On paper, the official wildfire protocol for California communities is explicit: Evacuate.

But the Camp Fire, the most deadly and destructive wildfire in state history, revealed that many lives were saved, instead, in spontaneous shelters – a desperate strategy that is triggering fresh debate over how to survive an inferno.

“We had a plan, and it went up in flames,” said the Rev. Doug Crowder, whose Magalia Pines Baptist Church became a refuge for 30 people, nine dogs, four cats and two talking birds.

As the Camp Fire raged around the church – a sturdy structure of steel, concrete and stucco, surrounded by asphalt and defended by a fire truck — the crowd huddled in the dark.

“Just gather around, people,” Crowder told his flock, many of them elderly, disabled or mentally ill, unable to flee in time. Silently, he prayed: “Here we are, God. This is our hour of need.”

Elsewhere, others rushed to different sanctuaries: a supermarket parking lot, a gas station, an antique store, a cold lake and a construction site.

Tragically, at least 86 people had neither the time to get away nor a place to go. They died in their cars, homes or attempting to escape.

Faced with the proliferation of fast-moving fires in densely-populated rural areas, experts say it is time for California to consider our own version of Australia’s “Leave Early, or Prepare, Stay and Defend” policy.

Created in the wake of its 1983 “Ash Wednesday” brushfires that killed 75 people, most as they tried to escape, the policy discourages last-minute mass evacuations. If residents can’t leave, it asserts, they should actively defend their property or seek a safer shelter. The nation teaches its residents how to make an informed decision to use a defensible structure as a temporary refuge.

California’s approach is different. “Sheltering in place” is considered dangerous. Anyone who defies a mandatory evacuation order can face criminal charges.

Most homeowners aren’t trained to battle ember showers or firestorms, say officials. Fatalities result when residents try to protect their property — and then panic and die during a last-minute dash.

But the Camp Fire revealed that a mass exodus is also risky, if frantic and congested.

“Plan A is always evacuation. But what is Plan B?” asked Thomas Cova, a geography professor at the University of Utah who urges new methods for incorporating shelter in wildfire planning. “It is becoming increasingly clear that many communities cannot evacuate across the continuum of scenarios they might face.”

Just as residents are told to make an evacuation plan, they should also be trained to identify their nearest shelter, ideally a site where firefighters have committed to offering protection, advocates say.  But not all sites are created equal. Paradise had two official “assembly points” near known traffic bottlenecks. One, a church, saved hundreds of lives. The other, a senior center, burned to the ground.

“We have to talk about it, as a community, to reduce vulnerability – especially for citizens who don’t drive,” said Scott Stephens, co-director of UC-Berkeley’s Center for Fire Research and Outreach. “In the Camp Fire, people didn’t die because they wanted to stay. They had to stay. All of a sudden, the fire was at their front door step.”

For Australia’s policy to work in California, residents must be physically and mental trained, said wildfire specialist Max A. Moritz with UC’s Division of Agriculture & Natural Resources. In Australia, which conducts formal training,  “there is active participation from homeowners … so both homes and people are better prepared.”

The growing number of subdivisions built in far-flung flammable foothills and forests makes alternate planning a necessity, experts said. While populations have grown, evacuation routes haven’t.  And modern ”megafires” such as the Camp Fire that ignite in a hot, dry and fuel-filled landscape move so fast that they confound any orderly evacuation plan.

The flight to temporary refuges in the Camp Fire was largely unplanned and chaotic.

As thousands of residents tried to flee Paradise Ridge nearly all at once, emergency operations coordinator Jim Broshears saw gridlocked traffic at one of the town’s major intersections and envisioned disaster.

Then he spotted the American gas station, a small stucco structure surrounded by a concrete parking lot. It was tidy, swept clean of leaves and debris. He asked owner Prabhjot Singh for help.

“You would never look around that intersection and say: ‘This is where we’re going to house all these cars.’ No way,” Broshears recalled. “But it was the only port in the storm.”

“We’re going to ride out the fire here,” Broshears told drivers. About 30 cars inched into American’s parking lot; pedestrians sought shelter inside, away from the choking smoke.

More shelter was found across the street, where a firefighter broke the locked door of Needful Things antique store and ushered people to safety among the brass lamps, crystals, rugs and jewelry.

The vast asphalt parking lot of Save Mart Supermarket and Kmart could might also offer protection to more trapped drivers, Broshears knew. So he came up with a plan to start a caravan to the parking lot and enlisted a fire captain to secure the back route to get there, away from traffic.

Leaning into the window of a small sports car filled with teenage boys, he told them: “You guys are leading us out.”

The boys’ car turned – and a line of other vehicles followed.

As cars converged on the parking lot, “it got more packed, more packed,” recalled Bill Krulder, who works at the supermarket and knew he’d be safer at the lot than stuck in traffic in his 27-year-old GMC truck. “And the wind was blowing like a hurricane.

“It was shock and awe,” he said. “Firemen told us: ‘You’re surrounded. This is the safest place you can be now.’ ”

PARADISE CA – JAN. 23: Bill Krulder, who works at the Save Mart supermarket in Paradise, Calif., recalls Wednesday, Jan. 23, 2019, how he and hundreds of neighbors were forced to shelter in the store’s parking lot after getting trapped by the Camp Fire last year. (Karl Mondon/Bay Area News Group) 

Up the road in rural Concow, a fallen tree blocked the town’s main escape route. In desperation, some residents survived by plunging into the cold creek that feeds Concow Reservoir.

In the nearby town of Magalia, where the town’s Baptist Church is located along the only evacuation route north off the ridge, the Rev. Crowder and his wife Debra resolved to stay.

They opened doors to anyone. Some were drivers without enough fuel to make the long trip to safety. Others were local elderly, without cars. Still others were the homeless, some mentally ill, who live in tents in the woods.

“Hey, hang out with us. We’ll get through this, OK?” Crowder told them.

There was no water, no power and no cell service to provide information about the fire’s progression. But Crowder, a former U.S. Air Force para-rescueman who flew C-130s during the Vietnam War’s darkest days,vowed to keep confident.

In the small low-slung stucco building, its windows arranged in the shape of a cross, he made a plan.

He put the family of an 86-year-old man with dementia in a quiet back office. He erected room dividers to provide privacy for another family. The agitated dogs and cats got their own room. Debra handed out blankets and soup, trying to ignore the birds’ constant loud banter.

“Everybody shared. It was a safe haven,” recalled Cindy Seeley, who lived in a tent in the woods following a recent illness, and doesn’t own a car. “We stayed low, and the smoke stayed high. They told everybody ‘You’ve got to stay put. No opening or closing doors.’ “

“It was so cold,” said another woman, 84.[she asked that we not use her name] “But we didn’t burn. We were grateful to have a place to go.”

Throughout the day and night, as the flames drew close, abated, then swept toward the town again, they waited, bracing for the worst.

Then the fire hit. The tall ponderosa pines in the parking lot torched like Chinese firecrackers. A nearby 1,000-gallon propane tank ignited and erupted, shaking the church walls.

“The whole world exploded. It was a firestorm,” Crowder recalled. “We were surrounded. The wind was roaring. We looked out the windows and the flames were shooting between the buildings. I had no imagination that our building would be untouched.”

Calmness descended as they gathered and bowed their heads. Live or die, it’s in God’s hands, the pastor told himself.

Then it was over. Thirty hours after they entered, a fireman escorted them out through a charred landscape.

“We’ve always told people: “If anything should ever happen, come here,” said Debra. “We figured as long as we stayed inside of this building, we might be OK.”