CRUSOE ISLAND, N.C. — This corner of hurricane-ravaged North Carolina is so isolated that the locals say there's just "one way in and one way out."

Now, in the wake of Florence, the only way out for many on Monday was by boat — or with the help of the National Guard and the Coast Guard.

"Those folks down there are pretty much cut off," said Andy Horne, 66, his finger pointed in the direction of flood-covered Dock Road near New Britton Highway East. "There's only one way out of Crusoe Island."

Even when the weather is fine, Crusoe Islanders, who are believed to be the descendants of French settlers who fled Haiti during the Slave Rebellion in the 1790s, tend to stay put, said Curtis Green, 69, who lives in the area.

"Some of them people never been out of there," he said. "So many people ain't never been out of there except to go to a doctor."

Across North Carolina, officials reported 2,600 rescues from the storm as of 12:45 p.m. Monday, as the rain continued to fall and swollen rivers continued to rise. Of 31 people who died in the storm in the region, 25 were North Carolina alone.

While remnants of Florence were moving north into the mid-Atlantic and New England early Tuesday, the National Weather Service warned that that "major river flooding will persist in the Carolinas through the week."

Lori Long, a paramedic with deep roots in Crusoe Island, said her mother and cousins had to be rescued — and lots of their neighbors were also trying to escape the rising waters.

"My family is some of the original people from down there," Long said, adding that the situation was worse than Hurricane Floyd in 1999, when flooding lasted for weeks and caused billions in damage. "It's rising much faster — about an inch and a half an hour now."

While Long spoke, three red Coast Guard boats could be seen plying the flooded fields and a National Guard truck rumbled past carrying about a dozen rescued people and their pets.

A bit north of there, near the small town of Whiteville, floodwaters turned homes some 40 miles from the Atlantic Coast into waterfront property.

"We are like in a island," said Scottie Harper, who lives on the edge of Whiteville. "We are completely surrounded by water. And town ain't a mile away."

Reba Batten was crying outside her home when a reporter arrived. The nearby marsh was now a lake lapping at her porch.