The house was burning with her brother-in-law and nephew inside when Jackie McDaniels flagged down a firetruck and begged for help.
"Whoever is in there is no longer alive,鈥� she recalled one of the firemen telling her before urging her to flee her Altadena neighborhood. 鈥淚 pray to God that they were. But it was horrible to have to leave them there.鈥�
Now McDaniels, like so many, is facing the gripping realities of grief and questions about what more could have been done. Experts say these survivors are victims themselves; the fires that swept through the Los Angeles area this month were fast-moving and fierce.
鈥淚t鈥檚 really just a different beast of a fire when it鈥檚 this propagating entity of just total mayhem,鈥� said Benjamin Hatchett, a fire meteorologist with the Cooperative Institute for Research in the Atmosphere at Colorado State University.
But that doesn鈥檛 ease the pain or the questions for the families of the more than two dozen killed, some unable to escape, others unaware of what was coming, having survived other blazes unscathed.
Among the dead is Dalyce Curry, in her youth. To family, she went by a different name.
鈥淢omma Dee, that鈥檚 the fire," her granddaughter and namesake, Dalyce Kelley, recalls saying as she drove the 95-year-old to her Altadena home on Jan. 7 after a day of medical tests.
But the flames they saw seemed so far away and power was still on. Now Kelley wishes she would have asked more questions, wishes she would have returned earlier.
鈥淚 will live with that regret for the rest of my life,鈥� she said.
That saddens Jennifer Marlon, a wildfire and climate research scientist at Yale鈥檚 School of the Environment. She said larger factors were at play, the summer the warmest on record in California, drying out the vegetation that fueled the flames.
鈥淭hese are, by and large, not situations that people could have really anticipated,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 incredibly tragic that people are blaming themselves and wracked with guilt.鈥�
Yet it is a common response, said Tory Fiedler, a Red Cross disaster mental health manager who is helping to coordinate the response to the wildfires.
鈥淢ost of us get our sense of self and value from what we do in service to others,鈥� she said.
鈥淲hen I鈥檓 not able to do that, I feel bad about that,鈥� she added. 鈥淚 feel guilty that I didn鈥檛 get to help. I didn鈥檛 do enough. I survived and other people didn鈥檛, and I can鈥檛 help them. And it鈥檚 not just I survived and other people didn鈥檛, but I don鈥檛 know what to do about that.鈥�
Compounding the pain is the fact that many families are still awaiting formal notification from the medical examiner, a process that could take weeks.
During that painful wait, Carol Smith has been praying. Her son, Randy Miod, a 55-year-old surfer, known to friends as Craw Daddy, had lived in his Malibu home for three decades, first as a renter and then the owner. Known as the 鈥淐rab Shack,鈥� it was a popular hang-out spot for surfers, with loaner boards always available.
She said he never evacuated for wildfires, including during the Franklin Fire in December that knocked out power to his home for three days.
鈥淚鈥檓 scared,鈥� she recalled him telling her the last time they spoke. She begged of him, 鈥淧lease, go somewhere safe, so I don鈥檛 worry.鈥�
But he wasn鈥檛 budging, telling her: "I鈥檝e got the hose. And he said, 鈥橮ray for the Palisades and pray for Malibu. And I love you.鈥欌��
After human remains were found in the home, a detective told her that the fire was moving five football fields a minute, beyond the scope of what her son anticipated.
In Altadena, cinders were flying as McDaniels packed her car in the pre-dawn hours of Jan. 8. Before she left, her late sister's husband, Anthony Mitchell, a 68-year-old amputee who lived nearby, assured her that an ambulance was coming to evacuate him and his 35-year-old son Justin Mitchell, who had cerebral palsy and was bed-bound.
But as she neared the freeway, he called back, telling her, 鈥淪tay with me until they get here.鈥�
She pulled over and could hear her nephew, who loved his collection of children's books and watched an eclectic mix of TV shows that included 鈥淢ister Rogers' Neighborhood" and 鈥淭he Golden Girls,鈥� fretting in the background.
Her brother-in-law was reassuring him: 鈥淒addy鈥檚 here. I鈥檓 coming. Daddy鈥檚 coming. Daddy鈥檚 here."
But then the fire was upon them. The last word she heard her brother-in-law mutter was 鈥渉elp鈥� before she sped to his home, black smoke greeting her when she flung open the door.
鈥淵ou're helpless,鈥� she recalled, saying she nearly got into a wreck herself as she fled, sobbing in the thick smoke, her own home destroyed, too.
She is not quite sure what they could have done. The family thought the ambulance Anthony Mitchell called hours earlier would have arrived in time. Perhaps, had they known it wouldn't, several relatives could have carried her nephew out with sheets, she said.
Her nephew鈥檚 younger brother, 33-year-old Jordan Mitchell, lived at home so he could help care for his brother but was hospitalized with sepsis at the time, unable to do anything.
鈥淚 very much told myself, I said, 鈥業 am my brother鈥檚 keeper,鈥� and I鈥檓 proud of that," he said, noting that his SUV, which he chose because it fit his father and brother's wheelchairs, survived the flames. "And I was very protective of him. I didn鈥檛 think he鈥檇 be gone this soon. I figured I鈥檇 be taking care of him the rest of my life.鈥�
Heather Hollingsworth And Mark Thiessen, The Associated Press
