EL LAGO, Texas – Just two weeks ago, Jorge Delgado opened a new marine repair and service business, The Boat Shop, on the shores of Galveston Bay.

On Saturday morning, in despair, he found his 5,000-square-foot business under 10 feet of water, its blue roof barely peeking above muddy waves left by Hurricane Ike.

"We got out what we could," he said. "I don't know what's left, though. We're just going to have to wait until the tide goes down and pump the water out."

Mr. Delgado said he never believed he could have such bad luck – all but losing his company days after starting it. "I was so excited to start," he said with a bitter laugh. "This is such a nice place to do work."

Then he paused.

"Was a nice place."

In town after beachfront town, entire neighborhoods like his remained under water Saturday, hours after Hurricane Ike hurled Galveston Bay into boarded-up homes and businesses. The thick stench of spilled oil wafted over debris-clogged streets and bridges.

Rescue helicopters circled over demolished marinas and submerged apartment complexes, as police and military vehicles forded swamped subdivisions to prevent looting. The shoreline ceased to exist.

Alice Franklin's son and his family evacuated their modest Seabrook home Thursday – just in time. As Ms. Franklin unlocked the door Saturday to inspect it, a moldy stench barreled out, the floor covered with water and mud.

Most everything was ruined: children's toys, furniture, entertainment equipment. The refrigerator rested sideways, tossed against a wall.

"Oh, God. They've lost the whole thing," Ms. Franklin said, trembling hands over her mouth. Four years ago, her son's family lost most of their belongings during another flood, she said. "I'm just so glad I didn't lose them. Imagine if they were here when all this was happening last night."

Robert Soto rode out the storm at his marina-side apartment complex in tiny El Lago. On Saturday, his first-floor unit at The Landing stood in 3 feet of water. His pots and pans drifted across the living room, and a current carried floating shoes through a shattered window.

His driveway is now just an extension of Galveston Bay, where white-capped waves knocked half-sunk sailboats against once-parked cars.

"Everything is just shot," said Mr. Soto, who was forced to retreat to higher ground Saturday morning. "I have no food, no water, no gas. I haven't slept at all. I have no place to go to the bathroom. We need real help here."

By midafternoon, residents who stayed behind were milling around boarded-up gas stations and empty parking lots, stir crazy and bemoaning a lack of fuel, electricity and running water.

A few renegade homeowners kept watch over mostly evacuated neighborhoods, their green lawns and felled trees doubling as little islands and bridges.

In Seabrook, Bob and Faith Agan patrolled their residential street, with calming cigarettes and their last cold beers in hand. The two "don't evacuate," they said. They hate the traffic, and they've ridden out storms time and again. Still, they said, Ike was the worst they've seen since Hurricane Alicia in 1983.

"Yeah, there was a mandatory evacuation, but we feel better here, where we can watch out for our neighbors, and make sure everyone's home stays safe," Mrs. Agan said, eyeing a man in fatigues at the end of her block. "We lost our fence, some trees. There's a lot of water, but it will recede."

Many people lost much more.

For Raymond Fosdick, fates inexplicably smiled on him Saturday. A month ago, he moved his 26-foot sailboat from the Old El Lago Marina on Galveston Bay to the South Shore Harbor, where it survived without a scratch.

Had he not, his boat probably would have splintered or sunk, like dozens of boats in Old El Lago Marina.

"I always knew if some storm was going to happen, it was going to be bad at this place," Mr. Fosdick said. "I'm just so glad I decided to move out when I did."

eramshaw@dallasnews.com;

dlevinthal@dallasnews.com