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About 100 yds. from the wall of Westside Middle School's gym is Cole Hill, an elevation surrounded by gravel and blacktop roads. It was near here that Mitch and Drew found a site to park the van. They had a clear view of the school's playground, enclosed by chain-link fence, a few hundred feet up the road. Three feet of sage grass, kudzu vines and an array of sapling oaks, sweet gums and acorn trees provided cover. For Mitch and Drew, the spot was perfect.
At 12:35 p.m., during fifth period, Alisha Golden, 12, heard the fire alarm sound. Alisha wondered, in passing, why her math teacher looked surprised and then heard someone say it was Drew Golden (who is no relation to Alisha) who pulled the alarm. Despite fleeting suspicions that it was a false alarm, the exercise proceeded, and Alisha kept moving, lining up at the side exits as prescribed by the drill. The kids, a little giddy at this momentary reprieve from math and English, poured out the side entrance into the midday sun--a steady stream of energy and youth, vulnerable flesh racing straight into a trap of precocious sophistication.
Pop-pop-pop. The sounds came in quick succession, and the kids laughed--mistaking the volley for firecrackers, a joke or maybe the drama students acting out a play. "When people started falling to the ground, I thought it was all made up," says Alisha. "I saw Natalie [Brooks] and Paige [Ann Herring] fall to the ground, and Natalie had blood coming out of her head, but the blood just didn't look real. When Paige fell, I thought she was just diving to the ground." Alisha wasn't the only one in denial. As Candace Porter, 11, collapsed against one of the cinder-block walls of the building, another student shouted, "Don't worry, don't worry, it's all fake!"--to which the bleeding Candace responded, "No it's not! I just got shot!" And then the undeniable masks of pain came over the faces of the fallen.
Whitney Coker ran for cover as one of her pals was hit. The girl's cries caused Whitney to retrace her steps, and she dragged the wounded student out of the line of fire. Brittheny Varner, 11, was hit as she tugged at the sweatshirt of her best friend, another girl named Whitney. The bullet passed through Brittheny's back, killing her, and wounded Whitney Irving in the abdomen. English teacher Shannon Wright, 32, stepped forward to shield one of her sixth-graders, saving the girl and losing her own life. "This guy was aiming at Emma [Pittman]," said Amber Vanoven, 11. "He was fixing to shoot her and Mrs. Wright moved in front of her. She got shot. She did. I watched her."
The shots continued, first methodical and then faster and faster even as survivors dialed the emergency dispatcher. "There's been blood loss," reported the first caller, breathless. "People with blood loss." Michael Barnes, 12, was looking elsewhere for help. There was no way to retreat into the school buildings; the doors had automatically locked as the finale of the fire drill. So, crawling to the shelter of the gymnasium, Barnes chanted Psalm 23 to himself: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."