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The numbers are easy to find now.

Last week, it was reported that at least 66 people were still missing, and that an additional 80 people were also unaccounted for, the Maui Police Department said.

Right now, 63 of the 115 confirmed victims have been identified and the grim work of contacting families continues.

But data with this level of detail was in short supply in the days following the fires of Aug. 8, and in the absence of official information, the community quickly mobilized to share what they knew.

Like many people on Maui, I first learned about what happened informally. For me, it was a text message on Tuesday night. I had a hard time comprehending the words “Lahaina literally burning down.” I immediately turned to social media, and sure enough posts, pictures, and comments were all about the fires.

I stayed up late watching the news, checking in with others in group chats and messaging apps, and doomscrolling on Facebook. No information was coming out of the west side. Power was down. Cellphones didn’t work.

The next morning, what happened in Lahaina still didn’t sink in. The courthouse was open in Wailuku. I had hearings scheduled. People had gathered outside the courtroom for a jury trial. Then again by text message, I saw pictures of Front Street.

It was shocking.

The fires dominated my social media feed. Every post and picture, when it wasn’t about a fire, was a call for help from someone desperate for information. People were trying to find each other and were using any way they could.

The online pleas were everywhere:

“We haven’t heard from Mike Misaka since the fires broke out, If anyone has any information please reach out to us. Mike loved going to the pool (Lahaina Aquatic Center) all the time and he might be somewhere in the vicinity of there.”

“Looking for Linda Vaikeli From Lahaina Surf . . . Baker St.”

These pleas are accompanied by pictures of happier times at weddings, beaches, and gatherings. There was no official word on anything or anyone. No one knew where to go or how to find the thousands of people living on the west side.

Punctuating those photos of the missing were pictures of the sign-in sheets at shelters posted as early as the night of the fires. Everyone was doing what they could. A Haiku artist living in Minneapolis was motivated to post pictures of the lists.

I zoomed in on those pictures to look for people. I know I wasn’t alone because eventually, someone took the names from the lists and started a spreadsheet on a shared Google doc.

It has evolved into what became the .

At first the sheer number of names was overwhelming. It gave a sense of how massive this had become. But when I began going through it, I started recognizing names. I saw a friend from my local soccer league. I checked for my cousin’s family. I searched for clients — especially those living outside or with limited means of communication and transportation.

Over a month later, it remains a remarkable document.

It’s proof of a community — both online and on island — responding to an urgent and pressing crisis.

It is like a telephone switchboard meant to connect people and nothing more. And while the information is sparse, for friends, neighbors, and loved ones, it’s precious.

Many people on the list have been “found” and are marked off in green. Sometimes that’s all it says.

The missing, or “not located,” remain in red. Carlos Tobias “Last seen in WAHIKULI. He wanted to wait for his wife because she was still at work.” Danilo and Conchita Sagudang, not located, “evacuated to Maui Prep, but not sure where after that.” Alfie Rawlings, not located, “last seen at Hale Mahaolu Elua assistant living units.”

Some have MPD/FBI case numbers next to their names.

A better system has emerged now. County and State officials have released and urge the public to assist them in finding people. But in those early days of this massive disaster, it was all we had to go on.

And it has worked. The people locator lets everyone know who’s missing and who was found. Before official tallies, reports, and numbers, it was the only thing that family, friends, and loved ones wanted to know.

Now as the shock continues to wear off on this island, the spreadsheet continues while questions that still require an answer stack up.