Ladder to Freedomby
westfordComment by skewsme: 
Once we learned that all air travel had been halted, a feeling of certain doom arose. It was difficult to imagine getting home without a plane, although this grew more and more ironic as the water levels rose. We should have been able to float home. With the ever-wetter weather, the ground at Camp became a perma-muck, an endless squelching ooze with a voracious hunger for sandals and shoes. We belted ours onto our feet with clumsy bits of twine and rags in attempts to combat the vacuum. In time, we would grow nostalgic for that muck.
With the insidious rise of water, past ankles, then knees, groups of us would frequently wade-stumble out to the Camp wall as if mass-somnambulating. We would arrive and just look at it... longingly, lustily, indignantly, reproachfully. But this torrid affair was unrequited - the wall bore no reciprocal imprint of our existence. The structure was an odd hodgepodge of successive vertical barriers, about 20 feet high. The ground level consisted of massive boulders, upon that, masonry, upon that, chain-link with razor wire, and at the very top, a fine mesh in a wooden grid, stabilized by fat wooden poles. Rumor was that the seemingly delicate netting at the top was electrified or poisoned, that it couldn't be touched or hurdled. Mercifully, that rumor was as much of a lie as anything else the government had told us.
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