survivors

International aid teams have played a key part in Venezuela’s ‘miracle rescues’, days after twin earthquakes struck, but now they’re preparing to leave. Thousands of people are still searching for their relatives amid the rubble, as frustration continues to build towards the government response.

OLYMPIC VALLEY, Calif. — In the pre-dawn chill of the Sierra Nevada, Christina Klayko bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to keep warm and calm before one of the planet’s most punishing competitions.

Surrounding her at the starting line for the Western States Endurance Run — a lung-busting 100-mile race over towering mountain ridges and through deep, sun-scorched canyons — were some of the most elite athletes in the world, including former champions, record holders and an Olympic marathon medalist.

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Klayko, a 48-year-old mother of three, had no illusions about winning — she was just relieved to be there. She is a two-time cancer survivor, and a year earlier, she was lying on an operating table enduring a full hysterectomy, followed by months of radiation treatment. She was terrified she might die.

Spectators trekked to Emigrant Pass before dawn to cheer at the first significant milestone the Western States Endurance Run.

“I was in a very dark place,” she said. “I would have given anything just to be able to walk my dog around the block.”

But Klayko, a former software engineer from Los Altos, has never been a quitter. In her twenties, following a breast cancer diagnosis and a full mastectomy, she finished an Ironman triathlon. Last Saturday, she was hoping to complete an even more miraculous comeback.

To do so, she would have to run almost half the width of California, from the shores of Lake Tahoe to Auburn, a former mining town in the foothills above Sacramento, along remote, rock-strewn paths that rise and fall like a roller coaster.

In all, she would have to propel herself up more than 18,000 vertical feet, or three times the elevation hikers climb to the summit of Mt. Whitney, the tallest peak in the contiguous U.S. And she’d have to endure relentless jack-hammering from nearly 23,000 feet of descent.

Hard things are nothing new to her, Klayko said. And unlike cancer, running is a choice. You can walk away when you’ve had enough.

There’s no prize money for doing well in the Western States 100, but finishers get a commemorative belt buckle and, more importantly, membership in one of the most exclusive clubs in all of sports. More than 11,000 runners entered a lottery for fewer than 400 spots this year. Many had waited for more than a decade for their chance.

But there’s a cruel twist — not everyone who crosses the finish line wins the bragging rights.

There’s a strict 30-hour time limit. Which means, most years, dozens of competitors struggle over snow-capped mountains, push themselves to the brink of heat stroke in the sweltering canyons and endure a long, dark night in the wilderness, only to show up at the finish line a few minutes late.

Eric Strand, 65, of Wildwood, MO, center, runs in front of the Granite Chief Wilderness at the start of the Western States Endurance Run.

They’re not acknowledged as finishers. As far as the official record is concerned, they didn’t make it.

So as Klayko waited for the ceremonial shotgun blast that signals the start, she wasn’t worrying about cancer, or mortality, or even the hours of torture that lay ahead — she was dreading the cutoff.

“I knew I could just push and push as long as I had to,” Klayko said. But she couldn’t escape the looming fear of “running out of time.”

The first major obstacle was Emigrant Pass, a high ridge that is four miles, almost straight uphill, from the start at the Palisades Tahoe ski resort.

Half an hour after the start, the sun peeked over distant summits, turning the horizon orange, and the first runners approached the top.

In the lead pack was Jim Walmsley, a four-time Western States champion and holder of the course record — an astonishing 14 hours, 9 minutes and 28 seconds. Spaniard Kilian Jornet, arguably the greatest ultra runner of all time, was right there with him. That was no surprise. In addition to having won Western States and almost every other notable ultramarathon, Jornet famously summited Mt. Everest twice in one week — without supplemental oxygen.

Among the women was Molly Seidel, perhaps the most recognizable name after Jornet. Seidel had been a 27-year-old barista and babysitter before the COVID-delayed Olympics in 2021, when she shocked the running world by winning the bronze medal in the marathon. It was only the third marathon she had ever run.

These battle-hardened pros barely flinched when they crested the ridge and ran headfirst into bitter, gale-force winds gusting to 65 mph. Their bare, muscled legs kept pumping steadily and carried them down the other side, where the gusts quickly subsided.

The rest of the pack didn’t make it look so easy.

Spectators watch the sunrise before the start of the Western States Endurance Run.

Many were hunched and gasping as they struggled toward the crest. One woman bent over and started retching violently. Locking eyes with a reporter, she shouted, “I’M OK!” — apparently unaware that she was screaming over the wind and whatever was playing in her headphones. “I JUST SWALLOWED TOO MUCH SPIT!”

Then she straightened and staggered into the howling gale: only 96 more miles to go.

Seven hours later, at mile 56, the lead runners climbed out of the course’s deepest and hottest canyon, onto a dusty promontory called Michigan Bluff.

The first few looked almost as fresh and fast as they had at the ridge. But the punishment was starting to show on everyone else.

Jornet, who had been nursing a knee injury before the race, was concerned about the canyons. He didn’t make it through them, dropping out at mile 38.

Walmsley, who had been among the leaders for the first 30 miles, was fading by Michigan Bluff. Persistent hip pain would force him from the race at the next aid station. At this point, most of the other runners, including Klayko, were hours behind.

Justin Grunewald, a 40-year-old Colorado doctor, who some picked as a dark horse contender to finish in the top ten, looked exasperated as he emerged from the canyon. He went straight to his support team, who started dumping water down the back of his shirt and tying an ice bag around his neck.

“I’m totally fine,” he told them, “but my knee is killing me because I keep eating s—.” That’s runner shorthand for falling.

His knee was bleeding, but the real problem was his vision. He pulled off his sunglasses, and his eyes were a scary shade of red. He leaned his head back while a friend squeezed drops into them and reminded him to keep wearing his glasses. Obvious advice — but what else do you say to someone hellbent on running another 44 miles?

“Ultra runners are a strange breed,” said Amanda Basham, Grunewald’s wife. She was on his support team this year, but she has twice finished the race in fourth place.

Jacob Banta, of Mill Valley, pushes up the trail near Michigan Bluff during the Western States Endurance Run.

As Grunewald composed himself and trotted off into the distance, it seemed like a good time to ask the obvious: why does anyone put themselves through such an ordeal?

Basham laughed and said most people would probably brush the question aside with something safe and trite, like, “I just love running!” But the truth, she said, is that “almost everyone here has an intense story.”

Grunewald’s first wife and running partner, Gabe, died after fighting a rare cancer for 10 years, Basham said. Other competitors have lost a child, struggled with mental health or battled addiction. Running long distances on secluded trails can be a coping mechanism. For some, showing up at big races to commune with their tribe is like group therapy.

“We all come together for this common thing, and it doesn’t really matter if you went to rehab 10 times,” Basham said. “You’re here trying to get better, and it’s cool.”

Minutes later, Seidel hobbled out of the canyon clutching her thighs. When her crew offered her a chair, she tried to settle but started panting in pain, apologizing that she was in too much agony to sit.

This was her first attempt at 100 miles. She would explain later that she hadn’t eaten enough during the race and had developed excruciating skin lesions from chafing. It looked like her day was done, but she refused to quit.

The women’s winner, Jennifer Lichter, might have the most intense story of them all. Born in Bogota, Colombia, she was a nine-year old orphaned by cartel violence when a couple from Wisconsin adopted her.

In her first 100-mile race, she shaved a minute off the women’s course record, finishing in 15 hours, 28 minutes and five seconds.

The men’s winner, Vincent Bouillard, smashed the overall course record by more than 20 minutes, sprinting across the line in 13 hours, 46 minutes and 15 seconds.

Klayko, who never imagined herself involved in the chase for records, emerged from the canyon eight hours behind the leaders.

For most of the race, she hovered between hiking fast and running slow. She subsisted mostly on energy chews and gels, indulging in a baked potato sprinkled with salt at one point, and luxuriating in a cup of broth with rice at another.

Was attempting the race wise, given her health? Had she told her doctors she was planning to do this?

“That’s, um, a good question,” she said with a chuckle. “They know I’m a serious runner but … I don’t think I actually told them I was running the Western States.”

Probably for the best.

Like a lot of the runners, Klayko said she got a jolt of much needed energy at mile 78, on the bank of the American River, where the run suddenly turns into an obstacle course.

Racers grab a thin nylon rope and gingerly wade into the freezing water. Volunteers offer life vests and stay close to prevent drownings, but offer no assistance.

A racer crosses the American River during the Western States Endurance Run.

Near the middle of the crossing, the water got so deep that many runners submerged completely, pulling on the rope to haul themselves to the far bank.

“It definitely woke me up,” Klayko said of her crossing in the dark at 3 a.m. “It was a lot colder than I expected.”

On the other side — soaked to the bone, with wet clothes and shoes — she crawled back onto the dusty trail and started running again. Soon after, the trouble set in.

It began with a burning sensation on the bottom of her left foot. As the pain intensified, she started hobbling, leaning on the trekking pole in her right hand to take pressure off the blister that was growing bigger than a golf ball.

With just miles to go, her husband, Chris, who ran beside her — after the halfway point, competitors are allowed to have a companion for safety — kept checking the time. They were falling behind.

What do you say to someone you love in such a situation? You don’t want them to suffer, but you don’t want them to fail.

“We need to hustle,” he told her.

In the last few hundred yards, the race enters the football stadium at Placer High School. Seidel had finished hours earlier, at 5:29 a.m., when the stadium was relatively empty.

But the last 60 minutes before the notorious cutoff — known as Golden Hour — attracts a huge crowd.

Cameras film from every angle as one battered body after another circles the track. Some jog, some hobble, some openly sob. Whatever they do, it’s fully public and likely to go viral on social media.

Christina Klayko pushes for the finish at Placer High School with just minutes to spare in the Western States Endurance Run..

Klayko said she was coached to visualize her finish during training. In her head, it looked nothing like this.

When she came around the final bend with the clock ticking down, gasps arose from the media gaggle behind the finish line.

Desperate to compensate for the enormous blisters on both feet now, she leaned forward and to the right at almost 90 degrees — wobbling and weaving on her heels, relying on trekking poles to stay upright and claw forward.

It was hard to watch but impossible to look away.

When she was finally in stumbling distance of the line, Chris bounced up and down and thrust his arms in the air. The crowd roared.

She finished with 18 minutes to spare.

Christina Klayko nearly collapsed after crossing the finish with minutes to spare in Western States Endurance Run.

“I’m still begging for people to help me get him out.” A mother’s plea as rescuers race to reach people trapped beneath collapsed buildings after twin earthquakes struck Venezuela. Al Jazeera’s Teresa Bo reports.

Unlike Jimmy Savile, Rolf Harris was caught before his death and was made to pay the price for his many years of criminal behaviour – but only in the UK

Survivors of Rolf Harris have spoken out for the first time about his abusive behaviour, with one branding the late entertainer and artist as a “disgusting old man”.

The Australian star, who died in 2023, was jailed in the UK for five years and nine months for indecent assault in 2014. One of those who helped to convict him was the best friend of his daughter Bindi, known as Victim A, who was just 13 years old when his attacks started.

Now a new documentary features other women revealing what they went through, with one assaulted by Harris when she was a teenager on a Mediterranean holiday, another attacked while making a TV commercial and a third while on tour with her theatre group in London.

Sunny was 15 when she was filming a TV ad alongside Harris, who was the face of a brand called British Paints. She said the assault happened soon after he arrived on set and stood very close to her, “right in my face”. “That’s when he assaulted me, then walked off. The reason I am doing this is to say to him ‘you are a disgusting old man and you can’t get away with it any more’. Just f*** right off,” she says.

Pamela was on holiday with her boyfriend and another couple in Malta in 1970. “I was 18, everything was fun,” she remembers, until they ran into Harris in a bar and he took her into another room to show her “more of his art”. “He just pushed me against the wall and he put his hands on my breast. He kissed me which was not very nice, very horrible,” she says. “And then he put his hands in my pants, up my dress. And then he said ‘I’m sorry’, and then he cuddled me.”

She believes she knows why his mood changed suddenly. “I really thought he was going to rape me – I had my period at the time. I think that’s why he stopped.”

Although the paedophile and serial sex offender had made the UK his home, he travelled regularly back to native Australia. Another victim, called Nina, said that she was 14 in 1984 when Harris came in to a motel where she was staying with her family because of her dad’s job.

“Rolf Harris started to touch me in quite an imposing way. He was rubbing himself up against me and putting his hands over my shoulders and touching my chest. I just didn’t know how to make him stop,” she recalls. “He was reciting a poem while he was groping me, rhythmically, groping my breasts in time to his little nursery rhyme. Obviously for him this was funny and this was how he was treating a child.”

Nina reported him to police at the time but the programme finds that New South Wales authorities have no record of her complaint. She now feels angry that they ignored what she told them. ‘They were looking at their watches, yawning. By disregarding it, this behaviour is escalated. He’s repeated it over and over again with children, and all those children have been damaged by him. The police could have addressed that in 1984 and they just didn’t choose to. The whole thing leaves you feeling isolated. It’s hard to describe the impact that has on your development and confidence.”

One of the most disturbing elements of the two-part documentary is how many people knew what he was up to but did nothing to stop him as he hung out with pals including Jimmy Savile. Investigative reporter Meirion Jones describes how his wife was warned about Harris while working at the BBC. He says an executive told her not to get into a lift with him on her own or walk up the stairs in front of him. “Management knew Rolf Harris was in the habit of groping, and they were trying to transfer that problem to the people around him, saying to women, ‘don’t put yourself in a position where he might attack you’.”

The first episode also features Cathy, who had come to London on a six week tour with her theatre group in 1986, when she was 15. She was told that Rolf Harris was going to come and watch their final performance to give feedback. “He said to me ‘come and sit on my lap’ and he was telling me how talented he thought I was and that I should keep going,” she remembers, growing tearful. “

He started to put his hand on my legs and going under my skirt. This is all happening while we’re all singing and talking and laughing. It was so bizarre, no one knew anything was going on. I just went really quiet and was in shock, I just thought ‘I wish my Mum was here’. I went to the bathroom and I started to cry, I wasn’t sure if it had really happened. I composed myself and walked out and when I did he was right by the door – with a big smile on his face. That’s when he assaulted me. He put his fingers inside me and assaulted me and then he just walked away.”

She said the assault has had a lasting impact on her and she never returned to the theatre group. “For that one moment of whatever he got from it – it destroys people’s lives. Not just six months or a year, your whole life. Nothing is the same.”

Ben Markham, Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police who worked on Operation Yewtree, said Victim A was motivated to come forward after seeing Harris appear on screen at one particular event in 2012. “The turning point came with the Queen’s jubilee,” he explains. “It was like a dam bursting, she just felt ‘this is enough’.

Rolf Harris: Primetime Predator is streaming now on Amazon Prime Video.

Search and rescue operations continue in Caracas, Venezuela nearly five days after the devastating double earthquakes. Al Jazeera’s Noris Soto speaks with a family member who remains hopeful their loved one is still alive beneath the rubble.

Specially-trained search dogs are used to sniff out where potential victims may be located, says Ivory – who has been deployed to relief efforts following earthquakes in Haiti, Japan and Nepal and is currently helping to coordinate efforts in Venezuela from the UK.

They can identify a person’s smell even when they are buried as far as 10m (32.8ft) under rubble – and will let out a “really strong and sustained bark” when they do, alerting rescuers to a potential survivor.

The dogs are trained using toys imprinted with a human’s smell, Ivory explains. Then, when they actually locate a human on the ground, they are handed the toy as a reward by their handler.

Search dogs can also be very useful during the technical part of rescue operations, says Sakthy Selvakumaran of the UK-based charity Search and Rescue Assistance in Disasters (SARAID), which deploys personnel to large-scale disasters worldwide.

They can find hard-to-navigate paths through rubble to follow a scent or identify different access points to the victim, Selvakumaran tells the BBC.

WASHINGTON — Holiday gatherings and major life events have come with an empty seat. Certain dates on the calendar meant time at a cemetery, standing before granite stones.

They are a relatively small group of people, scattered across different states, but they share a common bond that stretches decades: Each had a family member die violently in the struggle for voting and civil rights, victims on a long and difficult path marked by blood that ended when the country seemed to mature into the nation of its creed.

But 61 years later, and as the country approaches its 250th anniversary this weekend, those sacrifices are in question. In a series of decisions over the last dozen years, including one in April, the Supreme Court has essentially dismantled the law that their family members died to see enacted, the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

“My mother’s blood is on that bill. We were always proud of that, and now it’s gone,” said Anthony Liuzzo, whose mother, Viola Liuzzo, died on an Alabama highway between Selma and Montgomery while driving marchers in 1965.

Critics of the law contend that times have changed, an argument Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. made in a 2013 decision that was the first major step in rolling back the law.

Survivors of lost loved ones disagree, pointing to the speed with which Republican-led state legislatures eliminated majority-Black congressional districts after the court’s April ruling, which severely weakened a section of the law that had protected voting rights for minority communities. They feel anger and sadness that a milestone political victory decades ago has been reversed, but they are committed to keep fighting.

A church bombing and a chunk of concrete

Lisa McNair was born Sept. 19, 1964. Her older sister, Denise, died in the Sept 15, 1963, bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala. The church had been a central organizing point for civil rights protest.

The explosion killed Denise McNair, 11, and 14-year-olds Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Morris Wesley. Nearly two dozen others were injured. Three Ku Klux Klansmen were convicted years later.

One of Lisa McNair’s early memories of her sister was of the box that their grandmother kept from the funeral home. It included Denise McNair’s shoes, a purse and a rock-sized piece of concrete that had been embedded in her skull.

The crime brought the civil rights struggle onto the national stage and outraged President Kennedy.

The times were tumultuous, McNair said, but it seemed the nation was heading in the right direction. Most of her life, “I’ve seen advances” on television, in commercials, with interracial marriages, civil rights and voting rights, “a plethora of rights that we got over the greater part of my lifetime.” But that has changed, she said.

McNair, 61, said she is “physically sick” about the Supreme Court decision and subsequent actions by lower courts and legislatures.

“I am constantly working to pray my way through it, so I can get up and go to work in the morning and do what I need to do. But I just want to ask every white person I see, ‘What more do you want?;” she said. “‘Why do you hate us so?’”

They left for Freedom Summer and never came home

Michael Schwerner, known as Mickey, came from a family in which human rights activism and challenging social norms were expected. He was in Mississippi in 1964 as part of Freedom Summer when he, Andrew Goodman and James Chaney vanished one day in June while investigating a bombing at a Black church.

Their bodies were found weeks later, buried in an earthen dam in a rural area of Neshoba County. Schwerner, 24, and Goodman, 20, were white; Chaney, 21, was Black.

Stephen Schwerner, who died earlier this year and was a social activist in his own right, told the Associated Press in a 2023 interview that as soon as the family heard his younger brother and the other men were missing, they knew they were dead.

“Our family was very out front in the media that the only reason there was international attention was two of the young men were white,” said Stephen’s daughter, Cassie Schwerner. “Had all three of those young men been Black, they would have ended up absent from our history and our narrative.”

The executive director of Morningside Center for Teaching Social Responsibility, Cassie Schwerner, said her family has followed voting rights through their ups and downs. That includes the 2013 Supreme Court decision that allowed states and counties with a history of discriminatory voting rules to make changes without prior approval from the Department of Justice.

The court’s April decision, she said, brought rage “and a good deal of sadness — not for me and my family, but for this country.” There is, she said, work to be done on multiple fronts.

Rights paid for in blood turned out to be fragile

Tamara Orange said among her many thoughts when she heard of the Supreme Court decision in this year’s Voting Rights Act case, there was relief — “relief that my dad is not here to see that; that Jimmie Lee Jackson is not here to see it; that Viola Liuzzo is not here to see it,” she said. “I’m relieved for them because to me, it’s as though the sacrifices that were made were done in vain.”

Her father, James Orange, was working with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference to organize voting rights protests in Marion and Perry County, Ala., in 1965. When juveniles joined the effort, he was arrested for contributing to the delinquency of minors. Concern arose that Orange was going to be taken out of the jail and lynched.

A protest to intervene ended with Jackson, a 26-year-old Black church deacon, being shot in the stomach by a state trooper while Jackson tried to shield his mother and grandfather.

His death was the catalyst for what became the Selma-to-Montgomery march and “Bloody Sunday.”

Orange stayed in the movement all his life and died in 2008, Tamara Orange said. But even after the Voting Rights Act passed, “he would say, ‘Be careful or we’re going to lose it.’”

‘We got bad news for you’

Anthony Liuzzo had just turned 10 when his mother, 39, left their middle-class neighborhood in Michigan and headed for Selma. She had cried as she watched scenes from “Bloody Sunday” on television.

Viola Liuzzo participated in a portion of the second march and then helped drive other civil rights protesters around the Black Belt region of the state. On March 25, 1965, she was driving one protester between Selma and Montgomery when a vehicle pulled alongside and fired into the car.

The phone call came around midnight. Anthony Liuzzo remembers the caller asking his dad, “Is your wife Viola? We got bad news for you. She’s been shot.” When his father asked whether she was all right, the caller said, “No, she’s dead,” and then hung up.

An informant for the FBI quickly identified members of the Ku Klux Klan as her killers. The three men charged would escape conviction on state charges but be convicted in federal court.

Anthony Liuzzo and his siblings lived with the lost birthdays and other missed milestones. His comfort was that the voting rights she had died for had become a reality. But the April ruling by the Supreme Court and the subsequent rush by Republican-led legislatures in several Southern states to eliminate congressional districts represented by Black lawmakers left him angry and distraught.

Even so, he said he is still proud his mother had the courage to go to Selma “when others sat in their pretty little houses.”

One morning, the Klan returned

The inscription at the bottom of Vernon Dahmer Sr.’s tombstone reads simply: “If you don’t vote, you don’t count.”

It is a message that embodies his life’s work and the story behind his death.

Even after President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act, not every state was eager to implement the new law. In Mississippi, it came with a poll tax. The amount was $2, but in a world where a farmworker’s wages might only be $5 a day, that was substantial, said Dahmer’s son, Dennis Dahmer Sr.

The elder Dahmer, 57 at the time of his death, was a successful businessman who owned a store, sawmill and farm near Hattiesburg. He also was a civil rights leader and NAACP president in Ford County. He offered to pay the $2 for Black residents who wanted to register to vote.

He had already been under scrutiny by the local Ku Klux Klan. There was harassment and there were threatening phone calls. The windows were shot out of his store, but no one challenged him directly because his sons were always present and armed.

That seemed to tail off after Johnson signed the law.

“The Klan quit calling,” Dennis Dahmer said. “They quit shooting out the windows, so my family thought that all of this was behind us.”

That changed in the early hours of Jan. 10, 1966, when two carloads of Klansmen showed up. They firebombed the house and adjacent grocery store and began shooting at the house. The elder Dahmer shot back, using his ample arsenal to fight off the attack.

His wife and the three children who were home survived, but he suffered severe injuries from inhaling the smoke and fumes from the flames. He died later that day.

Dennis Dahmer was 12 as he stood next to his dad’s hospital bed. He wondered why some people wanted his father dead just for trying to help Black people vote.

A former Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, Sam Bowers, was convicted in 1998 for the attack and sentenced to life in prison.

Like the families of other survivors, Dennis Dahmer’s family has witnessed the methodical dismantling of the Voting Rights Act.

“Finally, they basically turned it into a relic,” he said.

His plan now is activism, to speak out and promote the need for a massive voter turnout. He also wants to remind people of the price that certain families paid for everyone to have the right to vote and be represented by someone of their choosing.

“We’re living in a time when America has a lot of the same characteristics of the 1960s that I grew up in,” he said. “People say, ‘Are we going back?’ Hell, we’re already there.”

Fields writes for the Associated Press.

Rescue teams and volunteers are working around the clock in search for survivors trapped beneath the rubble in Venezuela, as families cling to hope days after the June 24 twin earthquakes, with tens of thousands of people still missing. Zein Basravi reports from Caracas.

Four days after twin quakes left 1,450 dead and nearly 69,000 missing in Venezuela, residents and volunteers say they feel abandoned by the government as they race to save lives from the rubble.

Rescuers in Venezuela are racing against time to find survivors after twin earthquakes left thousands missing. International teams have pulled several people from the rubble alive, including 11-year-old boy Moises rescued after a six-hour operation and a newborn reunited with their family.

At least 920 people are confirmed dead and more than 51,000 missing after two earthquakes struck Venezuela on Wednesday.

Rescuers are racing against time in Venezuela, three days after two powerful earthquakes struck, with at least 920 people confirmed dead and more than 51,000 still missing.

The twin, magnitude 7.2 and 7.5 quakes hit on Wednesday, devastating the coastal area around La Guaira, where authorities moved on Friday night to restrict access as traffic chaos began to hamper search efforts.

With a scarcity of government rescue teams, Venezuelans have become desperate in the hardest-hit areas, digging through rubble with their hands, with aid agencies warning the critical 72-hour survival window is closing fast.

Officials said anyone who wants to enter the area around La Guaira would now have to seek official permits, but provided few details of who would be allowed in.

People reported seeing few state rescue teams in the hardest-hit areas, despite authorities projecting an image of a robust government response.

“Each person saved is a miracle,” said Jorge Rodriguez, president of the National Assembly.

“We are not going to hide absolutely anything about the magnitude of this tragedy.”

Government forces distributed food and water to survivors in La Guaira, and Acting President Delcy Rodriguez said her government was mounting a full response during these “critical hours for rescuing people alive”.

She welcomed the arrival of international rescuers and humanitarian aid.

Rodriguez said La Guaira had been “militarised” and more help was on the way, even as residents said it was just a fraction of what they needed.

Rodriguez, the former vice president, took office in January after the United States captured and removed then-President Nicolas Maduro.

Venezuela has been facing economic disarray for more than a decade, and many people reject the legitimacy of the political movement Rodriguez represents.

‘People are still terrified to re-enter what were their homes’

The number of dead was expected to climb, as people reported tens of thousands of missing on independent digital databases.

Those figures likely included people who have been incommunicado due to the lack of phone signals, and some reports may be duplicates.

The number of injured was more than 3,300 as of midday Friday, and authorities said they had rescued 243 people.

The International Organization for Migration said up to 6.76 million people could be affected, some two million of them in Caracas alone.

The destruction was amplified by the quick succession of shallow quakes, experts said.

Loyce Pace, the International Red Cross regional director for the Americas, said “people are still terrified to re-enter what were their homes.”

Venezuelan authorities said 861 volunteers from Mexico, the US, El Salvador, Switzerland, Colombia and beyond were in the country, and more were coming from elsewhere.

Divers in Laos have rescued four more villagers trapped in a flooded cave. The first survivor was pulled out on Friday. Two more men remain missing. They entered the cave to look for gold before flash floods blocked their escape 10 days ago.

IN just three days, Katie Price’s husband Lee Andrews is due to be released from Dubai’s hell-hole Al Awir prison.

But the news of his imminent return to freedom has emboldened the women who have been caught up in his web of lies and deceit – and now they’re determined to see him locked up for good.

Over the past five months, I have spoken to the women who have survived Andrews, and their extraordinary stories are chilling.

From financial fraud on a life-changing scale to even more shocking allegations, the women painted a terrifying picture of the man Katie chose to marry just weeks after meeting him earlier this year.

For months, the women have shared evidence with The Sun – and the relevant police authorities – in the hope that the law will catch up with Andrews.

Together they stood firm as he desperately tried to smear their reputations, telling me in a long and rambling voice note that one of the women was disturbed and had spent time inside a “mental institution”.

He claimed they were fantasists, liars and angrily declared: “I know you’re a lady and everything, but women can be very harsh.”

I didn’t believe a word he said to me then, and I still don’t now.

But the patience of the women involved is understandably wearing thin.

His arrest in Dubai on a civil matter has, they tell me, been for Andrews just a brief taste of what they hope is to come.

Justice for these women, however, will be a war that will not be easily won.

“Lee is a dangerous man, and the authorities need to act,” one of the women tells me from their home in the US.

“All of the women Lee has conned in the past have come together in a group, and we are determined to fight to get justice.

“It does feel incredibly hopeless at times. No one in power seems to be properly acting. But we’re standing together, and we will do everything we can to make the police act.”

Criminal complaints have been lodged against Andrews by one woman with Hertfordshire Police.

Another of his victims, businesswoman Crystal Janke, reported an alleged theft of £123,000 to cops in America.

The uphill battle they face is the fact that Andrews resides in Dubai and is unable to leave due to a travel ban.

Andrews, ultimately, is able to dodge culpability because of where he is.

Hertfordshire Police confirmed to me they had handed the complaints filed to them to cops in Dubai because the alleged incidents happened in the UAE.

These allegations, to add, are incredibly serious.

They need to see him hauled in for questioning.

But so far, the police there have seemingly failed to act in any way to investigate Andrews, let alone arrest him.

The financial fraud complaint made to cops against Andrews in the US by Crystal is also dangling in the ether.

The police confirmed they can only act against Andrews if he lands on US soil.

And let’s be honest, Andrews isn’t going to be leaving Dubai anytime soon.

From the number of phone calls I had in the days leading up to Andrews’ arrest, the women who have joined forces to try and bring the con-artist to justice are not alone in their plight.

Andrews is alleged to owe vast sums of money to several people in Dubai.

Each individual wants him taken to task, and no one more so than the women whose lives he has irrevocably damaged in one way or another.

“We see ourselves as survivors of Lee, not victims,” one woman tells me.

“But to say the slow progress by the police in Dubai is frustrating is an understatement.

“The complaints are racking up, and nothing is being done.

“Some of us have even gone to the lengths of contacting the police when we know where Lee is and pleading with them to arrest him.

“Repeatedly, we have said, he is at this location, he is wanted for this, please act. And nothing ever seems to happen.

“We have no idea what else to do, but once he is out, we are going to carry on alerting the police, and we won’t stop until they act.”

After he was arrested and sent to the Al Awir prison, authorities confirmed to The Sun he had been apprehended on a private civil matter.

It proved once again that Andrews is a devious liar – after he told Katie he had been arrested for espionage.

“Lee saying he was arrested for spying is nothing new,” one of the women explained to me.

“It’s a claim directly out of his conman playbook.

“He’s said to everyone in this group at some point that he worked for the secret services. He bragged about being in MI5 in the UK.

“Lee would just tell so many lies. He told Katie he was an international arms dealer, too.

“By this point, we don’t think Lee would know what the truth is – even if he slapped him around the face.”

Previously, Andrews denied every claim made against him by the women who spoke out against him.

In the face of the weight of evidence they provided me with, including their bank statements and correspondence with their relevant police forces, Andrews stood firm and tried to paint them as scorned fantasists.

These women are nothing of the sort.

And I, along with my colleagues, will keep banging this drum until Andrews is locked up.

With any luck, they will throw away the key.

Hong Kong fire survivors return to Wang Fuk Court five months after a blaze killed 168 people. Thousands of displaced residents sifting through charred remains searching for belongings found little intact.