As bartender Michael Anderson crouched on the patio of a nightclub, hiding from the shooter who killed his friends and co-workers, he was convinced he was going to die too.
“I just felt alone, really alone and scared,” he said.
“I didn’t even have my cell phone with me. I was afraid I wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye to my mother.”
He had recently been pouring drinks at Club Q, a long-established LGBTQ venue in Colorado Springs in the foothills of the US Rocky Mountains.
There had previously been a drag show to celebrate Transgender Remembrance Day and the music was pumping when he started hearing pops.
“I looked up and saw the shadow of a tall person holding a gun. I saw the gun clearly… and then the shots continued… round after round after round. It was absolutely terrifying,” he told AFP.
“I ducked behind the bar. Glass just flew all around me like bullets were just breaking bottles and whatever else was there.”
Penned in and terrified of being attacked, Anderson crawled onto a patio where he and a colleague wedged themselves between a wall and a booth, seeking any shelter they could find.
Inside, the gunman, later identified by police as 22-year-old Anderson Lee Aldrich, shot clubbers indiscriminately in a killing spree that left at least five dead with 18 wounded, some seriously.
“I saw a gun coming out of the patio door, the barrel of a gun sticking out,” Anderson said.
“And that was the moment I was most scared. Because I knew we’d be next.
– ‘You saved my life’ –
What happened next left Anderson forever grateful to the people he calls heroes.
Police say at least two people charged at the gunman and overpowered him.
The next time Anderson looked up, he saw the shooter pinned to the ground.
“There were some very brave people who punched and kicked him and stopped him from doing any more damage,” he said.
“I do not know who did that. But I would really like to know because I am very grateful. You saved my life last night.”
The United States is no stranger to horrific acts of violence, but for Anderson and other members of the LGBTQ community in Colorado Springs, a city of around half a million people, the threat seemed somehow distant.
“The community here is tight-knit,” he said. “Everyone knows everyone. We’re a family, you know where we get together.
“When I started at Club Q … my general manager told me, ‘You’re part of our family. Now we are here for you.’
“We always thought that could never happen here; Never Colorado Springs, never Club Q.
“But maybe we tell each other that so we can go out and feel safe.”
Anderson said he hopes the shooter will spend the rest of his life in prison and live with the full horror of his crimes.
And America, he said, must be kinder.
Less than two weeks after an election that saw several candidates ramping up their anti-gay and anti-trans rhetoric in a rush for votes, politicians are having to rethink their strategy, he said.
“People spitting this out might think it’s harmless and it’s just part of their culture war, but their culture war has real consequences that I’ve seen firsthand.”
