Photo Gallery 'Pray for Us'
Breezy Point lies at the tip of the Rockaway peninsula in the New York borough of Queens: Just a few days ago, houses stood here. Now, everything is rubble.
The night Hurricane Sandy struck here, it also set off a major fire, believed to have been caused by a gas leak. Once it ignited, Sandy's winds fanned the fire and led it to burn uncontrollably. By the time it had been extinguished, 111 buildings had been reduced to ash.
Firefighters had to look on helplessly as their own homes burned down. They were prepared for a storm, but not for a sea of flames. They were unable to traverse the deep flood waters, and their firehouse and engines were also submerged.
Residents in the hard-to-reach location are still waiting for help.
Right now, people are merely trying to salvage the little that is left.
The soot in the air burns your nostrils.
It is the flotsam of an entire generation. Photo albums, single shoes, lamp shades, glasses, plates, a rosary, a ball, a pink plastic tricycle. The sea also engulfed a playground, and now the slide looks like some kind of colorful ship in the water.
Some residents can fit all their remaining belongings in a few bags.
These sisters don't want to give their names, but they do share their pain. "Everything is destroyed," one of them says. "The water took our house." When asked if there is anything that can be done for them, one answers: "Pray for us. Pray for us."
Many homes are still surrounded by water. Toppled trees have crushed garages. The storm even hurled a massive, 25-foot wooden beam on top of an SUV, splitting the windshield. The object, weighing tons, is balancing on the hood.
In this area, no house is left standing. Verandas, terraces, the green rooftops, everything has disappeared -- shattered in the storm or engulfed in the flames.
"Tornados, hurricanes," says local resident Maureen Donellan, "this reminds me of a war film. What's gone wrong with the world?"
John Martin (left) stands with his son Ryan. The elder Martin, who has lived here for what seems like an eternity, says he has never experienced anything like this. "Everything is destroyed, block after block," he says, as he lifts what is left of his belongings into the bed of a truck. "But we will rebuild."
Looters haver reportedly already shown up. "I've caught two already," says Robert Dyer, who together with his wife, Dawn, has just pumped the water out of his basement -- at least what is left of it. "They had hammers and crowbars in their backpack." His face turns red with anger. "We're New Yorkers. We don't do things like that. How can a person want to profit from the suffering of others?"
For Leona Morten, rebuilding seems like a distant possibility. First she has to find a place where her large family can stay. For now, they can bunk with relatives in Brooklyn. She peers around. "I don't want to leave -- I love this place so much," she says with a sigh. "Even now."
