Surviving an American Mass Shooting: Stairwell to Purgatory (Part 4)
Fleeing a mass shooting, Athena and I escape into a parking garage's stairwell, only to find women and innocent children awaiting rescue.
Previously, in Part 3: Dodging Bullets and Death, a deranged mass shooter executes police officers as Athena drags me to relative safety - a stairwell inside a Dallas parking garage.
If there is ever a time to lament the patriarchy, it’s during an emergency while crowded into an enclosed space with women and innocent children.
Otherwise, you risk ending up with me.
Fortunately, Athena stood stalwart and remarkably calm amid the chaos, digesting the frenetic energy flowing through the stairwell.
So much calamity, so little square footage.
The youngest children appeared to be toddlers, small enough to fit into the strollers strewn about the concrete landing. A boy, no older than ten, clung to his mother’s waist, burrowing his face into her black abaya with his big, bewildered eyes occasionally peeking from beneath the fabric’s thick folds.
A handful of young women, fidgeting and shaking with anxiety, frantically paced the stairs leading to the basement level. Fortunately, the racing cortisol still rendered me relatively deaf, drowning out most of the high-pitched screaming.
As a gangly, slender woman with short hair dashed up the stairs, my voice suddenly returned, bellowing at her to stop, seemingly without reason.
Turning to me, she froze, her expression of utter panic and confusion sending a pang of dread straight through my soul. The turmoil and the terror twisted across her beautiful face as it melted into that of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
Leaping down five steps to the platform, the tortured gazelle continued her panicked pacing on the stairs below.
My eyes, darting from one panic-stricken grimace to another, settled on a surprisingly pleasant face with rosy, apple-round cheeks gazing out from her hijab. Somehow, in spite of the death and fear saturating the air, the woman’s penetrating stare conveyed a warm fortitude, grounded in confidence.
Processing the scene with my back pressed against the wall, I deferred to Athena, whose confident presence naturally designated her our leader. Accepting her role, Athena shifted her attention to the metal door, adopting the stance of a fierce lioness ready to pounce.
As my hearing returned, clamoring echoes seemed to emanate from above. Feeling a bit useless, I attempted to adopt Athena’s courage, turning to “defend” the staircase. Planting my feet, legs bent slightly and core engaged, I braced to lunge up the stairs.
Sure, charging up the stairs, rushing a shooter, boldly protecting the innocent sounds heroic.
But I’m not the hero of this story.
The truth is, under the guise of “doing the right thing,” an old pattern emerged: a tendency to be reckless with my life.
Besides, tragically brave (and preferably quick) death in the face of evil sounds far more interesting than dying peacefully in one’s sleep or alone on the kitchen floor.
Imitating statuesque sentinels, Athena and I stood guard, alert and straining our ears for gunfire and footsteps. Frozen as we awaited our unknown fates, minutes lasted an eternity as time struggled its onward trudge.
Suddenly, a man’s voice boomed through the door, commanding our escape.
“Everyone out, one at a time, hands up, hands empty.”
Salvation arrived in the form of a SWAT team - exactly like in a movie.
Upon the commanding signal, Athena opened the door, ushering out one person at a time before slamming it shut again while I signaled the next evacuee.
The staccato rhythm of the door, clanging between the thunderous commands, created a hypnotizing melody, intensifying our focus.
One-by-one. One-by-one.
Finally, having efficiently evacuating the final woman in our foxhole, only Athena and I remained. Grasping each others’ hands, locking eyes, we nodded slightly, doing our best to muster reassuring smiles.
“GO,” I ordered.
Imitating her calm bravery and heaving the door open, I steered my new friend toward the high-powered rifles aimed at her chest.
The cold slab banged to a close once more, blocking my only escape.
I was alone.