In Short, I'm Pretty Sure My Class Would've Died

A few weeks ago, I was asked if my class would be willing to participate in an "active shooter on campus" drill for the local police. Basically we'd have class like always, and sometime during that class time several "shooters" would come on campus and shoot up the place. It was mostly a test to see how well the emergency response teams responded to the situation.

My first thought was that we really do live in a messed up world, where such a drill is considered common. Apparently the college I work at does this drill at one of their campuses once a year, and have since Columbine happened. I know that danger lurks everywhere, but part of the reason I did not become a soldier or police officer was because I did not want a job where somebody shooting at me could be part of my day. I know the likelihood of crazed students taking a shot at me or my class is pretty low, but it happens enough that drills are being conduced at a lot of schools.

Today was the day at my school.

Most of my class was gung-ho on the idea, and the few who were not willing to do it opted out. It was pretty intense- there were three shooters and one of them ended up taking my class hostage. Sadly, the thought that stayed with me most was how everybody in my classroom would likely have been dead had this been real.

In the weeks before, we were given tips on what to do if it should happen for real. For the purpose of the exercise, we were not allowed to actually try and take down the shooter, but we could try to help ourselves in other ways. The first tip given was to lock the doors as soon as the lock down started and/or when we heard shots.

My door does not lock from the inside, and nobody but the janitor and the administrators have keys. If my door is locked when I get to it, I have to go to the office to request that somebody unlock it. Great tip, guys. The next tip was to barricade the door and then stand along the wall that the door was on and turn off the lights. That way we could not be seen through the door's window.

We did not have much time- we moved the second we heard shots, but had I not known this was going to happen, I doubt I would have thought the distant pops we heard were shots. Every now and then there are loud sounds around us, and I don't pay them much mind.

This is bad because only about two minutes passed between the time we heard them and the time one of the shooters tried to get in our room. We had barricaded the doors with chairs and tables, and a few people stood by so they could try to hold the door shut. He could only open the door a crack at first, and he shot into the crack- right at us, since we were standing along that wall! We had been told to turn off the light and move to the wall that had the door so we would not been seen from the door's window, but when he stuck his gun in, that's where the bullets went.

He left after that, but another guy came about thirty seconds later and managed to get in. He shot some rounds in the room (smoke and grit and shells everywhere!) and then demanded to know who the teacher was. It was very real- screaming and aiming his gun and shooting every now and then. Some of my students were crying- but not one of them told the shooter that I was their teacher. Nobody said a word to him. I am in awe that they all protected me like that. I decided that I was not going to tell him, but if he grabbed one of my students, I would "give myself up" as it were.

The fire alarm started blaring about this point from the gun smoke. (Which really smelled terrible!) and our shooter told us that we were doing to call him Mr. Smith, that we were in math class, and that he was the teacher. He then gave a gun to one of my students and said that we were going to tell the police that the student was the shooter, not him. He would kill all of us (here he paused to shoot into the air) if we told the truth.

The next hour was waiting for the police to rescue us. We were given cards before the exercise started, stating our injuries (if any.) According to my card, I had been shot in the chest and the arm. I imagine I would have bled to death in that hour, waiting for the police. I don't really know how to explain how tense that hour was. We could hear the police evacuating other classes, and several times they passed by our dark door without even looking in. The "gunman" kept tapping his gun on the table and reminding us that he would kill us all if anybody made a peep. Everybody stayed on the ground. I was holding one of my student's hands because she was panicking so much. I was glad that I could whisper that this was not real to her to help calm her down. What would I say if it was real?

When the police came to get us, they has us move out with our hands over our heads. I (and three of my students) did not move, since we were "injured." My male "fake shooter" student did not come out either, because he was not really sure what to do. They finally called him out by name (Not until they evacuated my class and the gunman, I might add) and arrested him. It was another five minutes before the police came into the room to see to the injured, and thus five minutes until we could tell them that the gunman had gotten away. I found out later that my evacuated students told the police as well, but not until they had gotten outside and he had left the area, as they were afraid. If this had been real, he may have gotten quite a head start!

The injured were put into an ambulance and triaged, and taken to the schools "safe area" across the street. At this point, it was pretty much over for us, and soon we were all told that we could go back and get our things. The room was a wreck! Our stuff, gun powder on everything, chairs and tables overturned...totally freaky.

I'm okay and feel okay now, but it was an eye opener. I know there were a few things we would have likely done differently had it been "real," but with a gun in your face, who knows what you'll do? It sucks to realize how small things, like the lack of doors that lock from the inside, make us so vulnerable. It was amazing how responsible I felt for the people in my room. I'm glad I did it, but once was enough.