Just after 4:30 pm, Lawrence Police Radio rang: "Come on, get all the civilians out of this area."

LAWRENCE – It started a little after 4 pm Thursday, with only one call about a basement fire – a banal event, about what seemed like a mundane afternoon. A minute or two later, emergency dispatchers north of Boston received another call for another fire. Then half a dozen more in quick succession, all in five minutes, each signaling a basement fire or a strong smell of gas.

"We have … several streets," said a voice on the radio, according to fire and EMS records. "Ask the gas company to react immediately."

At 4:20 pm, it was clear that something dangerous was happening. But no one knew what it was, or when or how it would end.

As the calls were faster, the Andover, North Andover and Lawrence fire departments were quick to respond. "We have a house explosion, fully leveled," a report said at 4:30. "I have a trap at home." As incoming calls grew in a few hundred and the number of work fires increased in the tens, someone recalled: "Everyone stays calm."

Then, just after 4:30 pm, with public safety in jeopardy, the authorities gave orders to evacuate over Lawrence Police Radio: "Well, get all the civilians out of this area. All civilians, take them out of their homes. Let's go. "

It was a staggering response to an unimaginable series of events, unfolding with shocking rapidity and a complete lack of warning. Hundreds of firefighters and other rescuers responded Thursday to 80 fires and explosions in the Merrimack Valley, a wave of chaos that left one person dead and at least 25 injured, destroyed dozens of property and forced thousands of residents to leave their homes.

It also left lingering questions in the ravaged neighborhoods, facing months of recovery, as residents struggled to understand how and why their lives had been disrupted.

At Christine Cohne's home on a quiet, leafy street in the so-called library district of North Andover, Thursday afternoon was spent playing football.

Cohne said she was at home with her husband and two children, preparing to go to the field around 4 pm, when her 11-year-old son entered the house.

"Help, help, Rosemary's house is on fire!" He shouted as his surprised mother jumped to call 911.

On the outside, the whole street smelled of smoke, says Cohne, not a smell of firewood, but "a dirty smell, a dark brown smoke that escaped from the chimney".

Her neighbor Rosemary Smedile – a real estate agency and board member of the North Andover Board of Selectmen – had left her home in Greene Street for just 20 minutes, shopping, she said.

"There is smoke coming out of your chimney," said one of his neighbors.

Panic ran through her. "I'll be there," said Smedile, who quickly hung up and dialed 911. But the phone system, overwhelmed, would not send him.

Desperate, she went through her contacts and called the fire chief directly on her mobile phone.

"Could you please call the department and tell them my house is on fire?" She asked.

Half a dozen firefighters converged and the firefighters rushed to rescue Smedile's dog and bird. The owner, David Lee, crossed his six-apartment building on Springfield Street after a fire broke out, throwing open doors at the units and warning tenants.

"It was intense from there," Lee said. "The flames were fast."

* * *

One kilometer from his home in the Chickering Road neighborhood of Lawrence, Matt Halloran was preparing to help a neighbor.

The woman had asked her to repair her chimney heater, which she said had started on her own and would not be closed. Halloran agreed to watch. He leaned over, put on his shoes, when an explosion shook his street, ringing in his ears.

Outside, he found a chaotic scene. The explosion had rocked a nearby house and the walls and chimney had collapsed, trapping young men sitting in a car in the driveway. The neighbors would later learn that one of them, 18 year old Leonel Rondon, had died as a result of his injuries.

Fear and uncertainty descended as the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles turned on at dusk and the helicopters circled in the air. When Halloran's wife and children left to stay with a family member in New Hampshire, they had this feeling of anxiety with them.

"My wife continues to call me asking," Do you agree? Do you agree? "He said.

At 5 pm, the state troops descended, projecting scenes across the region. In Andover, the fire department triggered his call to 10 alarms, the maximum level, while close to 20 fires were burned at the same time and the North Andover police sent a message to him. urgency:.

At his home on Sylvester Street in Lawrence, Bill Auriemma heard someone knock on the door. When he opened it, a firefighter stood there.

He said, "You have to turn off your gas and you have to go out," said Auriemma. "I went to turn on the light and he said," Do not touch the switch because of the spark! "

One mile from Stevens Street, Luis Abreu had fallen asleep after returning from work. He woke up around 6 pm to smell gas in his kitchen, and rushed out of the house in panic, while his fiancée rushed to tell him that the houses in the neighborhood were in flames.

Shortly before 7 pm, to prevent residents from entering the area, police closed several highways on Interstate 495. Traffic was blocked, evacuations of residents trying to get to a safer place.

National Grid, which supplies electricity to the region, has shut down its customers for safety. Homes, shops, restaurants and traffic lights have gone dark. At intersections, police directed the traffic with flashlights. Cruise passengers crawled through neighborhoods with flashing blue lights, while some residents camped in their cars to find a source of energy.

Lawrence's Dean Finocchiaro was sitting in his car charging his devices – a computer, a phone and a game of LEDs – and listening to the radio, trying to gather information about what had happened.

Some did not evacuate because they feared that the night's troubles would overflow, leading to looting or worse.

"I'm afraid people are doing something wrong," said William Hartung, 49, a contractor with Lawrence.

A crescent moon rose above the dark city, now a dark silhouette at the edge of the Merrimack River. Thousands of people have been displaced, many in shelters, trying to find sleep in restless calm.

When Friday morning arrived, he brought few answers and more uncertainty.

Investigators at the National Transportation Safety Board have begun to investigate the cause of the disaster, considering the potential overpressure of a gas line owned by Columbia Gas, which serves approximately 50,000 customers in and around Lawrence. But we did not know when it would be safe to go home.

Around 9:00 am, a municipal official from North Andover posted a tweet informing residents that two Columbia representatives would soon be available at a downtown mall. Dozens of residents showed up and waited more than an hour before asking questions to officials when they finally arrived.

Residents received few answers. James Hassam, a retired firefighter who went door-to-door to help his neighbors to the north of Andover close their gas lines after the fires began, reprimanded officials for their poor preparation .

"I really think you should have come here with more information," he told the Columbia officials, who offered to take the residents' contact information and contact them.

As the police went door-to-door in neighborhoods on Friday, cutting gas in empty homes, city buses arrived in shelters and transported residents to their homes so they could recover. some articles.

In a shelter at Arlington College in north Lawrence, displaced residents took a breakfast of sausages and eggs to the school cafeteria. Celia Monty, 72, seated at a table with her son, 53-year-old Donald Monty Jr., said she was in no hurry to return home to a house that she said could explode.

"I feel safe here at the moment," she said.

In her bag, there were two framed photos that she had seized in an office while they were in a hurry to evacuate Thursday night, both from her late husband. But Monty had brought very little else. His dog, a Pomeranian named Charlie Brown, was in another shelter where pets were allowed. And she still did not know how long they would be away from home.

Around the city, frustration mounted, because the first quest for answers had not given anything. However, in the midst of all the tensions, worried residents have discovered unexpected gifts.

With the power still off, South Union Street businesses in Lawrence were mostly closed. But at the bakery and flower shop Carlos Cakes, the owner, 47-year-old Carlos Alba, was trying to figure out what to do with his cakes, which would perish without refrigeration.

With few options – and some fun – he set up two folding tables in front of his shop, made the cakes and started giving them away.

"A free cake for everyone!" He shouted. "Take the cake – no problem!"

One by one, grateful locals – luggage suitcases filled with a few belongings they had taken home – stopped and added a cake to their charge. A woman stopped to kiss Alba on the cheek, delighted to find sweetness in the midst of so much sorrow.

In the afternoon, 32-year-old Ketcy Rivera crossed the Joseph W. Casey Bridge in the direction of North Lawrence. She walked to her car and wondered where she and her two young children would sleep that night.

They stayed in a hotel on Thursday and returned home briefly Friday afternoon to pick up a bag of goods. But now she did not have a hotel reservation – just hope that a plan will come together.

His boys, Ricardo, 5, and Josiah, 3, asked him all day, "Why can not we go home?" She did not have a good answer.

"It's a terrible nightmare," said Ricardo.