It was a cool evening...
It was a cool evening. The atmosphere was good, the fireworks were rather neat, the kids were tossing pebbles in the water and the network was busy. In short, it was a cool evening. The Promenade was packed full. Just like every other Bastille Day. I had chosen to spend the evening on the beach around the High-Club, right at the sport where the Promenade became pedestrian. As soon as the show was over, we all stood up at the same time. Heading for the stairs, all squished like sardines. I was zigzagging between people to reach my scooter, parked nearby. In the distance, a noise. Screams. My first thought: some smartass wanted to make his own fireworks and failed to control it... But no. A fraction of a second later, a huge white truck was racing at a crazy speed into people and steering abruptly in order to hit as many people as possible. This deathly truck passed just a few feet away from me and I did not realize it. I saw bodies fly like bowling pins upon its passage. I heard noises, screams which I will never forget. I was petrified. I did not move. I followed this hearse with my eyes. Panic was all around me. People were running, screaming, crying. Then, I realized it. And I ran with them. Headed toward the Cocodile, where everyone was running to for refuge. I only stayed for a few minutes but it felt to me like an eternity. "Run for cover". "Don't stay here". "Where is my son ? Where is my son ?" — Words I heard around me.
I absolutely wanted to know what had happened. So then I went outside. The Promenade was deserted. No noise. No sirens. Not a single car. I then crossed the median to return to where the truck passed. I ran into Raymond, in his fifties, in tears, who told me: "There are dead people everywhere". He was right. Right behind him, every 15 feet there were lifeless bodies, body parts... Blood. Whimpering. The beach attendants were all first on the scene. They brought water for the injured and towels which they laid where there was no more hope. In that moment, I lacked courage. I wanted to help, bring assistance... in short, do something. But I couldn't. Petrified again. A second wave of panic took me back to the Cocodile. "He's coming back! He's coming back!" It was a lie. The murderer-truck ended his race several feet further, covered in bullets. I didn't hear any gunshots. Just screams. An now crying. Only crying.
I ran. Straight ahead. I got my scooter to get far away from this hell. I went back up the Promenade and I grasped the full extent of the tragedy. Bodies and injured people covered the sidewalk all the way to Lenval. The first ambulances were beginning to arrive... This evening was a total horror.
Professional translation by Gengo. Original here.
