Peninsula residents survived Dorian — scared, scarred but grateful

Sep. 14--"We are fortunate," Brian Lockwood says. In fact, he and his wife, Cindy, say it a lot these days.

They say it enough that you believe them despite the 6-inch scar that's been on his forehead for two weeks and doesn't look like it's going away anytime soon.

Yes, they are fortunate, even though their home is gone and even though they had to endure several days cut off from the rest of the world, their communication reduced to an occasional message informing family and friends that "we are OK," with the longitude and latitude of the point of transmission.

They are fortunate because they survived a direct hit -- literally -- from Hurricane Dorian in the Bahamas and can now talk about it in the past tense from the comfort of the home of Brian's mother in York County.

"Our thoughts and our hearts are still back there with the people who lost so much, and the friends who helped us," Brian says. "We pray for them, and we hope other people are praying for them, too."

The death toll in the Bahamas sits at 50, with another 2,500 still missing.

Cindy adds: "When we talk about what we went through, we never want to sound like, 'Oh, look at us, we're heroes because we survived.' We're just lucky, and we're still thinking about the people who weren't as lucky."

Living the dream

The Lockwoods always loved the water and fell in love with the Bahamas four or five years ago. Two years ago they determined that they had saved enough to retire if they lived simply, and they bought a small home on the sparsely populated island of Abaco.

In a neighborhood called Leisure Lee Waterways -- 20 residences spread out among 100 lots of land -- they lived among friends they had made on vacations there.

Brian, a 54-year-old Ferguson High School graduate, had worked as a marine surveyor and ran a small business, and Cindy, 60, was an event coordinator at Jefferson Lab. Together they were living the dream, adhering to the frugal motto of having little but doing much.

In late August, the Lockwoods and their neighbors began following news reports about the tropical storm that was gathering steam in the Atlantic and heading toward them. In the Bahamas, as in Hampton Roads, residents live with the regular threats of hurricanes -- and with a track record of storms that turned out to be less than advertised.

"We were keeping our eyes on it," Brian says, "but there was also this sense that maybe it could turn. Maybe this, maybe that, all those 'maybe' things. It could come right over you or it could miss you."

No one was panicking, and even when evacuations were recommended, the Lockwoods were among those who chose to stay and ride out what was being described as a Category 3 storm. Their last opportunity to leave was Aug. 31, and even then it was hard to find or afford a boat or small plane getting out of the islands.

"Unfortunately we decided to stay then, like a lot of people," Brian says. "I can say I regret it. If we had it to do over, we would have done differently. But in the end, it is what it is."

Dorian's wrath

The storm hit around 8:30 a.m. Sept. 1, and it was nothing like the Cat 3s Brian had experienced growing up in Virginia. Winds were sustained at 180 mph, with gusts over 200. No longer feeling safe in their home, the Lockwoods decided to accept an offer from their neighbor Dave Bielstein, who had evacuated but gave them permission to hole up in his "Concrete Castle," which was built on an 8-foot foundation of cement and had a second floor that was 20 feet off the ground.

The Lockwoods grabbed their cats, Roxie and Skeeter, and whatever belongings they prioritized, and they dashed through the winds and rain to the Concrete Castle. Within a half-hour, the water level was over the 8-foot concrete walls, and the rain was making a mockery of the sliding door that had come billed as "hurricane-resistant."

"We were instantly standing in a cesspool of water, supplies, materials and everything else," Brian says.

They clambered up to the next floor and sat on the floor in fear, screaming to be heard above the storm.

That's the last thing he remembers for a while.

Injured

One of those storm-proof windows gave way, flew 20 feet across the room and found a landing space on his head, knocking him unconscious. Cindy saw the blood pouring from a beneath a gaping flap of skin and feared her husband of 20 years was dead.

"I began praying fervently," she says. "I began praying, 'Please let him hold on.' The noise was incredible."

She grabbed a rag and began applying pressure to his wound, frantically trying to staunch the bleeding. She began shaking him, calling his name. After a few moments, his eyes opened and he asked what had happened. "Am I bleeding?" he repeated over and over, confused.

They clung to each other through the eye of the storm, keeping pressure on his head wound. When the storm outside had calmed enough, they pulled the cats from where they'd been stowed and the Lockwoods went back downstairs, to the garage. They spent a sleepless night in the air-conditioned comfort of their neighbor's concrete-encased truck.

They emerged after sunrise to find that the worst of the storm had passed, but that most of their neighborhood was leveled. They made their way through the rubble, Brian in his blood-soaked makeshift bandage. Their neighbors had all survived, but their homes were gone.

"It looked like one of those end-of-the-world movies," Brian says.

Taking stock

Everyone gathered at the one home that was mostly habitable. Their neighbor Dominique Pilate -- known as "Domino" -- gave Brian's head wound a good cleaning. He is a veterinarian, not a physician, but he got the job done.

Together they had stockpiled about two weeks worth of food and water, and for two days they ate fresh seafood cooked with propane. There was no cell coverage, of course. The only communication was a handheld satellite device the Lockwoods used to send that same message -- "We're OK," with the longitude and latitude -- to a handful of people back home in the U.S.

Those people, including Brian's two brothers, would receive the "pings" on their own devices and spread the word.

"Thank God for those 'pings' every night," says Brian's mother, Carol. "I don't know what I would have done without them."

On the third day after the storm they managed to get the truck out of the Concrete Castle. Ironically, the vehicles and boats that had been moved to higher ground as a precaution had been damaged or flooded, but Dave Bielstein's truck was ambulatory. It took the better part of a day to get it out of the garage and moving, but now they could scout the island for help and signs of activity.

At Treasure Cay Airport, there was one private rescue plane, and the pilot took one look at Brian's head wound and offered to get him off the island. Lockwood knew he was all right and insisted that he wasn't leaving until he could get back to his neighborhood and and herd everyone toward the airport, where some larger flights were expected in the next day or two.

Back at Leisure Lee, the group stayed together for protection against the prowling bands of looters who were making off with anything they could carry.

Coming home

On Sept. 5, the Lockwoods were poking through what was left of their home when a battered van pulled up. Inside was David Bielstein -- king of the Concrete Castle -- and his brother Mark, who is a pilot. After David evacuated safely to the U.S., they had chosen to fly back to Abaco to deliver relief supplies and rescue anyone stranded.

In less than two hours, they had the Lockwoods and their cats aboard Mark's 4-seat Cirrus SR 22 headed for the U.S. Mark flew them home while David stayed behind to help his neighbors. After dropping the Lockwoods off in Florida, Mark headed back with more supplies.

They spent the weekend in Florida resting and recuperating. Brian finally saw a doctor who determined that he had not suffered a concussion. It was far too late for stitches, so the wound would continue to heal itself.

Last Monday, Cindy rented a van and the Lockwoods pointed it toward Hampton Roads.

For now they are resting at Carol Lockwood's home, enjoying mom's cooking and the comforts of a home that Dorian bypassed. The Bielsteins recovered more of their belongings -- including Brian's camera, which contains photos and some video of their ordeal.

They will return home to the Bahamas, but they are not saying when just yet.

Will they rebuild their home? Most likely.

"The structure still there," Brian says. "There's 6 feet of water downstairs, and upstairs parts of the roof and walls are off."

Cindy adds, "There's nothing on the island to rebuild with right now."

Based on reports from neighbors, the Lockwoods have been picked clean by looters.

"I hate hearing that," Brian says. "I understand people stealing food and water because their families have to eat. But stealing other stuff just because you can? I detest that."

But in the next moment, the Lockwoods look at each other, and it's clear that their thoughts aren't on what they lost, but on what they still have.

"But we're alive," Cindy says.

"We're alive," Brian repeats.

Mike Holtzclaw, 757-928-6479, [email protected]

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