45 - Under Siege

By Nicole Ward ’16 M ’18

On September 20, 2017, I was at Mattoon High School in Mattoon, Illinois, to recruit students for USI. I was scheduled to talk with a group of students at 11 a.m., but arrived late because I was stuck behind a train. When I got there, I was introduced to Dr. Aaron Hale, a guidance counselor, who escorted me to a classroom down the hallway. Before he left me to speak with the students, Dr. Hale offhandedly asked me to close the classroom door later on my way out, as it locked automatically from the inside and he wanted to prevent students from entering it when it was unoccupied. He would have no idea how much that seemingly irrelevant comment would mean to me.  

As Dr. Hale walked out, I began speaking with the 21 students present about the advantages of attending USI. I remember being on a roll that day— funny, energetic and really connecting with the students in the classroom. Midway through my presentation, I began hearing loud popping sounds echoing outside the classroom, followed by piercing screams. My heart fell into my stomach and my immediate response was to panic. I knew what those pops were: gunshots. I stopped mid-sentence and saw the look of terror on the faces of the students in the room as they quickly came to the same conclusion: There was a shooter in the school.

Without thinking, I bolted for the door, turned off the lights and closed it before placing a chair against it for the limited amount of protection it might provide. Along with a couple of students, we quickly but quietly moved the others into the corner of the room, away from the door, or under the conference table. While the students were trying to be as quiet as possible as they moved to safety, my fear was that the gunman would hear us. The door was a solid sheet of glass. It provided no protection from a gunman.

An alarm sounded and over the intercom a panicked female voice declared the school was on “lockdown.” Students began calling their parents or emergency personnel, but I quietly yet firmly asked them to stop talking on their phones. I was petrified the gunman would hear us and come after us. I told them they could text, but not to make any more phone calls. I tried to call emergency personnel myself, but I assumed they were receiving too many calls related to the shooting, because no one would answer. I became desperate, so I called my fiancé in Evansville and asked him to keep calling emergency personnel to alert them about the shooting.

The next 40 minutes were agonizing, waiting in silence to hear what we were supposed to do next. I stood next to the door, thinking if the gunman was somehow able to break down the door and enter the classroom, I would tackle him in an attempt to save the students. While I was standing there, I began to fear that I was not doing everything in my power to protect them. I texted Rashad Smith, USI director of undergraduate admissions, asking for advice. He told me I was doing everything right and just needed to remain calm.

Eventually, a figure walked up to the classroom door and tried to enter the room. Seeing the shadow moving outside the room struck terror into me once again. When I heard the doorknob jiggling, I knew this was the end—this was how the students and I were going to die. My body was rigid, and I was literally ready to fight for our lives. But when the door swung open, a police officer was there. I just stared at him for a moment before bursting into tears. All the emotions I’d been bottling up for 45 minutes flooded out. The officer scanned the room and asked if everyone was all right, then told us to leave and follow the line of students exiting the building. He told us not to run, for safety reasons, but we didn’t listen.

Outside, we were directed to the tennis courts where the other students waited, their terrified parents across the street, screaming for their children as a line of police and police cars separated them from the school’s property. The students were loaded onto school buses and taken to another school across town where they were picked up by their parents. Two policemen went through all of my belongings and checked my ID before letting me leave the premises. Once I arrived at my car, I called my fiancé, mother, father and Rashad to let them all know I was safe and unharmed.

I don’t think anyone can ever be prepared for the feeling of pure terror experienced in an active shooter situation. My actions that day, right or wrong, were a combination of instinct and the basic training I’d learned in high school. There was an information sheet in the Mattoon High School classroom I was in that explained what to do in the face of a shooting, but it was small and I would not have been able to read it unless I was in front of the door, risking being seen by the gunman.

The initial emotion I felt was fear, but it was immediately followed by a sense of protection. My worst nightmare was not losing my own life, but knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to ensure the safety and lives of the students with me. I was only 22 at the time, and wasn’t ready to die. But, I certainly wasn’t ready for the students in that classroom to die without me doing everything possible to save their lives. I’m not looking for a pat on the back for my actions that day. I am not a hero. Anyone would have focused on saving the students. I am eternally grateful to Dr. Hale for mentioning that the door locked automatically from the inside. Otherwise, I’d have believed we were sitting ducks in an unlocked classroom. I’m thankful that not only did I receive this training in the past, but that all of the students in the classroom were more than willing to cooperate and encouraged one another in the worst moment of their lives. I witnessed students holding hands and patting each other on the back, and in that terrible moment, their kind actions gave me just the slightest spark of hope.

It’s easy to go through shooter-training in a relaxed atmosphere and believe you have the knowledge necessary to act appropriately. However, expecting a person to react in that same rational manner when they are under extreme duress is unrealistic. Training can only prepare an individual so much for a real tragedy. There is a fine balance between knowing what to do while managing the overwhelming panic you are feeling in such a dire situation.

I’m a rule follower at heart. I like structure, and I believe that following a set course of actions leads to the best possible outcomes, for the most part. In this instance, though, even taking the most appropriate actions could still have ended in a horrendous outcome that I had no control over.

I wish I would have known the layout of the school and possible escape routes for situations like the one we were in. I had never been in this particular high school before and did not know how close we were to an exit. Looking back I wonder, did I act appropriately by locking us in the classroom? Would it have been wiser to have had the students run to the closest exit, if one was near to us? While the phrase "trust your instinct" is a cliché, it’s the most crucial piece of advice I can give. In a moment of crisis, your adrenaline is flowing. You are at the mercy of an individual with a firearm and you are outmatched.

I like to think of myself as tough and able to handle anything thrown my way. This shooting forced me to realize my vulnerability and the lack of control I often have in the world. Even two months later, it’s difficult for me to put into words the complete terror I felt on that day. I have not been diagnosed with PTSD, but I believe I have PTSD-related symptoms. The sudden ring of an alarm, loud bangs and other unexpected noises trigger a quickening of my heart and shaking of my body.

A few years ago, a younger me would have been embarrassed of these symptoms and would have tried to cover them up, never to speak of them. However, I received a bachelor’s degree in psychology from USI and understand how bottled up emotions can be detrimental to one’s mental and physical health. A shooting is not something you can forget about the next day, the next week, the next month or even the next year. I still get nervous before walking into a high school to recruit students. I still find myself thinking about escape routes too, whether it’s a grocery store or USI’s campus. But, while I still think about the shooting often, I will not let this one terrible experience define me for the rest of my life. I am too strong for that.

The University of Southern Indiana’s Public Safety offers training for departments and units around campus. Training takes around 45 minutes to an hour and can be scheduled at a time that works best for the unit or department scheduling. More information, videos, response guidelines and information about active shooter training can be found at usi.edu/security

If you enjoyed this story, let us know at magazine@usi.edu.