INDIAN ROCKS BEACH, Fla. (AP) — Aiden Bowles persevered, and even as Florida officials told residents of the barrier island north of St. Petersburg that Hurricane Helene’s storm surge could be deadly, the retired restaurant owner stayed put.

Caretaker Amanda Normand pleaded with the 71-year-old widower to stay inland with her, but over the years there have been many evacuation warnings as hurricanes approached his Indian Rocks Beach home – the storm surge never reached more than knee-high proportions. As Helene and her strong winds pushed north in the Gulf of Mexico, he wasn’t worried — her eye was 100 miles (160 kilometers) offshore.

“He said, ‘It’s going to be okay. “I’m going to bed,” Normand said of their last phone call on the evening of September 26th.

But it wasn’t okay. In the darkness of that night, a wall of water up to 2.4 meters high crashed onto the offshore islands. It entered homes, forcing some who had ignored evacuation orders to climb to upper floors, attics or their roofs to survive. Boats were dumped on the streets and cars were thrown into the water.

Bowles and 11 others died when Helene hit the Tampa Bay area harder than any hurricane in 103 years. By far the worst damage in the region occurred in Pinellas County, on the narrow, 20-mile (32-kilometer) series of barrier islands stretching from St. Petersburg to Clearwater. Villas, colorful single-family homes, apartments, mobile homes, restaurants, bars and shops were destroyed or severely damaged within minutes.

“The water just came so fast,” said Dave Behringer, who rode out the storm in his home after telling his wife to flee. His neighborhood was hit by about 1.2 meters of water. “Even if you wanted to leave, there was no escape.”

Although the property damage was largely unavoidable, there were no fatalities – the National Hurricane Center issued its first storm surge warning two days before Helene’s arrival, urging barrier island residents to pack up and leave. The relatively shallow waters of Florida’s Gulf Coast make it particularly vulnerable to storm surges, and forecasters predicted Helene would hit Pinellas County hard.

“We really want people to take the warning seriously because their lives are at serious risk,” said Cody Fritz, head of the hurricane center’s storm surge team, adding that warnings are never given lightly.

Pinellas County reiterated warnings and issued mandatory evacuation orders — but that doesn’t mean law enforcement officers are evicting residents. In Florida, mandatory evacuation orders simply mean that anyone left behind is on their own and first responders don’t have to risk their lives to save stragglers.

“We have stated our position. We told people what they had to do and they changed their minds,” said Sheriff Bob Gualtieri. Nevertheless, his deputies tried to rescue the residents, but the flood forced their boats and vehicles to retreat.

The Tampa Bay area has been very fortunate over the last century. Since the last major storm took a direct hit in 1921, Tampa, St. Petersburg and their surrounding areas have grown from a combined population of about 300,000 to more than 3 million today.

Tampa Bay has been in the crosshairs of many storms over the decades, but they always turn toward the Florida Peninsula south of the area or head straight north into the Panhandle.

It was never predicted that Helene would hit Tampa – her eye made landfall 180 miles (290 kilometers) north. But with a width of more than 200 miles (320 kilometers) and winds of nearly 140 miles (225 km/h) near its core, it caused waves that swept the entire Gulf Coast of the Florida Peninsula. Most were not fatal, but on the barrier islands of Pinellas the wall of water came from all directions.

“It’s not necessary for a storm to make landfall directly over Tampa Bay or directly to the north to cause a lot of flooding problems, especially if there’s a big storm like Helene,” said Philip Klotzbach, a hurricane researcher at Colorado State University.

It will take time for the islands to return to normal. In 90-degree (32.2 C) heat, residents spent this week piling soaked furniture, appliances, cabinets and drywall outside to be transported away. Bulldozers pushed sand back onto the beach. Employees at stores and restaurants threw away what couldn’t be saved while owners figured out how and when to reopen. Some maybe not.

Laura Rushmore, who has owned Reds on the Boulevard Bar for 20 years, could be leaving. She cried as she described the damage. A cooler full of beer was thrown on its side and the inside of the bar was destroyed. She’s not sure what insurance will cover her.

“This is too much,” she said.

Then there are the deaths – the people cannot be replaced.

Frank Wright was a natural guy, perfect for life in Madeira Beach, a small community on a barrier island. But a few years ago, the 71-year-old fell ill with a degenerative autoimmune disease.

“He went from being pretty active outside and stuff to being in a wheelchair,” said his neighbor Mike Visnick.

He figures Wright probably believed he would be safe, given previous warnings that didn’t come true. But he drowned in the flood.

“It’s really sad for me the way he died. He lived a good life. He loved the beach,” Visnick said.

Further north in Honeymoon Mobile Home Park, retired hairdresser Patricia Mikos had never tempted fate before, said her neighbor Georgia Marcum. The beach community is on land, but this area was also in the predicted path of the tidal wave.

The 80-year-old always fled when hurricanes approached. When Marcum left the park before the storm to care for her 95-year-old father, she was sure her friend would go too.

But for some reason she didn’t, and when the water rose, Mikos got into trouble. She called a friend nearby. When he arrived, he told her, “Let’s get out of here,” Marcum said. But when she returned to her house to get something, the water trapped her inside.

The friend “couldn’t go back there. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He doesn’t even talk to us. I’m sure he blames himself,” Marcum said.

About 10 miles (16 kilometers) south in Indian Rocks Beach, two of Bowles’ neighbors, Donna Fagersten and Heather Anne Boles, decided to wait out Helene in their homes, as they had done during other storms.

Fagersten, 66, retired in four days after 35 years as a teacher, most recently in second grade. In retirement, she would have time to watch the crime shows she loved and spend time with her two sons, her friends, and her cat.

Boles told WTVT-TV that she and Fagersten tried to drive away when the water hit the bank, but they couldn’t. They fled to Boles’ mother’s house and rushed to the third floor.

After a while, the storm seemed to be getting weaker, so Fagersten decided to go home and check on her cat, but got stuck in the water. She couldn’t be saved. Your cat has been found safe.

Earlier this week, 34-year-old Normand was in Bowles’ destroyed home cleaning up the mess left behind by Helene. She had long worked for Bowles and his late wife Sabrina at the Salt Public House. They are loved by their employees, she said.

“He was just very sincere. He was the best person I knew on this earth. Just talking about it gives me goosebumps,” she said.

She became Bowles’ caregiver after his wife died two years ago and he retired. She took him to the doctor and bought his groceries. They were each other’s shoulders to cry on.

The morning after the flood, Normand tried desperately to reach Bowles, but the bridge was blocked. She called one of his neighbors who found his body.

“Every day I wake up and think, ‘Did he call for me?’ Was he trying to get me or something?’” Normand said, his voice cracking at times. “I just hope he wasn’t in pain.”

Her 6-year-old son viewed Bowles as a grandfather and didn’t understand what was happening.

“He says to me, ‘Mommy, we’re going to get Mr. Bowles, open the doors and get all the water out,'” she said. “It just broke my heart.”

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Spencer reported from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Associated Press journalists Freida Frisaro and Marta Oliver-Craviotto contributed to this report.