5. Surviving an American Mass Shooting: Fight, Flight or Freeze
After evacuating the foxhole, the door slammed shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts while preparing for one final run.
Previously, in Part 4: Surviving an American Mass Shooting: Stairwell to Purgatory, the SWAT team arrived to extract the women and children from our foxhole until only I remained.
The heavy door slammed.
I was alone.
The beating of my heart drowned out any sound of pounding footsteps or bullets flying overhead.
Or perhaps I was still partially deaf from the gunshots.
But, at that moment, on the verge of escape, the world stopped and time suspended.
There, in a stairwell, on a hot, humid Dallas evening, a chill suddenly filled the air, covering my skin in cold shivers.
But that’s when I knew I would survive.
Unlike evil, death isn’t cold but a warm, comforting old friend (what, did you think I only have one story to tell?).
Staring at the stairs, all I wanted to do was sit.
Just sit.
Not to cry. Nor to die.
Just to stop running.
The exhaustion had finally hit.
Not from the insanity of the day but from a decade’s worth of marathons, sprinting to escape trauma, secrets and pain.
In the face of the absurd, an epiphany struck:
My heart had never wanted to flee from the pain - it wanted to be still to heal.
Unfortunately, my mind’s confusion and fear had won, only to lead me far from home and into a hail of bullets.
There, amidst the chaos and a lightyear away from home, I longed for stillness.
But to find the stillness, I had one more sprint to go.
Forcing my lungs to inhale, I maintained all the composure I could muster.
Slipping my phone and keys into my back pocket, I again concentrated on the SWAT commander’s voice and grasped the cold door knob.
Hands up. Hands Empty. Run. Hands up. Hands Empty. Run. Fucking run…
“Go, go, go” he commanded.
Throwing open the barricade, I exploded through the egress.
Controlling my momentum down the slight incline, cornering tightly out of the parking structure, I launched myself toward freedom.
Flip flops smacking against the pavement, I dashed east towards the nearest building, a McDonald’s, where I finally caught up to Athena.
Slowing her pace and outstretching her arm, my protectress again pulled me closer.
Reunited, we sprinted and hurdled down a back alleyway.
My phone, now in my hand, started to ring. Seeing my local uncle’s name, I answered, screaming, “I’M RUNNING.”1
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My apologies, Uncle Ted. That must have been terrifying and I love you so much for always looking out for me.
Another gripping and terrifying entry! Thank you for your candidness and vulnerability.
This is just as pure and raw as soothing reflective. Your writing is incredible, Allison!