Surviving an American Mass Shooting: Dodging Bullets and Death (Part 3)

After a Black Lives Matter protest, a mass shooting breaks out. As bullets fly and death abounds, our heroine, Athena arises.

Previously, in Part 2: With Hope, Injustice and Bullets, I joined a new friend, Athena, to support and acknowledge the social justice issues still plaguing Black Americans. 

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

A crisp cacophony of gunfire reverberated through the sultry air. 

It sounded close, too close. 

Swirling clockwise, my eyes connected with those of a Black man in a white t-shirt and denim shorts. Time slowed as he ducked to the pavement, dodging the quite literal bullets. 

Suddenly, those perfectly manicured nails were digging into my skin. Athena instinctively seized my left forearm, gripping it tightly, pulling me back from whence we came. 

As we turned to run, the true horrors began materializing, surrounding us from all directions. 

In the middle of the intersection of Main and Lamar, one of the few brave men facing the shooter dropped to the ground like cinder blocks clad in a blue uniform.

Unlike the movies, there was no howling, jerking about or gurgling. Just gravity. His face showed no fear, no drama, no emotion. It was as if his soul, his essence, immediately escaped this cruel world, leaving his lifeless body on the hot Dallas pavement. 

Sprinting through the chaos of horrified crowds, never loosening our embrace, Athena and I desperately sought shelter. The two surrounding blocks, wide open parking lots, offered no refuge. 

Rounding the corner, people swarmed into the bus depot across the street, ducking for cover with every bang. There was neither enough time nor space for all to take shelter. 

A split second later, another police officer rushed toward the ceaseless gunfire. As Athena tugged at my arm, dragging me along, he crumpled down to the black pavement, mowed down only a few yards from us. 

In the midst of the calamity, Athena moved with the swiftness of a true goddess, projecting the protective wisdom of an owl, somehow resourceful and courageous in the darkest of darkness. Her determined expression betrayed no fear, only confidence and strength. Her lips were moving, clearly commanding me to safety, but her voice was lost to the vacuum only bullets seemed to pierce. 

Photo by Irena Kefala on Unsplash

With immense trust and faith in my new friend, I followed Athena blindly (and a bit deafly, apparently).

My heroine spotted the only viable option for escape, a door to the El Centro parking garage. Reaching for the knob, Athena threw open the hatch.

Trudging through the threshold, I glanced back to the hero’s body, only to know the officer’s soul had joined that of his colleague.   

Athena, however, knew we couldn’t spare the split second as she ushered me through the entryway, sealing it behind us. 

Dashing up the ramp, we found relative safety in a dank stairwell, protected by a heavy metal door, as bullets echoed all around.

Ducking into the crude foxhole, my heart sank even further.

Innocent women and very innocent children had gathered, crowding the small, grey stairwell, desperate to survive.

Survived this far? Continue on my journey in Surviving a Mass Shooting: Stairwell to Purgatory (Part 4).