He closes his eyes and thinks of his son back home. He's not going to see him go to school, grow up, get married. Taking this job was a mistake. Nothing about it feels stable, and health insurance is useless if you're dead. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the intense heat passes. The fire has moved past him. He's able to take a deep breath.
Kennedy cautiously opens his eyes. The only window he can see out of is the small one on his left. All the others are too cracked. He doesn't understand what just happened or how he survived, but he did. He steadies himself and moves the bulldozer forward. He has to get back to work. He pushes the Prius up the embankment and out of the way. When he looks back, the asphalt where the Prius once sat is on fire.
Even the road is burning. This is yet another career fire, he thinks. And he's not sure he'll survive it. Police officer Rob Nichols leaps out of the way as a Toyota Corolla careens past him. It runs over the traffic cones he set out and swerves into the parking lot of a mini mall. Nichols shakes his head, but he can't really blame the driver. It's a little after 11 in the morning.
Nichols and his rookie, Kyle, have been directing traffic in Northern Paradise for over two hours. They're at the intersection of the Skyway and Clark Road, the two biggest arteries off the mountain, and traffic is at a complete standstill. Nichols has heard through his radio that downed power lines, fallen trees, and abandoned cars are preventing anyone from moving. At least 100 drivers are trapped.
Meanwhile, the fire is raging around them. Nichols watches the scene, overwhelmed. Flames dance across the street. Embers rain from the sky. Trees, houses, and bushes are all burning. Some firefighters are trying to water down people's cars so they don't catch fire. But their hoses have run dry. A woman sobs on her knees on the concrete. My house!
Can't you do something? Please! I'm sorry, ma'am. The hydrants are dry. Are we going to make it? Yeah.
These drivers can't stay in the intersection. There's a gas station across the street and a large propane yard just up the road, stocked with tanks of fuel. There's a sporting goods store by the intersection that sells ammo. All of it will blow as soon as the fire hits. He has to move these people somewhere safer.
Nichols eyes the parking lot of the mini mall. It houses a Chinese restaurant and bar called the Optimo Lounge. It's slightly recessed from the road, and the wind seems to be carrying the embers over it. Plus, the buildings are new, which means they meet the new state code. By law, they have to be fire-resistant.
Nichols makes a decision. If he can't get these people out, he's going to have to help them shelter in place. He turns to his rookie. Let's get these people into the parking lot. Now! Kyle nods. Everyone into the mini mall. Leave your cars. Just move. Let's go. Optimo parking lot. Leave your cars. Optimo parking lot. Let's go. Nichols weaves through the intersection, motioning toward the lot. Optimo.
People clamber out of their cars, dragging dogs on leashes, cats in carriers, suitcases and backpacks. Many of them are crying. Others look shell-shocked. Elderly men and women with canes and walkers hobble forward as fast as they can. The flames barrel towards them. An ember lands in a woman's hair, briefly lighting it on fire before her husband manages to snuff it out.
One man remains in his car, his hands on the wheel, even though traffic hasn't moved in over half an hour.
Nichols raps on the window. "Come on, you need to go!" The man shakes his head. "I'm staying right here." "Sir, it's not safe here. You need to go to the parking lot." "I'm not standing in a parking lot in the middle of a fire. That's insane!" "Listen to me. If you stay here, you're going to die. See those tanks? They're going to explode as soon as the fire reaches them. You will be safer in the parking lot." The man looks up the road toward the propane yard.
then grudgingly gets out of his car. Nichols runs with him to the parking lot. He and Kyle gather everyone in the center, as far away from the perimeter as possible. People wail as the first propane tanks explode. Nichols looks around at the terrified souls huddled in the parking lot, fires raging all around them. This is the safest spot for them.
But that doesn't mean it's actually safe. Bus driver Kevin McKay focuses on the brake lights in front of him. Better that than obsessing over the canopy of trees rustling overhead. They're not on fire yet, but one ember could ignite everything, turning Roe Road into an inferno.
It's almost noon. McKay left Ponderosa Elementary School over three hours ago. His job is to transport 22 elementary school children and two teachers to safety. But he's still in Central Paradise, and any second they could be caught in the blaze. McKay estimates that they're half a mile from Neal Road. He hopes that once they make it to the wider street, traffic will ease up.
From there, it's a straight shot to the highway that will take them to Oroville. But right now, they're moving approximately an inch every 10 minutes. Half a mile might as well be 100 miles. The air outside is thick with smoke, and the sky is glowing dark red. The temperature inside the bus has to be over 100 degrees. McKay is soaked with sweat, and his mouth is parched.
He hasn't had any water since he left home over six hours ago. In the rearview mirror, McKay spots a boy around eight years old sprawled out on his seat. The boy's shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his bony chest. His hair is matted down and his eyes are sunken. Abby Davis, a kindergarten teacher, walks to the front of the bus. Her face is tight. The kids are saying they can't breathe. I think some of them are going into shock. What should I do?
McKay gets an idea. He puts the bus into park. Then he yanks off his black polo shirt and the white t-shirt underneath. He hands Davis the undershirt, ignoring the confused look on her face. Let's make some breathing filters. Rip that into 25 squares. Then we can douse them with water and hand them out to the kids. Davis nods and rejoins Mary Ludwig, the other teacher on board, in the back.
McKay eases the polo shirt back on and slowly inches the bus forward. He steals a glance in the rearview mirror. Ludwig and Davis have created a mini assembly line. Ludwig tears the fabric squares and Davis douses them carefully from a small bottle of water. The bottle is almost empty. After a moment, Ludwig stands up,
A few of the kids manage to giggle, but most are too terrified or too hot to laugh. Ludwig puts on a brave face as she and Davis hand out the makeshift air filters.
But as she approaches McKay, her face creases with worry again. I need to get off the bus and find us some water. These kids haven't had anything to drink since we left to school. They're so thirsty, they're sucking the water out of the cloth. McKay's hands tighten around the wheel. He doesn't want anyone getting off the bus. No way. It's too dangerous out there. Besides, where are you going to get water from?
I'm going to ask people stuck in their cars. Hopefully they'll see a bus full of kids and want to help. I don't like it. I don't care. We need water. What's the point of getting these kids through the fire if they die of dehydration in the process? McKay shakes his head. But Ludwig is right. He opens the door. Please, stay within sight of the bus. Ludwig nods and steps down into the smoky street.
McKay keeps a worried eye on her as she weaves through the stopped cars, knocking on windows, begging strangers for water. "Half a mile," he repeats in his head. "They just need to make it half a mile." Firefighter Joe Kennedy rumbles up Pearson Road in his bulldozer. The fire is roaring all around him. Embers are flying up from the ravine, showering everywhere like fireworks.
It's late morning. Kennedy has already cleared away dozens of cars, opening up a path down Pearson Road. Now he's on his way to rescue firefighter John Jessen, who's been trapped along with his crew and some civilian cars just up the road.
He's worried he's too late. The flames are devouring trees, brush, buildings. He can hear propane tanks exploding in the distance. Kennedy looks down at his iPad, double-checking Jessen's exact location. What he sees gives him a glimmer of hope.
From the satellite images on the map, it looks like there's a clearing right next to Jessen's coordinates. No structures or vegetation, which means nothing for the fire to burn. But if Kennedy can get Jessen's crew and the other trapped cars into that clearing, they could wait out the fire in relative safety. Kennedy pushes the bulldozer forward as fast as he can. Soon, he can make out the lights of Jessen's engine flashing through the haze of smoke.
He sees what looks like a hundred other cars parked around it. As he gets closer, he notices that the paint on the fire engine is peeling off, and the firefighters have put up fire-resistant blankets in the window. They only break those out as a last resort. The fire must have moved right over them at some point.
Kennedy reaches for his radio. "Jesson, it's Kennedy. Follow me. I know a place where we can wait this out." "Roger that. Pan, it is good to see you." Kennedy leads the way through the smoke. Jesson's engine follows. Together, they guide all the civilian cars to the clearing. Kennedy escorts a small car into a free space. The driver cracks his window and yells out. "We park here, and then what?" "Sit tight."
Are you serious? That's the plan? Kennedy nods. The driver stares at him, horrified, before rolling up the window. The clearing is soon packed with a hundred cars. Kennedy watches as a large house burns to the ground in front of them.
The town's propane tanks continue to explode in the distance. Trees spontaneously combust on the perimeter of the clearing, their trunks erupting in flames. Kennedy wonders if any part of paradise will still be standing when the fire has finished its ferocious attack.
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She's vaguely aware that David, the hospital tech who is helping her and Lincoln evacuate, is futzing with her IV. But she doesn't have the energy to pay attention. It's early afternoon. Sanders and David are parked at the edge of a liquor store parking lot. It's been five hours since they left Feather River Hospital. They barely made it two miles from the hospital when the fire appeared in front of them. At the time, they were trapped in gridlock.
With cars burning all around them and the fire threatening to jump to their car, David maneuvered into this lot. It's not perfect, but at least there is more space between the cars, making it less likely for the fire to find theirs. And now they wait. David has positioned them right by the exit. As soon as traffic starts moving, they'll go. Sanders strokes Lincoln's fine blonde hair. He looks a lot like her daughter did when she was a baby.
It suddenly hits Sanders that her children haven't met Lincoln yet. David sighs with frustration and drops the tube to Sanders' IV. "I can't get it to work." "It's okay." "It's not okay. You need that saline. I'm going to go see if there are any doctors or nurses in the other cars." Sanders starts to ask him to stay, but David doesn't hear her. She tries to call her husband Chris again. She just wants to hear his voice, to know he's okay.
The last time she saw him, he was driving into a thick cloud of black smoke. But the call fails. Sanders startles as the door opens again. A hot wind blows in, and an older woman with gauze bandages on her hands peers into the car. David stands behind her. Rochelle, this woman is a retired nurse. Hello, ma'am. I hear there's trouble with your IV.
The woman gets to work, checking the tubing and Sanders' port. But before she can fix it, a police officer yells through a bullhorn. David dashes to the front of the car. Sanders looks out the window and sees flames roaring towards them. David's the first car out of the lot. He follows closely behind the police car. The cruiser heads north for half a mile, then pulls into the Kmart parking lot.
The lot is already full with cars. Shopping carts are strewn about, blown over by the wind. Dogs howl from inside vehicles. The Kmart building is smoldering. Sanders wonders if it will go up in flames too. David shakes his head and eases onto the shoulder just outside the parking lot. "We're not going in there. Too crowded." A firefighter from a nearby engine knocks on David's window.
We need you to pull into the lot. I can't. I have two medically vulnerable people with me. I need to get them to the hospital in Chico ASAP. We can't get trapped in a parking lot. I'm sorry, sir, but I need you to pull in. There are other people behind you who need to get into this lot. David continues talking to the firefighter, but Sanders can't pay attention anymore. She can't handle any more bad news. She holds Lincoln against her shoulder and rocks him, quietly singing a song.
She closes her eyes, imagining they're safe on a beach somewhere. The car starts to move, and Sanders opens her eyes. What's happening? I guess we're following the firefighter to the hospital. Sanders sits up straighter. In Chico? David shakes his head. Sanders looks at him confused. The nurse back at the hospital told her they were sending her to the medical center in Chico. It's the only facility around that's equipped to treat Lincoln.
David looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Feather River. But we just came from there. The firefighter said the fire has already moved through by now. He says it'll be a safe place to wait. At least, safer than out here, I guess. Sanders slumps in her seat. A tear trickles down her cheek. She can't believe their only option is an abandoned hospital. They fought so hard to get away from Feather River.
Now, they're heading right back where they started. Police officer Rob Nichols smashes the glass door of a coffee shop. Reaching carefully through the broken glass, he unlocks the door and turns to the hundred people huddled in the parking lot behind him. Everyone inside, let's move. The crowd surges toward the door. It's early afternoon. Nichols was on the corner of Skyway and Clark for hours this morning, directing traffic.
But when Gridlock brought the cars to a standstill, trapping them in the blaze, Nichols and his fellow officers had to get creative. They moved everyone to the parking lot of a nearby mini-mall, lest burn there. But now, the fire is so close that Nichols thinks everyone will be safer inside. He hopes the metal roof of the coffee shop will prevent it from catching fire. Embers sweep in through the broken door.
Firefighters take what little water they have left and hose down the shop's counter. A woman approaches Nichols, her face sweaty and her eyes worried. She explains that she works for the local nursing home. One of the patients she evacuated is diabetic. Her blood sugar levels are crashing. She needs food.
Nichols nods. He moves through the crowded shop, asking people if they have any food. Cookies, candy, crackers, anything. But most people barely had time to grab photo albums or important documents, let alone snacks. One woman digs in her purse and finds an old bag of M&Ms. Another finds a half-full box of cookies. Nichols brings them back to the nursing home worker. Thank you.
Nichols nods. It feels good to actually solve a problem. As if on cue, a shower of embers blows into the coffee shop. Everyone jumps to stomp them out. But Nichols knows he can't count on this place staying fire-free for long. He needs to find a backup plan. Bulldozer driver Joe Kennedy surveys the scene around him. Trees glow. Collapsed houses smolder.
The abandoned cars he pushed off the side of the road continue to flame. But inside this clearing he found, everyone is safe. None of the hundred cars he and his fellow firefighter, John Jessen, escorted here have caught fire. And it seems like the firewall has moved on, for now. Kennedy is relieved. He suspected the clearing was their best chance of survival. But it was far from a sure bet. Still, he doesn't want to push his luck.
Kennedy reaches for his radio to buzz Jessen. They should take this window of opportunity to lead the evacuees somewhere safer. Any of these spot fires could swell again and rage out of control.
But Jessen beats him to it. Joe, let's get these people out of here. Roger that. Where should we take them? I'm thinking back to the hospital. Kennedy nods inside his bulldozer. It makes sense. The hospital is in eastern paradise. It's the first place the fire hit. But the fire front has moved on from there, spreading west. Kennedy starts up the bulldozer. I'll lead the way.
Out front, he can clear any obstacles for the rest of the caravan. Kennedy turns on his heavy metal music and blasts it through the sound system. He pulls out of the clearing, the cars following behind him like duck wings. Anna Deese rustles around the kitchen junk drawer. It takes a minute, but she finds what she's looking for. She holds up a yellow flashlight.
Got it. She hands it to her father, Gordy, who is hovering behind her. He flicks on the light. The sudden brightness makes her wince. It's early afternoon in Butte Creek Canyon, a few miles southwest of Paradise. But the smoke has turned the sky black as midnight. And a few minutes ago, the Deese has lost power. Her father shines the light down on the open drawer. Deese quickly finds a second flashlight, as well as a battery-powered radio.
Deese and her father settle in the living room. Turn on the radio. I want to know how much time we have. Deese and her father have spent the morning thinning underbrush, cutting back vegetation, and watering down the roof. Gordy has no plans to evacuate. Deese turns the dial to the local AM station. Fire continues to spread in Butte County.
A mass evacuation is taking place in Paradise. And we're now hearing reports of flames on both sides of Butte Creek Canyon. Deese looks up at her father. The fire is close. Her heart is beating fast. She assumed this fire would miss them, just like all the other fires over the years. But she realizes it's going to be different this time. As if he can read her mind, Gordy looks up at his daughter. We're not going anywhere. We're staying and protecting our property.
Deese nods, trying to ignore the tingling in her hands. Gordy heaves himself out of the chair. I'm going to water down the roof again. He goes outside, and Deese hears the hose turn on. She sits for a moment, then stands up. Fear is just a feeling. She can ignore it. Her dad's right. They have to protect their property.
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Trees, bushes, and houses are all ablaze. The fire is barreling straight toward McKay and his bus full of kids. This is exactly what McKay feared would happen when a police officer forced him down this narrow, overgrown street. If the fire reaches them, the bus will surely burn, killing them all. The only thing giving him hope is that they're almost at Neal Road.
Neil is wider, with thinner vegetation. One left turn and they should be headed away from danger. But they have to get there before the fire reaches them. McKay moves the bus forward, inch by inch. Finally, they reach the end of Rowe Road, where it t-bones into Neil. The car ahead of McKay makes the turn, and McKay gets his first look at the intersection. His stomach sinks.
Neil is jam-packed with cars in every lane, all headed in the same direction. Neil, like most of the thoroughfares in Paradise, is only open one way: to get people off the mountain as fast as possible. But no one's leaving big enough gaps for his bus to make the turn. McKay eases the bus forward, but the other cars won't let him in. He's stuck on Rowe Road, where the fire is blazing.
The sky is so red, it's like they're inside a volcano. McKay lays on the horn, but no one moves. A girl in the back lets out a shriek. McKay jumps and looks in his rearview mirror. A girl around 10 is weeping. There was a deer on fire. I saw it. McKay has to get them out of here. Sweat pours down his forehead and the back of his neck. Adrenaline surges through his body.
McKay sees a space open up in the intersection. Finally. But before he can make the turn, a car darts forward, blocking his path. There's nowhere for McKay to go. Embers shower down on the bus, smacking the windshield. McKay holds his breath, terrified the bus will catch fire. Our father, who art in heaven, thy kingdom come.
Behind him, he hears kids crying and the two teachers' hushed voices as they pray together. McKay closes his eyes. He was supposed to get these kids and their teachers out of town to safety, but now he fears he's failed them. Bus driver Kevin McKay tightens his grip on the steering wheel. The flames are getting closer and closer. Soon, they will reach the bus and engulf it,
He imagines himself opening the door to the bus. "Run!" The kids scramble off, jump through the flames, and run in every direction. He loses sight of them as they disappear into the smoke. McKay snaps his eyes open at the sound of an engine rumbling behind him. His horrible daydream evaporates as he comes back to reality. He sees a pickup truck cut around the bus, heading straight into the Neal Road traffic.
People lay on their horns and yell through their windows. McKay shakes his head. "What the hell is this guy doing?" And then the truck swerves to a stop on Neal Road, blocking the nearest lane of traffic. A gap opens up in front of McKay, big enough for him to make the turn. McKay doesn't hesitate. He steps on the gas and turns left onto Neal Road, swinging the bus wide into the lane being blocked by the truck, their savior.
Behind him, McKay hears second grade teacher Mary Ludwig gasp. That's our principal, Mr. Gregorio. Confused, McKay looks in the rearview mirror. Abby Davis, the other teacher on board, looks as confused as he feels. That's his truck? Wait, has he been following the bus the whole time? McKay sees Ludwig nod. Yes, he has. He's making sure we get out safe.
Tears spring into Davis' eyes. McKay finds himself feeling a little emotional, too. He vows to thank that principal one day. He might have just saved everyone on board. Not long after turning onto Neil, the traffic eases up. McKay feels a weight lift from his shoulders. We're moving! We're moving! McKay can't help it. He lets out a triumphant yell.
They're still going less than 30 miles per hour, but after spending so much of the day at a crawl, it feels like they're going 90. Something catches McKay's eye in the distance. At first, he's confused, but then it hits him. Everyone, look! He points straight ahead. The kids and teachers lean into the middle of the aisle to look out the windshield. Yes! Let's look. What is it? Wait, it's amazing. One of the kids looks up at Ludwig, uncertain. Is that...
Ludwig nods. Blue sky! Kids start cheering. Others plaque. A few cry. McKay just keeps driving, heading toward that beautiful patch of blue. Rochelle Sanders stares out the window as David follows the fire engine up Pence Road. She can't believe they're heading back to the Feather River Hospital, the place they evacuated from six hours ago.
She blinks and shakes her head. She can't really be seen what she's seeing. Everything along the road is gone. She starts to feel nauseous as they approach the block where she lives. Everywhere she looks, houses have been reduced to blackened rubble, melted remnants of people's possessions, their lives. She hopes that by some miracle, her house will be spared. David drives right past her house.
Sanders tries to turn her head away, but she has to look. A small gasp escapes her lips. There's nothing left but the chimney. The rest of the house is black ash. All the photo albums, the family china, her children's favorite toys, everything she and Chris were going to put in Lincoln's nursery. It's all gone. Oh my God. David looks past her out the window and shakes his head.
Sanders doesn't know what else to do, so she takes out her phone and starts to record video. Lincoln stirs in her lap. Lincoln, who will never see the inside of that home. Four generations of her family had lived there. Sanders knew every square inch of it. Sanders stays lost in her thoughts for the rest of the way.
She remembers playing for hours in the game room with her cousins. She remembers moving in after divorcing her first husband, how she thought her life was over. She remembers standing under the dogwood tree in the backyard after she learned she was pregnant with Lincoln. The next thing she knows, the car is slowing down. They're back at the hospital, back where Lincoln was born less than a day ago. It looks far different than when they left. The vegetation is black.
Spot fires smolder on the landscaped medians in the parking lot. An outer building across the lot smokes. And yet, there's a calm here, like the worst has passed. Staffers have pulled couches and chairs out into the parking lot for people to sit on. David turns off the car, his shoulders slumping. But then his head snaps up. "I know him!" He points to a man dressed in scrubs in the next row of the parking lot.
David jumps out of the car and jogs to his friend. Sanders watches as the two men embrace. She fights back tears, thinking about Chris. He's probably waiting for her at the hospital in Chico, desperate to know where she is. She misses her older children, who are with their father. Sanders has managed to get a few texts through, so at least she knows they're safe. She wants to hug them and hear their voices. She picks Lincoln up and kisses his head.
Just then, Sanders is distracted by the sound of heavy metal. In David's rearview mirror, she spots a bulldozer leading a caravan of cars and a fire engine into the parking lot. The bulldozer driver is blasting music like he's the Pied Piper. Sanders blinks at the surreal vision and pulls Lincoln close. What kind of world have I brought you into? I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
She rocks her son back and forth, back and forth. Police officer Rob Nichols reverses his cruiser back up the skyway, looking for a spot to turn around. The traffic is cleared, but a downed power line is blocking the thoroughfare. No one's leaving town on this road anytime soon. It's late afternoon. Nichols has spent the past few hours hunkered down at the mini mall a few miles away.
More than 100 people are still there waiting to be told when it's safe to leave. They're tired, hungry, and scared. 20 minutes ago, the incident commander radioed Nichols and told him to scout routes out of town. The fire is still burning, and they want to get everyone off the ridge by nightfall. But for now, the skyway isn't usable. He drives back north and cuts over to Clark Road to see if it's clear enough for evacuation. ♪
As he works his way down Clark, he looks for familiar landmarks. But they're all gone. McDonald's, burned. The Black Bear Diner, burned. The whole area feels foreign to Nichols, like he's driving on an alien planet, not his home. All around him, spot fires still rage. Buildings and cars smoke. It's all a reminder that the fire is not done yet.
It's passed through paradise, but it's not contained. And it could roar back with a shift of the wind. Just then, Nichols realizes something. He's moving. He's making his way down Clark. He has to maneuver around burnt cars and other debris. But there are no power lines or fallen trees blocking his path. It's just barely passable. But it'll do. Nichols feels a flicker of hope.
Those hundred people back at the mini mall will be able to leave if the fire doesn't change its course. This is episode three 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 G. 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 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 Stephanie Jens, Jenny Lauer-Beckman, and Marshall Louis. For Wondery...
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