Denham Springs, Louisiana (CNN) Austin Schexnayder had been scrambling to salvage what he could of his home after Louisiana's historic floods. He hadn't seen his kids in six days.

When he first laid eyes on Olivia, 6, and Parker, 4, on Thursday, he donned sunglasses to hide his tears and put on a brave face. Parker asked to see his room and had one request as his daddy undertook the epic rebuilding project.

Anthony Williams, at the grill on the right, was lucky. His home sits a couple of feet higher than those of his across-the-street neighbors. It was eerie seeing the destruction, he said, and in a way he felt guilty that his home wasn't inundated as well. On August 18 he held a barbecue, grilling up burgers and dogs for his neighbors. Another fortunate neighbor a few doors down had grilling duties the day before and cooked up a pile of chicken and ribs for everyone.

Anthony Williams, at the grill on the right, was lucky. His home sits a couple of feet higher than those of his across-the-street neighbors. It was eerie seeing the destruction, he said, and in a way he felt guilty that his home wasn't inundated as well. On August 18 he held a barbecue, grilling up burgers and dogs for his neighbors. Another fortunate neighbor a few doors down had grilling duties the day before and cooked up a pile of chicken and ribs for everyone.

Nourreddine Azmi, a longtime resident of the Baton Rouge area, is one of the few South Point residents with flood insurance. Still, he wonders if his policy will cover some of his most beloved possessions, including posh furniture from his native Morocco and his 1929 Mercedes Gazelle. When the flooding hit, he lost phone service and couldn't find his family for two days, so no matter what happens, he said, he considers himself a fortunate man. Material belongings can be replaced, he said.

Nourreddine Azmi, a longtime resident of the Baton Rouge area, is one of the few South Point residents with flood insurance. Still, he wonders if his policy will cover some of his most beloved possessions, including posh furniture from his native Morocco and his 1929 Mercedes Gazelle. When the flooding hit, he lost phone service and couldn't find his family for two days, so no matter what happens, he said, he considers himself a fortunate man. Material belongings can be replaced, he said.

Though some homes were spared in the South Point neighborhood, many saw up to 4 feet of water. Evacuees couldn't reach their homes until four or five days after the flooding began. The scope of the destruction is evident in the debris piles in residents' yards, some of which sit 6 feet high taller. Everything from toys to appliances to official-looking documents to lingerie -- even a little pink bike with tassels on its handlebars -- can be found in the yards.

Though some homes were spared in the South Point neighborhood, many saw up to 4 feet of water. Evacuees couldn't reach their homes until four or five days after the flooding began. The scope of the destruction is evident in the debris piles in residents' yards, some of which sit 6 feet high taller. Everything from toys to appliances to official-looking documents to lingerie -- even a little pink bike with tassels on its handlebars -- can be found in the yards.

Austin Schexnayder points to the black mold that is already forming along his home's baseboards. He lost just about everything in his four-bedroom, two-bathroom home. His insurance company called him Thursday, August 18, to tell him his $1,800-a-year policy didn't cover the destruction. "It's scary, dude, the fact that we pay all this money and can't get no help at the end of it."

Austin Schexnayder points to the black mold that is already forming along his home's baseboards. He lost just about everything in his four-bedroom, two-bathroom home. His insurance company called him Thursday, August 18, to tell him his $1,800-a-year policy didn't cover the destruction. "It's scary, dude, the fact that we pay all this money and can't get no help at the end of it."

Owens' roommate, Staff Sgt. Pamela Vance, right, and her sister, Jennifer, carry some of Vance's and Owens' prized furniture pieces out of their home. Vance hails from Slidell, Louisiana, and was a victim of Hurricane Katrina. She likens the flooding in Denham Springs to the devastating 2005 natural disaster. "All these emotions run through, and you say: 'God, why? Again? Everything you worked for?' "

Owens' roommate, Staff Sgt. Pamela Vance, right, and her sister, Jennifer, carry some of Vance's and Owens' prized furniture pieces out of their home. Vance hails from Slidell, Louisiana, and was a victim of Hurricane Katrina. She likens the flooding in Denham Springs to the devastating 2005 natural disaster. "All these emotions run through, and you say: 'God, why? Again? Everything you worked for?' "

National Guard Sgt. 1st Class Tommy Owens and his roommate had been working for months to renovate the South Point home they bought in January. Owens was working with the Guard to rescue folks in St. Helena Parish when the storm hit. His superiors let him go check on his home, and he found all the new trappings -- porcelain floors, crown molding, new appliances -- inundated with floodwater. Hanging clothes were some of the only salvageable belongings.

National Guard Sgt. 1st Class Tommy Owens and his roommate had been working for months to renovate the South Point home they bought in January. Owens was working with the Guard to rescue folks in St. Helena Parish when the storm hit. His superiors let him go check on his home, and he found all the new trappings -- porcelain floors, crown molding, new appliances -- inundated with floodwater. Hanging clothes were some of the only salvageable belongings.

Rheams was at a cousin's funeral in Chicago when America's worst natural disaster since Hurricane Sandy struck his three-bedroom, two-bathroom house in Denham Springs. He came home to utter destruction. "The baby's toys are gone, her TV, her clothes, furniture, appliances -- ain't nothing around here to keep," he told CNN.

Rheams was at a cousin's funeral in Chicago when America's worst natural disaster since Hurricane Sandy struck his three-bedroom, two-bathroom house in Denham Springs. He came home to utter destruction. "The baby's toys are gone, her TV, her clothes, furniture, appliances -- ain't nothing around here to keep," he told CNN.

Laytrom Rheams wears muck boots as he works to gut his home of eight years because a quarter-inch of water remained in his carpet almost a week after the historic flooding began. One of his first orders of business: remove the sheet rock so he can treat his home's beams in hopes of combating mold.

Laytrom Rheams wears muck boots as he works to gut his home of eight years because a quarter-inch of water remained in his carpet almost a week after the historic flooding began. One of his first orders of business: remove the sheet rock so he can treat his home's beams in hopes of combating mold.

Not only did some residents lose most, if not all, of their belongings in the South Point subdivision of Denham Springs, Louisiana, but because the floodwaters washed away house numbers and mailboxes, people spray-painted their addresses on doors so police and insurance adjusters can find their homes.

Not only did some residents lose most, if not all, of their belongings in the South Point subdivision of Denham Springs, Louisiana, but because the floodwaters washed away house numbers and mailboxes, people spray-painted their addresses on doors so police and insurance adjusters can find their homes.

"Leave Pider Man to keep us safe," Schexnayder told CNN, relaying young Parker's words.

Pider Man, as it were, is the comic book hero Spider-Man, an applique of which sits on Parker's bedroom wall, watching over a pile of busted, soggy sheet rock and an empty closet that used to hold the boy's clothes and toy tractors.

Pider Man will have to come down as Parker's father replaces the home's walls and repaints.

"Hopefully, I can find another one on the Internet," he said.

Homebuilder Austin Schexnayder's son, 4, asked him to keep "Pider Man" up to protect them after #BatonRougeFlood. pic.twitter.com/V2vvMizHbE — Eliott C. McLaughlin (@EliottCNN) August 18, 2016

Long and lanky, Schexnayder celebrated his 33rd birthday Friday. He's a tough guy, a homebuilder who, neighbors say, has been quaffing energy drinks and working tirelessly for days.

He doesn't seem like the type to cry, but he has every day since the rain came, he said.

"This is everything we worked for, everything gone right in front of your eyes," he said, nodding to a yard filled with debris. "I would do anything for my kids, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to put a roof over their heads."

Total loss

For a window into the watery hell flooding has wrought on southeast Louisiana, look no farther than Schexnayder's South Point subdivision, about 13 miles east of Baton Rouge.

America's worst natural disaster since Superstorm Sandy, Louisiana's flood rushed into South Point like a river. Laytrom Rheams, 38, was with his mother at a cousin's funeral in Chicago when the rainfall began.

His wife, Carmelle Brumfield, called him at 4:30 a.m. on August 13 to tell him water had breached the garage. Two hours later, she called to report a foot of water inside their home of eight years.

By the time the flooding receded, 4 feet of water had washed through parts of South Point.

Laytrom Rheams was at his cousin's funeral in Chicago when #BatonRouge flood hit. He came home to this. pic.twitter.com/JI7UTHYypZ — Eliott C. McLaughlin (@EliottCNN) August 18, 2016

When Rheams returned home Wednesday, the living room furniture was on the wrong side of the room. A bed was sitting on the dresser. Televisions and the kitchen refrigerator were knocked over. A gray, foul-smelling sludge on the floor could be mushy sheet rock, he said, or it might be feces.

"We had a fridge out back. It's in the woods. Our fence is knocked down," he said. "The baby's toys are gone, her TV, her clothes, furniture, appliances -- ain't nothing around here to keep."

His daughter, Katelyn, 7, is staying with family. Rheams doesn't want her at the house. He doesn't even want her to see photos.

Asked if there is one material loss that stings most, he shook his head.

"My peace of mind is gone," he said.

Sleeping on the highway

Take a stroll through the South Point neighborhood and you'll see residents, drenched in sweat, hauling their belongings out to debris piles in their front yards, many of them 6 feet high or taller.

Among them are National Guard Sgt. 1st Class Tommy Owens, 41, and Staff Sgt. Pamela Vance, 32. They were working in St. Helena and Tangipahoa parishes, helping save others, as water flowed into their home, normally about an hour's drive away.

Vance's superiors cut her loose early August 13 to check on their home, but she got stuck on Interstate 12. Flooding had shut it down. She slept in the truck.

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"All the police could tell you was, 'Looks like we're going to be buddies,'" she said.

Vance contacted her best friend on the back side of the South Point neighborhood. Many homes there sit a couple of feet higher than hers and were spared. Vance asked her friend to retrieve Gizmo, her Maltese-Yorkie mix, from the house.

Once traffic cleared, Vance met Owens in Independence to try again, this time towing a boat. They made it only as far as a gym about 3 miles from their home.

Around 2 a.m. Sunday, they launched the boat and used Google maps and a flashlight to follow a stream -- which, by now, had swollen into a river -- navigating rooftops protruding from the water.

'It was Katrina'

Once inside South Point, the water rushed with such force between the homes, Owens had to turn the boat's nose into the current to prevent being slammed into houses across the street.

They finally made it home and were dumbstruck by the destruction. It was a while before they garnered the wherewithal to tie their boat to the front doorknob and slosh inside.

"We sat there for about an hour, sat there on the street corner, trying to figure out where we were at," Owens said, pointing to the intersection a few doors down. "It was Katrina. ... Where you had land, it was water."

#NationalGuard's Pamela Vance & Tommy Owens were finishing renovations before #BatonRougeflood. Dryer still has tag. pic.twitter.com/7ALbGpdwT9 — Eliott C. McLaughlin (@EliottCNN) August 18, 2016

Owens experienced Katrina firsthand. He recalled being deployed to let residents back into their homes in Chalmette after the 2005 hurricane. A woman -- in her late 70s or early 80s, he estimates -- approached him and said, "I want you to shoot me."

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"What am I to do?" she asked back. "We don't have nothing. We lost it."

Owens sighed as he surveyed his own home.

"I can feel that woman's pain to a certain extent, not to the same severity, but I understand where she was coming from now," he said.

Insurance? Yeah, right

One of the first things Owens checked before he and Vance bought the home in January and began renovations was whether his home was in a flood plain. Negative, he was told.

Schexnayder, the lanky homebuilder, was told the same, so he never sought the coverage. He got a call from his insurance company Thursday. A rep told him his $1,800-a-year policy didn't cover the damage.

Noureddine Azmi, 55, is one of the few South Point residents who has flood insurance. He arrived home Thursday after a soul-sapping week in which he lost phone service and didn't know for two days whether his wife and two kids were alive. (They were; they joined him in his Baton Rouge hotel Wednesday.)

Nourreddine Azmi's 1929 Mercedes Gazelle, documents & home were trashed in #BatonRougeflood. pic.twitter.com/YWZv4QYcsr — Eliott C. McLaughlin (@EliottCNN) August 18, 2016

"Oh, God," he muttered as he discovered new destruction, including the shredded liner of his above-ground pool. "I was in heaven, man. I'm not anymore."

Azmi likes nice things, including ornate furniture from his native Morocco and a 1929 Mercedes Gazelle with a rebuilt Volkswagen engine. He frowned as he surveyed the car in his malodorous garage, its contents tossed askew.

He doesn't know if flood insurance will fairly compensate him for his valuables. As a delivery driver, he worked hard for each item, so it's not like he can just buy everything anew.

And one of his children, daughter Maram, 18, is headed to George Washington University at the end of the month. Azmi has a lot on his plate.

Scam alert

When Schexnayder is done gutting and rebuilding his home's interior, he says he's going next door to Azmi's house, then to another neighbor's, to help them rebuild.

Schexnayder has lost almost everything. He was wearing a neighbor's shoes during an interview with CNN. He and his wife, Katie, just bought appliances that they're still paying for.

But he has know-how, and he's not content to watch his neighbors' homes decay while they sit on a contractor's lengthy waiting list, he said.

A disaster like this brings out the best in people, but it also brings out the slimeballs.

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Around the corner from Schexnayder, a woman absorbed in salvaging her home said she was approached by a man claiming to be from a popular Baton Rouge church. He had his young daughter with him and said he was helping organize federal assistance.

She asked that CNN not embarrass her, so we'll just use her first name, Chasin. She's a fraud investigator so she should have known better when he asked for her FEMA identification number, she said.

She wasn't in the best state of mind. Her home had just been destroyed by flooding, and the guy had a little girl with him. A kid! She didn't realize until later it was a scam.

"You've got to be a real piece of s***," Chasin's husband said.

That's just one of the labels South Point residents apply to grifters who want to take advantage of people at their lowest points. Other popular monikers: Lowlife. A**hole. Mother (ahem).

Good deeds big and small

If you're looking to loot South Point, fair warning: Everyone is strapped. If you don't see a gun on someone's hip, it's probably in their car or home.

Schexnayder and neighbor Derek Percle, 33, who lent Schexnayder the shoes, have been running looter patrols and watching the residences of neighbors who haven't made it home yet. They helped the police catch one looter earlier this week.

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"The people pulling together is amazing, 100% amazing," Schexnayder said.

It's not just protection, either. They're thinking of the little things.

Deah Romero, 33, drove through the neighborhood Thursday, passing out toiletries. Her home is on the far side of South Point. She still has water and electricity, so she also offered to take neighbors' clothes and wash them.

"We just saw some people hurting, and we don't have a lot of money..." she said, choking up before she could finish her thought.

As she spoke, a woman in a full-size pickup truck with Mississippi tags pulled up and offered her water.

Neighborliness will prevail

When CNN first encountered Percle, whose home also skirted the floodwater, he was passing out shrimp po' boys that volunteers from West Monroe, 200 miles north, had cooked in a mobile kitchen they brought to South Point.

Later that day, another neighbor, Anthony Williams, and his wife, Janet, hosted a barbecue, grilling up a pile of hamburgers and hot dogs for their neighbors.

Some dropped in for a quick bite and got back to work gutting their homes, while others lingered and drank Michelobs into the night.

Anthony Williams grills for his #DenhamSprings neighbors whose homes were devastated in #BatonRougeFlood. pic.twitter.com/Ws6LeEoH8P — Eliott C. McLaughlin (@EliottCNN) August 19, 2016

"It's terrible that this is what it takes to bring neighbors together, but it's a good thing," Percle said.

These types of neighborly acts are now the norm in South Point.

"Neighbors you used to wave at or toot your horn at, they're sharing tools and making sure everyone's got water," said Rheams, the homeowner who lost his cousin in Chicago.

As misplaced as it may seem to talk about silver linings while the funk of old water is still in the air, last weekend's storm came with one, to hear South Point residents tell it.

"All that other s***, you can replace it," said Staff Sgt. Vance, pointing to her deluged belongings. "We can come back stronger and better because this does -- it brings everybody together."