Route 91 Terror

First on scene for the Las Vegas Attack

I could see it in his eyes. It’s a look I’ve seen before in law enforcement and military personnel — strength, uncertainty, and fear all mixed together. I never knew his name, and I never saw him again. He was the last man in line on a tactical team of maybe six or seven officers. I don’t remember the exact number anymore, but they were fully geared up — helmets, weapons drawn, black tactical uniforms — crouched in formation as they moved toward what we now know as the Route 91 Festival grounds along the south end of the Las Vegas Strip, across from Mandalay Bay.

As they advanced, he glanced back at us as we walked away from our SUV. He gave me a quick wave with his hand, motioning for us to stay behind them. Of course, they were going first. We were unarmed. My photographer, Eric, had a backpack carrying our satellite uplink so we could report live, along with a video camera. I carried a microphone, a notebook in my back pocket, a pen, and not much else. My producer was right behind us. We, too, were crouched and walking towards uncertainty.

The tactical team moved toward the entrance while people still streamed out, though not nearly as many as there had been just minutes earlier. I remember saying out loud, “Don’t worry, we’ll stay back. We’ll stay out of the way.” As much as I wanted to get closer and document what was happening, I also didn’t want to become part of the story, put my crew in danger, or interfere with officers heading into a situation they clearly still didn’t fully understand.

That night turned into 17 straight hours of reporting and one of the most horrific scenes I’ve ever witnessed. I saw a rolling freezer used as a stretcher. Bodies covered under blankets along the sidewalk. People walking out shirtless because they had ripped off their clothes to use as tourniquets for victims who had been shot by an unknown gunman.