“We don’t have weapons!” I shouted, hands up. “We stopped the shooter! He’s right there!”
But adrenaline and poor communication are dangerous combinations. Officer Derek Mitchell, later investigation would show, thought Spider—who was holding pressure on Mrs. Patterson’s wound—was threatening her.
“Cease fire!” I screamed. “We’re the good guys! We’re helping!”
The second shot hit Tom in the leg as he was carrying two children.
Chaos. Pure chaos. Children screaming, bikers trying to protect kids while getting shot at, cops thinking they were facing multiple threats.
Quinn, a 70-year-old Vietnam vet, did the only thing he could think of. He started singing the National Anthem at the top of his lungs. Something about that song, that gravelly voice belting out “Oh say can you see” made everyone freeze.
“We’re veterans!” he shouted between verses. “Patriot Guard Riders! We secured the shooter! Stop shooting at us and help these kids!”
Finally, finally, someone in charge arrived. Captain Rebecca Torres, who’d worked with our organization before. She recognized our vests, the patches that showed who we really were.
“Stand down!” she commanded. “These are the good guys! Lower your weapons!”
But the damage was done. Spider was bleeding out. Tom’s femoral artery was nicked. Both needed immediate medical attention that was delayed because the police had to “secure the scene” and verify we weren’t threats.
