Teacher Rita Cisneros is reluctant to take a day off — even when she's sick.

She's afraid that's when a mass shooter will strike.

"I'm not going to let them get hurt if there's anything that I can do to help," she said of her students at Lotspeich Elementary in South Texas.

She has seen the fear in her first-graders as they practice a mass shooter lockdown drill. She comforts them and reminds them of the steps that could save their lives.

Lock the door. Cover the window. Crouch down against the wall. Be quiet. And wait for it to be over.

“It’s kind of sad this year because when they did the first drill, they already knew,” she said. “They already knew that they were supposed to be silent.”

Cisneros' fears are grounded in a sad reality.

In a 28-day span in August, mass shooters in El Paso and Odessa cemented Texas' status as the state with the most mass shooting deaths dating back to when a former Marine gunned down 14 people from a sniper's nest in the University of Texas tower on Aug. 1, 1966.

In recent years, mass shooters have ended 69 innocent lives in Odessa, El Paso, Sutherland Springs, Santa Fe and Dallas. Three of the shooters also were killed.

As to what defines a mass shooting, in a 2015 study, the Congressional Research Service said FBI criminal profilers use “mass murder” for incidents in which “four or more victims are murdered — not including (the offenders) — within one event, and in one or more geographical locations relatively near one another.” The report used “mass shooting” for such cases in which firearms were used.

This report excludes mass shootings where domestic violence was the only motivation and shootouts between civilians.

And mass shootings are impacting Texas life in profound ways.

It’s changing how Texans care for their children, protect their classrooms, practice their faith, police their neighborhoods and equip their ambulances and emergency rooms. Mass shooters also color how ordinary citizens look at their personal safety. The killers have devastated generations of Texas families.

Mourners visit a makeshift memorial outside Santa Fe High School after a 2018 mass shooting that left 10 dead. Courtney Sacco/Caller-Times-USA TODAY NETWORK

Houston police Chief Art Acevedo recalled the bloodshed, fear, anger and sadness he encountered when he stepped onto the grounds of Santa Fe High School on May 18, 2018.

Eight students and two teachers lay dead from gunfire; 13 others were wounded.

Acevedo had seen the effects of shootouts by armed gangs and random violence during a 30-year career that has taken him from California to Austin to Houston.

“I had never been at a mass shooting at a school and witnessed firsthand the angst that incident has on a community,” Acevedo said. “You see it on first responders' faces, on the staff, on the faculty, the administration.”

Texas A&M Commerce: Two dead, 12 hurt, manhunt underway after rampage at party

With each mass shooting, Texans grieve.

As a parent, Butch Pool’s heart sinks a little deeper.

Pool can't find the words to talk with his 9-year-old son about why someone would want to kill so many people, including children.

“That’s the inner debate,” said Pool, who lives in Corpus Christi and owns a seafood company. “Do you put that kind of fear in them versus safety in an event that’s probably extremely unlikely to happen?”

Pool thinks the focus in Texas should be not just on increasing security but on enforcing gun laws, universal background checks and addressing mental illness to curb mass shootings.

“It’s almost like we’re on defense versus on offense,” Pool said.

Remembering mass shooting victims in Texas Here's a look at those killed in five mass shootings in Texas over the past few years. Sarah Ann Dueñas, El Paso Times

Mass shootings are 'a public health crisis'

Dr. Lillian Liao is part of a club she never wanted to join. Recalling the horrific initiation two years ago still brings her to tears. And, she said, it probably always will.

Surgeon Dr. Lillian Liao provided care when nine people, including three children, were rushed to the emergency room after a mass shooting at the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs. Rachel Denny Clow/Caller-Times

Liao, a pediatric trauma surgeon at University Hospital in San Antonio, provided emergency care Nov. 5, 2017, when nine people bleeding from the wounds inflicted by a mass shooter's rifle at First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs were rushed to University’s emergency room 45 miles away.

Three of the wounded were children. Liao had to pronounce a girl dead after she and her team couldn't save her. Emily Garcia was 7.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pausing to collect her emotions. “It’s been a couple of years.”

Later, she added, “I’m probably going to cry about it 10 years from now.”

Although she treats far more patients injured in car crashes, Liao said mass shootings fall into a category of their own. The American College of Surgeons, she said, calls the bloodshed inflicted by mass shooters nationwide "a public health crisis.”

The horrific aftermath of mass shootings has led to a support system in Texas' and America’s trauma units.

After the Aug. 3 mass shooting at a Walmart in El Paso, where 22 people were killed and 25 were injured, University Medical Center of El Paso received banners of support from other hospital staffs.

A wall of the hospital’s cafeteria was decorated with banners from the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus, the hospital that cared for victims of two Colorado mass shootings, and from Orlando Regional Medical Center, which cared for survivors of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Florida.

“The senselessness of the entire situation across the country is tragic,” Liao said.

After the mass shooting at a Walmart in El Paso on Aug. 3, University Medical Center of El Paso received banners of support from other U.S. hospitals in communities targeted by mass shooters. Tim Archuleta/El Paso Times

But Liao and others in the American College of Surgeons are doing more than simply wringing their hands.

They are focusing on how they can save lives moving forward. First, Liao said, is “primary prevention.” This includes broad, long-term concerns such as firearm safety, health care research and mental health counseling.

“It’s not just a one-sided discussion on firearms,” she said. “It is also about mental health. It is also about supporting the community. There are multiple things that we need to do as a society to prevent (mass shootings) from happening.”

For secondary prevention, Liao said, more whole blood units have been placed in EMS vehicles — both ambulances and air carriers around a 54,000-square-mile radius in South Texas.

“When people die, they die of hemorrhage,” she said. "And if we can slow down this hemorrhage, then we can buy them time to get to the hospital alive.”

And they advocate for more “Stop the Bleed” training classes. The classes are part of a Texas and nationwide campaign to teach bystanders how to act quickly to stop rapid blood loss due to an injury.

“Someone can bleed to death in as little as five minutes,” Liao said. “We have a ‘Stop the Bleed’ class pretty much every day now. Our group has gone back to Sutherland Springs to teach the church ‘Stop the Bleed.’ It helps us because we feel like we’re doing something to prevent maybe a death the next time.”

As the nurse supervisor at Odessa Regional Medical Center, Mariza Levario knows her first responsibility is to protect her patients.

The gunman who terrified the Midland-Odessa area in the Aug. 31 killing spree that would leave seven dead and more than two dozen injured still was on the loose when Levario set in motion plans to lock down the hospital.

Only after the doors were firmly secured did Levario feel the shock and fear welling up inside her.

“I thought, 'Oh my God, it’s here,' " the 10-year Navy veteran said.

Dr. Rohith Saravanan had only been chief medical officer at Odessa Regional for three months when the shooting took place. He was visiting family in Austin that Saturday but immediately went to work directing the emergency response remotely.

Dr. Rohith Saravanan, chief medical officer at Odessa Regional A lot of hospitals who have gone through things like this before — they’ve changed over time. They’re more prepared. For us? We have to prepare more." Quote icon

“It was a hard call to take,” Saravanan said. “The first process was doing the lockdown. Because it was the holiday weekend, it made that very hard. We did have an administrator in town, but the majority of our administrative team was out of town visiting family.”

The shooting took place on Labor Day weekend.

Six people arrived at Odessa Regional with injuries related to the mass shooting; four eventually were sent home, while two were admitted to the hospital — one in critical condition.

As the number of mass shootings around the country began to climb, Saravanan said he noticed a change in the way hospitals trained staff.

“A lot of hospitals who have gone through things like this before — they’ve changed over time. They’re more prepared. For us? We have to prepare more. We have to drill more. We do have regular disaster type of drills but not mass shooting drills.”

Soon after the shooting, University Medical Center of El Paso staff crafted a banner of support to send to Odessa Regional — Texas’ newest mass shooting club member.

Interactive map: Here's a look at every mass shooting in the United States from 2006 through 2019:

Mass shooters have turned schools into security zones

A lockdown in October at El Paso's Eastwood Knolls International School came only two months after the Walmart shooting. Tensions were high at the school for grades kindergarten through eighth.

It wasn't a drill. A man with a BB gun was arrested nearby after windows on a home were broken. A spokesperson for the school district said there was a suspected home invasion nearby and the school was placed on lock down, but they were soon given the all clear.

John Humphreys, Eastwood Knolls' band director, started yelling as loud as he could for people to get inside. Students were on their way out of the building and parents were picking them up. He gathered the kids, their parents and other teachers.

Many of the children trembled and cried, Humphreys said.

“I think students realized this might have been a real deal,” said Humphreys, who has been at Eastwood Knolls for 11 years. During the lockdown, he added, students were quiet and comforting each other until the all-clear was given.

Mass shooters have turned schools into security zones. Security cameras are commonplace on many campuses, and sophisticated security features often are incorporated into the architecture of new school buildings.

David Walker, superintendent of Christoval Independent School District Every time we don't learn something from these incidents, like what happened in El Paso or Odessa, it means children died in vain." Quote icon

Some campuses have security protocols so strict parents are not allowed to walk their children to class.

On public college campuses, students who are 21 and older with a license to carry can bring their handguns to lecture halls and dorms.

In the tightly knit West Texas community of Christoval, school Superintendent David Walker said lockdown drills and high-tech security features alone won't protect his district's 550 students and 81 employees.

Christoval, about 20 miles from San Angelo, the nearest city and hospital, was the second school district in Texas to allow armed staff members after the 2012 shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut that killed 26.

Searchable database: See which Texas school district allow armed staff

“We were the first district to have long guns and the first to have emergency trauma equipment,” Walker said.

The community's two campuses have emergency trauma kits and multi-casualty bags designed for active shooter situations. Employees have access to tourniquets, compression gauze, chest decompression needles, emergency tracheotomy kits and more.

“We have emergency kits in every classroom, in every vehicle, and in every office that can treat multiple people,” Walker said.

"Every time we don't learn something from these incidents, like what happened in El Paso or Odessa, it means children died in vain," he said. "And shame on us for not doing something about it. I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing we could have done something but didn’t.”

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In 2013, Christoval ISD adopted a guardian program to arm teachers and administrators on the campuses. Yfat Yossifor / Standard-Times files

For police, change in mindset takes toll

The frequency of mass shootings has changed policing in Texas. And, in some cases, it has changed the lives and careers of officers, who often are targets.

In the Odessa shooting, three officers from three different agencies were wounded before the gunman was killed outside a movie theater. All three survived the attack by a man with a history of threatening to kill officers.

Mass shooters in Texas aren't swayed by the state’s reputation as being tough on crime.

"It's forced us to evolve our training. It's forced us to evolve our mindset," said Acevedo, the Houston police chief.

In an active shooting, waiting for backup often isn’t an option.

"When you know people are dying, when there's gunfire, you run towards it and engage the subject,” Acevedo said.

That change in mindset takes a toll.

"Our officers are much more at risk,” Acevedo said. “They end up suffering from post-traumatic stress injuries. I don't call them 'disorders' because it's not like they did something wrong. It's an injury caused by the trauma of having to see people suffering.

"It impacts their psyche,” he said. “It impacts their emotions."

Senior Cpl. Terrance Hopkins of the Dallas Police Department was a tactical planner assigned to the downtown command post in July 2016 during a peaceful Black Lives Matter protest.

The peace was shattered when an Army reservist armed with an AK-47-style rifle and a semiautomatic handgun opened fire. Before the gunman was killed by an explosives-carrying police robot, five officers were shot to death. Nine other officers were hit by gunfire and two civilians were wounded.

The attack is a tragic reminder law enforcement can never let its guard down.

“We’re there for a visual presence/deterrent," said Hopkins, a 29-year law enforcement veteran and president of the Black Police Association of Greater Dallas. "But you cannot get lackadaisical, thinking that just because you’re there, it won’t happen."

Gun owner: 'I just want to prepare myself for the worst'

Dana McConnell grew up in a gun-owning household with a father who instilled in him an abiding respect for a firearm's power. He shot his first gun - a rifle - when he was 10 years old outside his uncle's house in Bastrop County.

“My dad every Sunday would take out his revolver and clean it and talk to us about it,” said McConnell, an Austin Realtor. “It was never ‘I’m going to pick it up and go shoot anybody.’ It was a thing of respect and honor and safety, always. These days, it just doesn’t seem like that’s there anymore.”

On a Saturday in September with the mass shootings in El Paso and Odessa still in the headlines, McConnell helped organize a group of six other real estate professionals to take the class needed to qualify for a license to carry.

Michael Cargill, instructor with Central Texas Gun Works in Austin Once you pull out that gun and use it, your life is going to change." Quote icon

Some in the group, which totaled about 40, believed if they were armed, they'd be able to stand up to a shooter. Others admitted they'd be scared witless.

“I just want to prepare myself for the worst,” said McConnell.

Instructor Michael Cargill, a staunch defender of the Second Amendment, explained Texas' firearm laws and how to properly use a handgun during the class at Central Texas Gun Works in Austin.

The evolution of Texas gun laws: What to know about firearm laws in the Lone Star State

He also provided a dose of reality: Never draw your weapon unless you're fully prepared to use it.

“That is your last option,” Cargill said. “Once you pull out that gun and use it, your life is going to change."

Elvin Randell, 64, got the message.

“It would be the worst day of my life if I ever had to pull a gun out and shoot somebody,” he said.

But if he were confronted by a mass shooter, Randell said, he wouldn't hesitate to return fire.

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Laura King, 21, was among many in the class who agreed.

“I think it’s your duty to defend people who can’t defend themselves,” she said.

Karlyn Ellis, a 46-year-old Realtor, wasn't as confident. She was taking the class but admitted guns scare her.

“My husband has always believed we should have a gun in the house,” Ellis said. "And I’m terrified of it."

She choked up at the prospect of shooting at someone, even in self-defense.

“This is all very stressful,” she said, fighting tears.

When it was her turn to shoot, Ellis was hesitant. James, her husband of almost 20 years, tried to break the tension with humor.

“You don’t get a margarita unless you go,” he said.

Later, she stepped up to the firing line, clutched her .22-caliber semiautomatic pistol with both hands and aimed at the blue, humanlike silhouette.

She hit the target and passed the class, but isn't going to go through with getting her license to carry.

"I've realized that I don't think the answer is arming more people with more guns," she said.

The good guy with a gun

Stephen Willeford put a face to the mantra long invoked by gun rights activists: "Only a good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun."

Willeford, 57, is the Sutherland Springs plumber who ran barefoot carrying an AR-15 from his house across the street from the First Baptist Church when he heard gunfire.

Stephen Willeford is hailed as a hero for helping to bring down the shooter who killed 25 people at First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs. Courtney Sacco/Caller-Times

Yelling a simple "Hey!" Willeford drew the gunman's fire. The gunman missed, but Willeford did not. He fired one round into the man's side, between the plates of body armor protecting his torso and back.

A second round hit high on the man's leg. When the killer clambered into his vehicle to speed from the church, Willeford fired once more, shattering the vehicle's rear window.

The gunman ultimately killed himself on a remote Texas roadway.

Willeford's story has been told and retold. He uses his fame to advocate for gun rights. He's met lawmakers and the president. He spoke at the National Rifle Association's annual convention and participated in Second Amendment gatherings at the Texas Capitol.

Texas gun laws: What happens when ‘good guys’ have guns?

In an interview with the USA TODAY Network, the former NRA firearms instructor said he did what any trained good guy with a gun would.

"I used this rifle to defend my community," he said during a demonstration at the Texas Capitol, an evidence tag still attached to his AR-15 slung over his shoulder.

Willeford said his actions probably won’t prevent mass violence.

“I don’t think it’s a deterrent,” he said. “These people want to die, and they want to kill as many folks as they can before they do.”

Since his exchange of gunfire, new mass shooters have unleashed massacres in three other Texas cities.

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Texas gun laws: Good guys with guns, what you need to know Here's what a top law enforcement officer in Texas has to say about "good guys with guns" when it comes to mass shootings. Lauren Roberts, Times Record News

Some worshippers have guns in church

Pastor Mike Clements had finished the Sunday service at Floresville’s First Baptist Church when he heard of the shooting in Sutherland Springs. He rushed to Connally Memorial Medical Center in Floresville, where many of the wounded were taken.

He wasn't prepared for what he saw. He said he drew strength not only from God, but from the doctors and nurses working to save lives.

Pastor Mike Clements of First Baptist Church was among the first clergy leaders to arrive in Sutherland Springs after the 2017 mass shooting that took the lives of 25 plus an unborn child. Courtney Sacco/Caller-Times

“I said I've got to do the same thing. I can't break down,” the pastor of 20 years said. "I've got to be strong so I can try to comfort them, pray with them, try to answer their questions."

For Clements, 61, it was the beginning of a long and blurry week where he’d help officiate several funerals, including one for a family that lost three generations and nine relatives to gunfire in a house of worship.

Today, it is legal to carry a concealed weapon into a Texas church.

After Sutherland Springs, Clements knew he had to protect his church in the town of 6,500. Some of his fellow rural pastors, he said, opted to have a conspicuous police presence for Sunday services. He opted for a lower-key response.

He now has "a security team": Greeters in the parking lot welcome worshipers to Sunday services. Also, people at each service discreetly watch for anything out of the ordinary, he said. “We didn't have that before.”

And some people in his church come to worship armed.

“I'm fine with it," he said.

Most major religions in Texas leave the decision on allowing guns to church leaders at the local level.

Pastor Frank Pomeroy of First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs often carries his holstered pistol on his hip at church. He and his wife were away on business when the gunman attacked. His 14-year-old daughter was among those killed.

"Losing your daughter and 25 others, doing 26 funerals in two weeks, it's going to play a part in absolutely every aspect of the rest of your life,” he recalled nearly two years later. "I cherish personal relationships and life in general much more than I used to. It's not that I didn't care before. I did. But now I see that life is so fleeting."

Show caption Hide caption Chairs with flowers were placed in the sanctuary of First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs in 2017 as a memorial to honor those who died... Chairs with flowers were placed in the sanctuary of First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs in 2017 as a memorial to honor those who died in a mass shooting at the church. Twenty five people were killed including a pregnant woman. Courtney Sacco/Caller-Times

Pomeroy, 53, resists calls for more gun regulation and his Facebook page is replete with posts supporting the Second Amendment, saying self-defense is not at odds with Christian teaching.

"The days of counting on others to protect you (are) growing slim," he said.

Pastor Michael Grady also faced the horror of a mass shooting. His daughter was hit by bullets from the AK-47-style weapon used in the El Paso Walmart attack.

Grady’s wife, Jeneverlyn, was shopping at a nearby Dillard's while daughter Michelle was at Walmart. His wife phoned him, saying Michelle was hurt and he needed to get to the shopping center immediately. When he arrived, “it was sort of like I picture a war zone,” he said.

His 33-year-old daughter was shot three times but survived. Since the shooting, she has undergone several surgeries and continues physical therapy.

“Michelle is doing better each day,” he said.

Grady, 65 and the pastor of Prince of Peace Christian Fellowship, is calling for "common sense" measures to curb gun violence. He was invited to the Democratic presidential debate in Houston weeks after the shooting to drive that point home.

“When I saw Michelle and these other victims get shot, my prayer was, ‘God, call your people to rise up in this city and do something about this,’ ” he said.

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El Paso pastor's daughter survived the Walmart mass shooting: See him recall that day Pastor Michael Grady's daughter, Michelle, was hit three times by the Walmart shooter and remains in the hospital receiving treatment. Mark Lambie, El Paso Times

A governor in the national spotlight

Since taking office in January 2015, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott has led his state in grief through more deaths by mass shooters in his home state than any other American governor.

Seven months before the first deadly mass shooting on his watch, Abbott posted a tweet about Texas slipping into second place among the states in total gun sales.

"I'm EMBARRASSED: Texas #2 in nation for new gun purchases, behind CALIFORNIA," he said in the social posting during the lunch hour of Oct. 28, 2015. "Let's pick up the pace Texans."

Greg Abbott has been governor of Texas since 2015 and seen five mass shootings. Courtney Sacco/Caller-Times

At the time he posted it, Abbott’s tweet seemed to make perfect political sense for a Texas governor.

Guns have been woven into the fabric of Texas since taming of the frontier. Guns put food on the pioneers' tables, conquered the Comanches and defended the Alamo.

Months earlier, he was elected by a landslide on a platform that included a stout defense of the Second Amendment. Like-minded Republicans controlled both houses of the Legislature and all statewide judgeships.

But nearly a year into his second term, mass shootings have come to define Abbott's tenure. Within hours after the shootings, Abbott rearranged his schedule to travel to each city and meet with local elected officials and law enforcement.

He made phone calls to apprise then-President Barack Obama after the July 2016 shootings in Dallas of the situation on the ground. In the shootings since, he made the same calls to President Donald Trump.

Starting at dawn the Monday after the Sutherland Springs shooting, the governor appeared on nearly all network and cable news outlets to share his state's shock and grief with the nation. Later in the week, he accompanied Vice President Mike Pence to the community's memorial service.

Later, he would accompany Trump as he met with survivors in El Paso.

After Santa Fe and again after El Paso, Abbott convened roundtable discussions with experts and survivors but consensus on how to prevent or even reduce the likelihood of future shootings remains elusive.

Abbott has issued a list of executive orders aimed largely at bolstering the law enforcement response when signs indicate people who might pose a public threat are reported to authorities.

The orders, which seek to close gaps in law enforcement procedures, do not make specific recommendations to further limit access to weapons.

After several verbal requests, the USA TODAY Network has made a written request for an interview with Abbott to discuss how the spate of mass shootings on his watch has elevated his job to include being the state’s consoler-in-chief and what specific recommendations he plans to present to the Legislature to minimize the chances of future mass shootings in Texas.

Spokesman John Wittman said Abbott’s schedule has been full in recent weeks, including a weeklong visit to South Korea to explore trade initiatives. Abbott has not ruled out an interview, Wittman said, but could not commit to a specific time.

The spokesman did acknowledge that the number of shootings and the number of dead and wounded have had a profound effect on Abbott and changed the public's expectations on how a Texas governor must respond to tragedy.

“Governor Abbott was elected to lead in times of triumph and times of crisis," Wittman said. "When tragedy strikes Texas, the governor responds to the needs of victims and communities."

At the community prayer vigil for Sutherland Springs he attended with Pence just days after the shootings, Abbott said he had just met with Kris Workman, whose gunshot wounds to his back inflicted the same damage to his spine that left Abbott paralyzed when a tree fell on him when he was 26.

"I told Kris' mom I was proud to meet another future governor of the state of Texas," Abbott said at the vigil.

Wittman said the governor's personal history colors his response when he must console Texans statewide or in one-on-one settings.

"He draws upon his own tragedy that left him in a wheelchair at an early age to help comfort and console during difficult times," Wittman said. "The governor understands the need for compassion, but also the need for urgency and action in order to prevent future tragedies from taking place."

Honoring shooting victims: Gov. Greg Abbott speaks at the Sutherland Springs vigil

And there is evidence Texas' storied affinity for guns is evolving.

Brandon Rottinghaus, political science professor at the University of Houston Part of a governor's legacy is whether they find a way to put aside partisan politics at times of crisis. The question is, has Governor Abbott done that successfully?" Quote icon

Instead of tools for self-protection and survival, many modern Texans look at them simply as items to be feared, said longtime Austin political consultant Bill Miller.

"The people that own guns, and I damn sure own them, don't want to give them up," he said. "But those who don't owns guns, don't shoot guns and never have, they're afraid."

It's probably too soon to tell how the mass shootings on Abbott's watch will shape his legacy over the long haul, said Brandon Rottinghaus, a political science professor at the University of Houston. Much depends on his ability to craft measures that deal with mass violence without regard for the political fallout, he said.

"Part of a governor's legacy is whether they find a way to put aside partisan politics at times of crisis," Rottinghaus said. "The question is, has Governor Abbott done that successfully?"

While lawmakers struggle to balance gun rights with actions to curb mass shootings, Texans are going about their lives — many preparing for the next time.

From carrying a weapon in the hope of stopping a mass shooter to learning how to treat gunshot wounds, everyday Texans are the new first responders.

Bill Vallie will be there to care for the victims of the next mass shooting and their grieving families.

As regional manager of the Legacy Funeral Group, he's provided comfort after mass shootings and sees the funeral business as the "hidden first responders."

Funeral homes offer comfort to wounded communities. They play a key role in the grieving process, sometimes offering their services for free, as was done in El Paso.

"We come in and take care of all the victims," Vallie said.

Reporting by: John C Moritz and Eleanor Dearman, Austin Bureau USA TODAY NETWORK; John Tufts in San Angelo, Vicky Camarillo in Corpus Christi, and Trish Choate in Wichita Falls.