LYTLE CREEK, Calif. _ An explosive brush fire that ripped through hills, canyons and flatlands in Southern California's Cajon Pass in less than a day continued to ravage hillsides, leaving veteran firefighters bewildered.
"It hit hard, it hit fast _ it hit with an intensity that we haven't seen before," San Bernardino County Fire Chief Mark Hartwig said.
By late Wednesday, the blaze had charred through 25,626 acres and was 4 percent contained, according to Melody Lardner, a spokeswoman for the U.S. Forest Service.
The official measurement of the fire was about 4,400 acres fewer than reported earlier in the day, a discrepancy that officials attributed to more precise mapping of the burn area.
With winds pushing the Blue Cut fire northwest, fire officials are now concerned it could decimate Lytle Creek, a tiny community in the San Gabriel Mountains under mandatory evacuation since the blaze broke out Tuesday.
Structure protection engines are stationed in Lytle Creek, as well as the adjacent ski resort town of Wrightwood, and more than 1,580 firefighters are attacking encroaching flames "with everything they can from the air and the ground," said Melody Lardner, a spokeswoman for the U.S. Forest Service.
More than 80,000 people in rural San Bernardino County communities have been forced to flee. An unknown number of homes were destroyed, and there is no containment in sight. Officials are bracing for an immense tally of devastation from a blaze fed by strong winds, parched tinder and triple-digit heat.
"There will be a lot of families that will come home to nothing," Hartwig warned.
On Wednesday, the remote region was an ominous version of itself. Brilliant flames of red, gold and copper licked at skies choked with smoke. Multiple helicopters whirred in smog as bulldozers razed paths below.
Summit Inn, a historic diner along Route 66 once frequented by Elvis Presley, had become indistinguishable rubble. Charred skeletons of buildings and cars dotted the area. A cargo train sat idle on tracks, abandoned by its engineer.
A spokesman for the U.S. Forest Service said assessment teams and cadaver dogs would be sent to homes and structures along Highway 138.
"The fire came so quickly," Chon Bribiescas said. "We want to make sure nobody was left behind."
It's been 13 years since the area was struck by fire, leaving the hills and mountains a mix of dead brush and new growth.
Still, conditions were ripe for a fast-moving fire.
"It all aligned. The wind, the fuel and the topography," said Capt. Howard Deets, while monitoring a hilltop blaze off Cajon Boulevard. "When that happens there's nothing you can do about it. You could throw the world's firefighting resources at it and it's just going to keep going."
The Cajon Pass, acting as a funnel, sent winds that raced up to 30 miles per hour to help the blaze jump Interstate 15, said Michael Wakoski, battalion chief of the San Bernardino County Fire Department and incident commander of the Blue Cut fire.
Wakoski said that crews were battling flames in terrain so rugged it resembled crumpled paper, and that it has been nearly impossible to navigate the steep slopes. The fire's behavior when it first broke out was the most extreme he's seen in four decades, he said.
"We got our butts kicked," Wakoski said.
Six county firefighters were trapped Tuesday by walls of flames while defending homes and evacuating residents in Swarthout Canyon, officials said. They were treated for minor injuries and have resumed battling the wildfire. No other injuries have been reported.
In addition to Lytle Creek, Wrightwood and Swarthout Canyon, mandatory evacuations were ordered for Baldy Mesa, Old Cajon Road, Lone Pine Canyon and West Cajon Valley, fire officials said.
But the closure of Interstate 15 and Highway 138 _ the two key routes in the area _ clogged traffic and made it difficult for residents to leave.
Mary Grass, 74, and her husband left their Phelan home Tuesday as smoke and flames tore through the area. After dropping their horse off at a friend's house in Hesperia, they headed to Victorville to spend the night.
They have already seen television footage of neighbors' residences destroyed.
"Just wondering about our house now," Grass said.
Others couldn't bear to leave their home.
"I don't like this view at all," Angela Adams said as she stood in her front door in Wrightwood, watching flames smoldering on a hillside.
The 48-year-old occupational therapist had eyed the blaze since sunrise, opting to stay behind to keep tabs on neighbors' homes.
It helps that her firefighter friends send updates.
Adams also wanted more time to pack up the belongings of her 17-year-old son who died earlier this year in a car accident.
"I just have to have his stuff," she said of her son's snowboards, skateboards, hats and clothes.
This year alone, California has been besieged by wildfires that have scorched hundreds of homes and killed eight people _ all before fall, when the state's traditional fire season begins and the Santa Ana winds come into play.
The fires are a sort of "new normal," said Char Miller, an expert on wildfires and national forests at Pomona College.
"We're in the fifth year of drought and we're starting to see the consequences of that," he said.
Aerial fights against intense fires can only do so much, Miller said. "You need boots on the ground."
That's a tall order as firefighters face temperatures that aren't likely to cool until Friday, said Philip Gonsalves, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service in San Diego.
Crews won't be able to rely on any nighttime humidity to recover either, he said.
The dozens of residents who made their way to Sultana High School in Hesperia found themselves fearing the worst and taking stock of the best.
"You can't worry about your things," said Anthony Botello, 48, who left his home with just a handful of clothes and his wedding band. "It's your life that you have to value."
Nearby, Osuna Rosa sipped coffee on a cot and retraced the past day's events.
The 53-year-old hospice nurse was at work in the High Desert on Tuesday morning when she noticed smoke.
The southbound Interstate 15 was closed. She tried an alternate route along Summit Valley Road, but found it clogged with traffic.
After Rosa failed to get a hotel room, she found herself in tears.
Then, a motel employee pointed her to the shelter. In the dimly lit gymnasium, she managed to get a few hours of sleep, still dressed in her blue hospital scrubs.
