I never stay out on school nights.

Evening of the USC Halloween shooting. (Wilson Pumpernickel)

After all, I’m married and barhopping has kind of lost its luster. But on Halloween night in 2012 I thought, “Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ask and you shall be answered.

I had all but buried my memories from that night until the shooter’s name was thrust into my news alerts Feb. 10.
The tweets and posts read, “USC Halloween Shooting Suspect Found Guilty Of Attempted Murder” and “Brandon Spencer guilty of 4 counts of attempted murder.”

I had the urge to recount my steps from that life changing night.

It was a Wednesday on that Halloween.

Like the weirdo I am, I dressed up at the “Ermahgerd” girl. It was Halloween after all, and I wanted a cheap, DIY costume that I could throw together with items from Goodwill.

My classmates and I – including several Neon Tommy contributors and Annenberg students: Ashley Riegle, Matt Hamilton and Astrid Solorzano – just finished up with our broadcast class at 9 p.m.

We decided to hit up Traditions, USC’s “bar” on campus. It was the first and last time I’ve been there.

ALSO READ: USC Halloween Shooter Plans To Appeal, Calls Verdict 'Racist'

I had a few vodka-sodas, I laughed, I danced, and the night was going just fine.

“See?” I told myself. “You went out and had fun without going straight home to do homework, and you are having a great time.”

We exited Traddies, a cute moniker for the bar that Yelp calls “a total shitshow" on game day.

My friends decided to smoke some cigarettes. 
I contemplated making my escape considering that I had been awake since 6 a.m. and it was nearly midnight. Old people, such as I, need sleep.

We noticed a large crowd formed in front of the USC student center ballroom. We also noticed some of the skankiest Halloween costumes ever to prance in front of Sir Tommy Trojan. 

We heard murmurs of an organized party refusing to let partygoers in, hence the mass. While gawking and chatting up the officers from the Department of Public Safety about the commotion, I had all but said, “I’m going to pack it in,” when we heard them.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

I can’t remember the exact amount of gunshots. You think in those situations you would, but it all happens so fast.

I recall stopping for seconds, thinking, “Those aren’t gunshots, are they? Are those firecrackers?”

Then those seconds were gone. Some of my friends hit the ground. 
But the majority of us scattered.

It was a sea of men running, and women in stripper heels with exposed butt cheeks fleeing. In disbelief, I ran with my laptop flapping on my side.

I turned to my friend and yelled mid-stride, “Is this really happening?”

It felt like being in a warzone, which may sound ridiculous, but it’s true.  I whipped my head over my shoulder as I ran, and spotted a man throwing another guy’s arm over his shoulder. He was helping him frantically limp away. I learned later that my suspicions were confirmed, and he was shot.

Any buzz I had from the vodka sodas was gone, and my blood was ice cold with adrenaline. My friend yelled to me she was getting the hell out of there, and I decided that was the best plan of action. We hugged, and I took off for the parking structure.

A drunken woman in white go-go boots was ahead of me, in the middle of the roadway, near parking structure X.

My retreat from the USC Halloween shooting to my car. (Heather Navarro)

A DPS SUV hurled toward us, going what had to be at least 40 miles per hour, horns blaring for her to get out of the way. She jumped out of the way just in time, and the SUV continued toward the mayhem. She flipped off the SUV, and stumbled away, not realizing in her drunken waltz that she had nearly been hit by a car.

I rushed up the stairs to my Prius, and slammed the door. I didn’t know if security would be posted at the exit, ready for a lockdown. I don’t know why I thought DPS could move that fast.

I panicked, wondering if I should crouch down in my car, in case the gunman had fled to the parking structure to hide from DPS.

My breathing still hadn’t slowed when I finally got home to Hawthorne.

I called the friends I left behind, but got voicemails. Text messages finally started to flow in, letting me know they were fine. I also got a phone call from a very respected Los Angeles Times veteran, asking me specific details that I had trouble recounting.

I stood out in my driveway as not to wake my family, huffing steamy breaths into the cold night air. After I finished the interview, I went inside to lay in bed, unable to sleep.

I wondered, “Was I a selfish jerk for running and not staying to make sure my friends were OK?”

Then I came to question my career in journalism. Surely a good journalist would salivate at this type of action, running toward the gunfire, not away from it.

My friends let me know that they didn't really think about my haste in leaving that night. They had their own lives to worry about.
Family and friends assured me that I did the right thing in getting out of the fracas. They care about my safety above all else.

Commentary that bubbled up after the shooting agitated me. People who had never even been to USC started saying, ‘Well, what do you expect with a university in that type of area?’ Parents demanded additional safety measures as we read in the LA Times.

I’ve covered the surrounding area in journalistic pursuits, and yes, it can be rough. But it in no way detracts from the brilliant minds that come in and out of this university.

I feel as safe as I ever did walking to my car after a night class, and this is coming from a person who ran away from gunfire.

The old adage holds true: it takes a few bad apples to screw it up for the law-abiding bushel.

I'll admit that being a USC student does qualify as a certain amount of bias, but the students should be the most qualified to talk about how safe they feel on campus.

I’ve made peace with my demons about this night, and decided I am still a good journalist.

Maybe I’m just no good as a war correspondent.

Read more on the USC Halloween shooting at Neon Tommy, the Los Angeles Times, and CBS.

Contact Heather Navarro or follow her on Twitter.