Panic, terror and fear for the future after subway shooting

Just talking about it upset Miguel Jerez — the sight of a woman in front of his Brooklyn deli, the blood on her leg, the look of sheer panic on her face.

Moments before, a gunman had shot at least 10 people inside a nearby subway station and set off a smoke bomb that left others injured.

Jerez saw the woman through the front window of his deli. A woman accompanying her rushed inside, he said.

"Please give me water. I'll pay you later," he recalled the woman saying. She told him what had happened to the woman outside: When gunshots rang out in the 36th Street Station, she hid under a bench. A person above her had been shot and the victim's blood trickled down upon her.

Jerez, 45, handed over the water.

"I said don't worry about [paying]," said Jerez, who lives in the neighborhood, Sunset Park, in southwest Brooklyn.

At 1:30 p.m., five hours after the morning shootings, Jerez and others in the area were still feeling the emotional aftershocks of so much violence — so sudden and so random — occurring so close.

"I'm panicked. Very, very panicked," Jerez said, standing by the cash register of his store. He keeps a big stick under the counter. "I don't want trouble."

Outside, Fourth Avenue — a four-lane street lined with pizza and auto repair shops, bakeries and convenience stores — appeared frozen in time. A huge ring of FDNY trucks as well as police and other emergency vehicles stood parked above the subway station below, red and blue lights flashing.

Streets were shut down for blocks around the crime scene, and parked emergency vehicles filled the traffic lanes. Few people walked the sidewalks. A bar, law office and several stores close by shut down for the day.

Meanwhile, the hunt for the shooter continued. A team of NYPD officers led a police dog up and down the street. An FBI agent interviewed men in the auto repair shop. A handful of helicopters hovered overhead.

John Butsikares, 15, a freshman at Brooklyn Technical High School, said he was on the R train when it stopped at 36th Street. Over the train's loudspeaker, a conductor urged passengers on the platform to quickly get on board.

The high schooler from Bay Ridge described what came next — chaos.

"The train was packed. There was a lot of confusion. We went to 25th Street and they told us to evacuate," Butsikares said. "It was scary. People were crowding. … I don't know if I'll ever feel safe again on it."

Charles Brown said he considered himself a lucky man Tuesday. He had planned to be in that subway station for a morning trip to Manhattan to visit with friends but decided to wait until after the morning rush of students.

"I would've been on that train," said Brown, 54, who lives blocks away on 33rd Street.

Brown had believed the area to be relatively safe.

"I don't hear a lot of sirens."

Several residents said they hadn't seen anything close to a mass shooting, and it made them rethink whether deciding to take the subway could be a deadly choice.

Rosario Moreno, 57, said she had been in the subway station 90 minutes before the shooting. She uses the subway to come and go from Bensonhurst to her job at a Sunset Park laundromat.

"Surprise. Scared. Confused," she said of her current state of emotions. "This is the train that takes me home. What about when I work at night?"

Two sisters, Daisy and Jennifer Sandoval, sat outside eating lunch at a table at Jerez's deli with their dalmatian, Kovu.

The neighborhood had gone downhill in recent years, as hotels have filled up with homeless people, said Jennifer Sandoval, 20.

"There's always people outside drinking," she said. She saw the shootings as a sign of more trouble. "It's going to get worse."

By 2:30 p.m., police started opening up areas around the station, and the bustle of traffic and people returned to the street, lined with old, brick buildings a few stories high. A thick cluster of emergency vehicles and personnel remained at the subway station.

As P.S. 172 let out, kids streamed out of the school — a few blocks from the shooting — and into the arms of waiting parents. Maribel Tufino was there to meet her 12-year-old son. The two waited for the crossing guard to stop traffic before walking home.

Tufino, 29, said she was worried for herself and her child.

"Because it's dangerous," she said. "I'll pick him up more often."

By Craig Schneider

craig.schneider@newsday.com@Scraigo

Craig Schneider is a Long Island native and Stony Brook University alumnus. He joined Newsday as a general assignment reporter in January 2018 after 20 years at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.