BATON ROUGE, La. — Anger. Sorrow. Vengeful glee. Guilt.

Terrence Carter has experienced it all during Baton Rouge's summer of pain. And on Thursday as he walked through the dirty water on the floor of his Baton Rouge home, Carter said he was experiencing, of all things, hope.

“A couple of weeks ago, it seems like everybody was pulling apart. Now, it's no black and white thing. Everybody's just got to help everybody to come out of this,” Carter said.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana's capital city, has endured a string of tragedies this summer: the July 7 shooting death of a black man at the hands of police, the July 17 ambush killings of three officers by a black man and, now, the rains that have triggered catastrophic flooding.

And yet, amid this latest crisis, Carter and others have seen people pull together — white and black, officers and civilians — in ways that give them hope.

The waters are largely starting to recede across southern Louisiana. At least 13 people have died, and authorities are going door to door looking for more victims.

Over 85,000 people have registered for federal disaster assistance, more than 30,000 people have been rescued and, an estimated 40,000 homes have been damaged.

Carter, who is black, knew Alton Sterling, the black man who was killed outside a Baton Rouge convenience store after a struggle with police. Angered by Sterling's death, Carter protested at police headquarters. He said he was happy when he first heard about the deadly assault on the officers. Then, he felt guilty: “Their families lost them. They had kids who'll be growing up without a father.”

Shortly after came the flood, which brought 4 feet of water to his home. The stench is overpowering and the task ahead daunting. One sure sign of how the city has unified has been the “Cajun Navy,” a corps of citizens who have gone out on boats to rescue people stranded in their houses. One of those rescuers was Sterling's aunt, Sandra.

Sterling estimated she and others helped more than 200 people reach dry ground over the weekend.

“I couldn't save his life, but I can probably save a lot more now. That's what really motivated me to go out,” Sterling said Thursday.

The anti-police rhetoric seems to have quieted somewhat, as officers who were once viewed with suspicion are now often the ones risking their lives to rescue people. They are also struggling with flooding of their own. Roughly 20 percent of East Baton Rouge's sheriff's deputies have been driven from their homes.

Capt. Darryl Armentor, who has rescued countless people in recent days, said he has learned a few things about himself during the current crisis, like the fact that he can go three days without sleep before he starts to hallucinate.

Armentor said he hasn't had time to fully process this summer's events or express the toll they have taken on police officers and other emergency workers.

“There's no time for stress now. We just work,” he said. “It hasn't stopped.”