ERWIN, Tenn. — On the morning of Sept. 27, Bertha Mendoza called her son Guillermo, urging him and his children to stay indoors because of the bad weather.

But soon, Guillermo and his family were the ones worrying about Bertha and her sister Araceli — both of whom were working at a nearby factory when the remnants of Hurricane Helene triggered a flash flood.

Bertha and Araceli were two of the 11 workers at the Impact Plastics factory who were swept away by the overflow of the Nolichucky River. Five people, including Araceli, were rescued. Bertha and five others died. The body of the last missing employee, 29-year-old Rosa Andrade, was found on Wednesday. Almost all of the workers were Latino.

In the aftermath, victims' family members and surviving employees have come forward, saying Bertha's death and others could have been prevented had they been allowed to leave work earlier that day.

Impact Plastics CEO Gerald O'Connor has denied that the company blocked employees from leaving. He has said that employees were evacuated at least 45 minutes before the flood's full fury reached the industrial park. Impact Plastics did not respond to NPR's request for comment.

The company is now at the center of a lawsuit from another employee's family and an investigation by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and the Tennessee Occupational Safety and Health Administration. Bertha's family also plans to take legal action.

For Guillermo, that morning call was the last conversation he had with his mother. The next series of calls and texts between Guillermo and his family that were shared with NPR paint a harrowing scene of relatives desperately trying to reach their loved ones but ultimately being powerless against the force of Helene, which killed at least 230 people across six states, the deadliest hurricane to hit the U.S. mainland since Katrina.

Family members frantically called and texted as Bertha became trapped by floodwaters

The rain and wind were relentless that morning. Just before noon, Guillermo's sister Clarissa texted Bertha that the Erwin police department had declared a state of emergency.

About 10 minutes later, Bertha responded with a single message — a video from the factory parking lot, showing a surge of muddy brown water. "Mom be careful," Clarissa wrote back in Spanish.

According to Greg Coleman, the family's attorney, Clarissa spoke to Bertha over the phone a little while later. Bertha told her daughter that cars were being swept away by the flood and she did not know how to escape. Clarissa suggested meeting her mother on the nearby interstate but Bertha did not think she could cross over the water.

Clarissa and other family members spent the next hour frantically calling one another and discussing how they might get to the factory as floodwaters rose to dangerous levels. Clarissa called her mother three more times to check in, but Bertha did not answer, Coleman said.

By then, Guillermo had rushed out of his home, grabbing his children's two life jackets — the only ones he had — along with a giant empty water jug to use as a floaty. "I just grabbed whatever I could and I headed down there as fast as I could, but many of the roads were already closed," he said.

Several minutes went by and Bertha finally began to call some of her children and husband back. She told them her phone was getting too wet and would not be able to call them again. Bertha asked for prayers and told her family how much she loved them.

Meanwhile, Guillermo drove around searching for a way to reach the plant. But each path was blocked by rising floodwaters or roadblocks. He later spotted a search and rescue team and nervously waited for updates.

Guillermo saw a helicopter appear overhead. He watched as two women were lifted from the flood below. "I thought for sure that's my aunt and my mom," he said. Guillermo sprinted over when the helicopter touched down. As he got closer, he saw his aunt Araceli running toward him — alone. "My aunt is running to me," Guillermo recalled. "And she says, 'I lost your mom.'"

"It was a mixed feeling, because I was so excited to see my aunt, but so heartbroken because we don't know anything about my mom at this point," he said.

Guillermo's aunt told him she was separated from Bertha while trying to stay afloat amid a rushing current. The Nolichucky River, which typically runs about 2 feet deep, rose to more than 30 feet that day. Bertha's body was discovered two days later. On Oct. 7, the Mendoza family held a funeral for her.

Bertha Mendoza was remembered for her kindness

Bertha Mendoza was the kind of person who — the moment you met her — would pull you into a hug and ask if you have eaten, Guillermo said.

He always admired his mother's hospitality and her heart toward immigrants who did not have family in the U.S. "Mom and dad would always want to include them for dinners, for Christmas," he said.

Originally from Mexico, Bertha moved to the U.S. with her children in 1998 in order to be closer to her husband, Elias, who was a seasonal farmworker in eastern Tennessee. They were among the first Hispanic families to settle in Erwin, according to Guillermo, who is her second-eldest son.

When their four children got older, Bertha started to look for jobs to help with the bills. She went into factory work because she had only received elementary level education in Mexico and it was one of the few places willing to hire. She had worked at Impact Plastics for several years.

Bertha was known for her cooking — both among her family and around town. She was especially excellent in making traditional Mexican dishes, including tres leches cake and tamales, and the drink horchata.

Multiple members of the Mendoza family have birthdays in September. It was Bertha's 56th birthday. For the first time, this year, she suggested they have one big party to celebrate. Guillermo, a minister at the First Baptist Church of Erwin, recalled that his mother went all out, cooking dishes that she typically reserves for Christmas.

Although Bertha's death had made Guillermo question his faith, he likes to imagine that God gave his family one big celebration with his mother.

"My mom is a gentle and kind soul. And I know she would not have wanted me to live with anger," he said.

NPR's Marisa Peñaloza contributed reporting.