A compilation of coroner's reports on deaths from last year's heatwave makes it clear that extreme weather does not discriminate.

The victims were young and old, homeless and wealthy, black, white, Hispanic, Asian American and Native American.

They range from a 19-year-old man with fentanyl poisoning who collapsed in an alley lined with yakiniku restaurants to a 96-year-old military veteran who was found unresponsive in his stuffy, unair-conditioned home and later died in hospital.

After her eviction, despite being subjected to relentless heat, Orr kept in frequent contact with her relatives, trying to work out exactly how she had been deceived and keep her safe.

At first, she stayed with different family members for days or weeks at a time, but always left out of fear she would be a burden, said her youngest granddaughter, Haley Orr.

For the weeks before her death, the grandmother had been living in her car parked in a supermarket car park, with her family bringing her cold water and caring for her.

Orr's daughter fondly remembered her grandmother's sense of humor and her love of animals, describing a favorite photo of her smiling and holding a tiny kitten. She said she wished her grandmother had accepted the family's offer to help.

Vulnerable Elderly

Like Oh, nearly two-thirds of those who died were over 50. As we age, it becomes harder for us to regulate our body temperature. Older people also tend to have health conditions that make them more vulnerable to heat, such as diabetes, heart or kidney disease, and high blood pressure. Prescription medications like diuretics can cause dehydration in warm weather, especially in dry areas like central Arizona.

In the case of elderly people, dementia may also be the cause. An 83-year-old woman with Alzheimer's disease who had a tendency to wander was found dead by her niece in a stuffy alley behind her home.

Most of the elderly heatstroke victims were alone at home, including a 73-year-old widow who died along with her dog, Pumpkin, when the air conditioning failed in her $1 million Scottsdale home, and an 85-year-old woman who lived in an old parsonage with minimal rent and maintenance costs also died from inadequate cooling.

As the heat wave was coming to an end, a caregiver discovered Concetta Davis, 79, and her husband, Ronald Davis, 74, who were bedridden with dementia, in their home in temperatures of 102 degrees.

Not all of those who died were elderly.

Nathan Perkins, 33, died Sunday morning while hiking alone in a remote desert area. He was a senior engineer for the public utility cooperative Salt River Project and engaged to be married.

“He was a brilliant engineer who often spoke about his family, his fiancée and his future as a husband and father,” his boss, Maria Knauff, wrote in an online tribute.

A 33-year-old pregnant woman with a history of drug use and schizophrenia was found in the street in the hot sun and died on the way to the hospital, and a 50-year-old homeless man collapsed and died at a bus stop.

A lonely death

A common thread among most of the victims was a sense of loneliness. They spent their final moments without the comfort of loved ones or friends, sweat drying in the dry weather, without even realizing how hot they were. They succumbed to heat stroke, their skin turning hot and red, their pulse racing, their body temperature rising, and they lost consciousness.

Many of the elderly victims were originally from the Midwest who had moved to Arizona to escape the cold winters, and they lived alone, far from relatives and with little contact with neighbors who might check in on them, or on the streets, with no shelter from the oppressive desert heat.

A 51-year-old man who once prided himself on being a former firefighter for the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs died alone on a scorching Phoenix sidewalk the morning after leaving a drug treatment facility and going on a drinking spree, far from the Navajo Nation where he grew up.

Maintenance crews at a Phoenix elementary school discovered the body of Ronald Rogers, a 60-year-old homeless man. Rogers had jumped a 10-foot fence to reach a shady grassy area next to a basketball court and had broken both legs in the jump or fall. County authorities have not been able to locate any next of kin for Rogers.

Rogers was later buried in Maricopa County's White Tanks Cemetery, a burial site for the unidentified dead, in a rural area far west of Phoenix where neat rows of red bricks are inscribed with names and dates of birth.

Michelle Castañeda-Martinez, division administrator for the county's public health department, said part of her job involves ensuring the proper cremation and burial of the remains of those who die alone. Veterans have the right to be buried in a national or state cemetery, but White Tanks is the final resting place of hundreds of people each year, including 513 last year.

“Many times, despite all our efforts, no one shows up,” she said.