"From Algebra 1 to Lockdown: The Chain of Events in the Georgia School Shooting"

 

That morning, Apalachee High School received a chilling warning by phone: there would be shootings at five schools on Wednesday, with Apalachee identified as the first target.

Despite the ominous call, students in Winder, Georgia, proceeded with their day as usual, moving from first period to second.

For Lyela Sayarath, this meant attending Algebra 1.

During the lesson, the quiet boy seated next to her stood up and left the room, the door closing and automatically locking behind him. Lyela thought little of it; the boy was known to skip class.

But then he returned.

The 14-year-old knocked on the classroom door, and a girl got up to let him back in. She recoiled in shock when she saw what he was carrying: an assault rifle.

Through the small window of the locked door, Lyela watched as the boy with the gun turned and headed toward another classroom.

Gunshots erupted at Apalachee High School.

Just a 10-minute walk away, eighth-grader Tim Mosher was in his second-period band class at Haymon-Morris Middle School when he heard the distant crack of gunfire. The 13-year-old percussionist instinctively grabbed a large drum, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.

Then, an announcement came over the intercom: the school was on lockdown.

Tim sank against the wall as the lights were turned off. The room fell silent.

Like many American students, Tim and his classmates had drilled for this scenario and knew the importance of staying quiet. They had yet to grasp that Winder, Georgia, was about to witness the deadliest school shooting in the U.S. so far that year.

At that moment, Tim’s mother, Pam Mosher, was in a Publix supermarket nearby. Her phone buzzed with a message from the school:

“Parents, At this time we are taking caution, and the school is in a hard lockdown due to our neighboring school – Apalachee – being in a lockdown. HMMS students are safe. Please do not attempt to come to the school at this time.”

As she read the message, police cars sped past, their sirens wailing and lights flashing towards the schools' shared campus.

Pam knew something was terribly wrong.

In Lyela's Algebra 1 class, students scrambled to the floor and huddled in the corner as their teacher turned off the lights.

At 16, Lyela quickly pushed desks in front of herself and her classmates, urging everyone to stay low.

Meanwhile, in a nearby classroom at Apalachee High, 17-year-old Ethan Haney heard about nine gunshots outside and immediately shut his classroom door. He and his classmates quickly barricaded it with chairs and tables.

As Ethan took cover, his thoughts raced to his loved ones. He pulled out his phone and typed a desperate message to his mom:

“school shooting rn”

“i’m scared”

“pls”

“i’m not joking”

His mother, Erin Clark, quickly responded, “I’m leaving work.”

“I love you,” Ethan texted back.

“Love you too, baby,” his mother replied.

“Keep texting me, no matter what you do.”

To 16-year-old Julie Sandoval, the gunshots echoing through the high school hallways sounded like heavy books being slammed down.

For Janice Martinez, it resembled someone playing around outside.

But the illusion quickly shattered. Her teacher was visibly shaking, and her classmates were in tears.

“The noise kept getting louder and louder,” Janice remembered. “I told everyone to get down. Get down.”

Julie, overwhelmed and unsure of what to do, huddled in a corner and texted her parents, her mind racing with worry for her younger sister, who was also at the high school. Between sobs, Julie expressed her love and apologized for not being “a perfect daughter.”

Fourteen-year-old Macey Right also reached out to her mother: “Mom, I’m scared. I hear gunshots. Please come get me.”

Amid the chaos, Macey heard screams, pleas for mercy, and saw people around her trembling and crying.

Her mother, Anetra Pattman, a teacher at an alternative school about five miles away, tried her best to comfort Macey from afar.

“No matter what, keep texting me. Just keep texting me to let me know you’re okay,” Anetra Pattman recalled urgently messaging her daughter as her own school went into lockdown. She turned off the classroom lights and kept her students silent.

Shana McMillan received distressing messages from her daughter, who was hiding in a room directly across from where a teacher had been killed. The teacher had instructed students to huddle in a corner and stood over them to offer protection if the shooter entered their room.

Students from the classroom across the hall soon rushed into her daughter’s room, crying. “She was terrified,” McMillan said. “She was worried they might come to her room next.”

Macey and other girls held hands and prayed, but their moment of solace was interrupted by loud banging and shouting.

A classmate informed Macey that one of her friends had been shot in the shoulder.

Authorities received the first reports of an active shooter on campus at 10:20 a.m., triggered by a panic button that had been issued to teachers just a week earlier, according to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation director and the Barrow County sheriff.

Within minutes, school resource officers confronted the shooter.

The suspect, a 14-year-old boy, was subdued and taken into custody, authorities confirmed.

Outside the school, the wait for news was excruciating.

Pam Mosher left the grocery store and went home, her phone continuously buzzing with updates from the school.

At 11:38 a.m., she received a text: “Haymon-Morris Middle School: Parents and Guardians, HMMS remains on hard lockdown. Students are safe and secure. Please be patient.”

Meanwhile, news began to spread—via text chains, Atlanta news stations, and CNN—of four people shot dead at Apalachee High.

Pam tried to stay calm and trust the system. “We’re in Barrow County,” she would later reflect. “I know what’s in those cop cars. I know they train for this.”

Kathrine Maldonado, who had overslept, woke up to frantic texts from a friend. While she had missed the initial lockdown, her friend assured her she was safe and then began updating group chats.

It wasn’t long before Kathrine learned that a friend had been killed. “I started crying,” she said. “And then I just got really angry.”

“Keep your head up, keep your head up.”

With the suspect in custody, officers flooded into Apalachee High, moving students out of classrooms while paramedics attended to the wounded. Helicopters circled overhead.

As the situation began to come into focus, the tragic outcome was clear: Two teachers and two 14-year-old students were dead, and nine others—eight students and one teacher—were injured and transported to hospitals, according to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

Julie Sandoval broke down in tears as she heard police entering her classroom.

“Let me see your hands!” they shouted.

“I started bawling because my first reaction was fear—I had a gun pointed at me. But then I realized that the police were here, which meant I was safe, and I’d be okay,” Julie recalled.

Students walked through the hallways with their arms raised, following officers' instructions: “Keep your head up, keep your head up.”

"I finally found her, and she was devastated."

Tim Mosher had spent hours huddled against the wall in his band class, not keeping track of time. At some point, snacks and drinks were brought to the students waiting in Connections B.

Tim received a Lucky Charms snack bar and a small carton of milk, served cafeteria-style.

By mid-afternoon, Pam Mosher received a new text update:

“Haymon-Morris Middle: Law enforcement has now given the okay to lift the lockdown … Thank you.”

With that news, Pam headed toward Haymon-Morris Middle School.

By then, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of others were converging on the campus. Pam struggled to get close as parents, grandparents, neighbors, and friends of Winder’s children clogged the roads, their brake lights forming a red ribbon stretching over the horizon.

So, Pam joined the throngs who abandoned their vehicles in long rows on sidewalks and road shoulders, walking toward the flashing blue lights. Families pushed strollers, maneuvered leg-cast scooters, and carried toddlers on their hips and shoulders under the late-summer sun.

Neighbors had set up a card table and were handing out water, sports drinks, granola bars, applesauce packs, cheese and peanut butter crackers, gummies, and cold cubed watermelon.

“It’s the afternoon, and many of these kids haven’t eaten since breakfast,” said organizer Chris Comfort.

“Some haven’t eaten since last night because they missed breakfast on their way to school,” added Comfort’s homeschooled daughter, Geaux. “It’s hot, and it’s terrifying. I hated seeing my friends and even kids I don’t know going through this.”

As families scrambled to reunite outside the school, Lyela recounted the shooting to a CNN reporter. She described seeing a friend from a classroom where shots had been fired.

“He saw it. He saw someone get shot. He had blood on him and was limping,” Lyela said. “He looked horrified.”

Meanwhile, Macey and her mother were reunited in a tearful embrace.

“I finally found her, and she was devastated,” Pattman said. “We hugged and cried for a long time. You never, ever think something like this will happen to you or your child.”

Erin Clark, who had sent loving messages to her “baby,” was relieved to find Ethan safe by the bleachers.

When Pam Mosher finally arrived at Tim’s school, police, sheriff’s deputies, and SWAT officers had blocked every entrance.

Mosher showed her ID, and Tim confirmed he was her son.

Together, mother and son began the long walk home.