Hundreds of refugees flock to Superdome

New Orleans ? The rescuers on the boat only had room for Lee Coleman’s wife, his two daughters and his mother-in-law.

So he trudged – more than two miles – through black water coated in rainbow-tinged oil.

His final destination: the Louisiana Superdome, the designated refuge of last resort from Hurricane Katrina’s onslaught. On Tuesday, though, the signature stadium was transformed into the city’s Alamo.

Surrounding it was the enemy – millions of gallons of water from Lake Pontchartrain that flooded most of the city.

“At home, the water was 6 feet high,” sighed a defeated Coleman, carrying only one plastic grocery bag of snacks.

Coleman was one of hundreds of storm refugees who flocked to the Superdome in scenes that seemed biblical in scope.

They came loaded in the backs of fatigue green and desert tan Army trucks. Some arrived on the backs of commandeered U-Haul trucks, while others were dropped off after being ferried from rooftops by Coast Guard helicopters.

Many more just walked, or waded, into a dome that was growing more tense and chaotic than the previous day, when few realized that the flooding – and the ranks inside the shelter – would increase dramatically.

New Orleans residents make their way to the Superdome through rising floodwaters from Hurricane Katrina. Water began rising in the streets Tuesday morning, swamping an estimated 80 percent of the city and prompting the evacuation of hotels and hospitals.

The tally of people was expected to swell to as many as 20,000 – double the number who arrived the day before. And officials are mulling whether to evacuate the stadium.

On Monday, the turf adorned with the New Orleans Saints logo was off-limits to refugees, but on Tuesday officials allowed the restless to roam the field. Barricades portioned the field into thirds, allowing teenagers a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play touch football where the pros do.

But for most, the stay at the dome was far from fun.

The stadium aisles, where footballs fans normally buy beer on Sundays, were crammed with people who had not showered in days. The air was sour and suffocating.

People waited, not always patiently, in long lines for a chance to go out onto the outdoor stadium patio, where officials allowed them to smoke, mingle and breathe fresh air.

Inside, babies napped quietly amid the bustle. One woman, lost and overwhelmed, bawled uncontrollably.

At least two people have died from apparent heart attacks, said Assistant Police Chief Warren Riley. Another man died after a plunge from the upper-level seats – a possible suicide.

Louisiana National Guardsmen fashioned a makeshift triage unit on the loading docks of the stadium. Military and civilian doctors rushed from cot to cot, monitoring oxygen levels of storm victims.

Out on the loading dock, Jose Mejilla, 45, said he walked several miles from his home to the Superdome, carrying a duffel bag with his only belongings. He slouched as he gratefully devoured an Army meal-ready-to-eat.

“I never thought I would see New Orleans this way,” he said in Spanish. “I feel like I’m dead.”