Three days after tragedy shattered the quiet community of Tumbler Ridge, a 12-year-old girl who tried to shield her classmates from danger remains in critical condition — her story already etched into the hearts of a grieving town.

Maya Gebala, a seventh-grade student described by loved ones as kind, determined, and protective beyond her years, is fighting for her life in the intensive-care unit at B.C. Children’s Hospital. She remains in a medically induced coma after being shot in the head and neck while attempting to lock the school library doors during the mass shooting that claimed eight lives.

Her actions in those terrifying seconds — seconds that may have saved others — have become a symbol of courage amid devastation.

The Moments Inside the Library

According to family members, Maya was in the school library when the chaos began. Screams echoed down the hallway. Confusion spread. Students realized something was terribly wrong.

“They heard the screams and chaos, and Maya and her classmates tried to close the library door and lock it,” said Krysta Hunt, a cousin of Maya’s mother, recounting what the family has been told.

The door lock, however, was broken.

It wouldn’t secure properly.

As panic intensified, one of Maya’s classmates ran for cover. Maya, instead of immediately retreating to safety, stayed at the door for a few critical extra seconds, trying desperately to make it latch.

“She was not successful,” Hunt said quietly.

Those seconds changed everything.

The shooter forced his way through the door. Maya ran to hide beneath a desk. Gunfire followed.

One bullet grazed her cheek and ear. Two more struck her in the head and neck.

In the aftermath of the shots, it was another student who noticed a slight movement in Maya’s finger — a small but crucial sign of life. That observation alerted first responders to prioritize her care.

Even in the chaos, a classmate’s awareness and Maya’s own fight to survive became intertwined acts of courage.

A Family’s Sudden Nightmare

Earlier that day, Maya’s mother, Cia Edmonds, was expecting her daughter to stop by her workplace for lunch money. When Maya didn’t arrive, it seemed like a small, ordinary deviation.

Then the phone call came.

The school was in lockdown.

Within hours, the ordinary rhythms of family life were replaced with sirens, emergency transport, and agonizing uncertainty.

Because of the severity of her injuries, Maya was airlifted to Vancouver for emergency treatment. Her parents followed on the next available flight, carrying fear no parent should ever endure.

Doctors warned them she might not survive the night. They prepared the family for the possibility of permanent brain damage.

The prognosis was — and remains — serious.

The Fight for Her Life

Maya is currently being treated in the ICU at B.C. Children’s Hospital. She is unable to breathe on her own and remains on life support. Significant swelling in her brain continues to pose grave risks.

Yet amid the medical uncertainty, there have been small signs that the family clings to tightly.

On Thursday, her mother shared on Facebook that doctors detected movement in Maya’s limbs.

“A stimulus, a kick, a hand move, but it’s something,” she wrote.

More involuntary movements followed on Friday, according to relatives — indications that her body below the neck appears responsive.

For families in critical-care waiting rooms, “something” can mean everything.

Still, doctors caution that the road ahead, if there is one, will be long and complex. Brain injuries are unpredictable. Swelling must subside before a clearer neurological assessment can be made.

The family understands that survival is only the first hurdle. Recovery — if possible — could involve years of rehabilitation, uncertainty, and adaptation.

But for now, their focus remains singular: one breath at a time.

Another Teen Injured

Maya was one of two teenagers injured in the shooting. Another student, Paige Hoekstra, is being treated at Vancouver General Hospital and is reported to be in stable condition. She may be discharged soon.

While Paige’s condition offers a measure of relief in a devastating week, the contrast underscores the severity of Maya’s injuries.

Eight lives were lost in total — six at the school and two elsewhere in the community — leaving Tumbler Ridge reeling.

A Community in Mourning

Tumbler Ridge, a small northeastern British Columbia community known for its tight-knit character, has been transformed by grief.

In small towns, tragedy ripples differently. Victims are not distant names on a news ticker — they are neighbors, classmates, co-workers, friends.

Vigils have been held. Flowers line the edges of school grounds. Messages of support flood social media pages dedicated to Maya and the other victims.

In times like this, the narrative often seeks something to hold onto — a story of bravery, a spark of light in overwhelming darkness.

Maya’s attempt to lock the library door has become that story.

She did not run first.

She tried to protect others.

At 12 years old.

The Weight of Those Seconds

Experts often speak about “fight, flight, or freeze” responses in moments of crisis. There is no blueprint for how a person will react when confronted with sudden danger.

Maya’s instinct was to act.

Not recklessly. Not dramatically. Simply to secure the door.

Those extra seconds she spent trying to fix a broken lock may have allowed classmates time to find cover. It is impossible to measure precisely what her actions prevented — but the intent alone speaks volumes.

Bravery is often romanticized as something loud or grand. In reality, it is frequently quiet and instinctive.

A hand reaching for a lock.
A decision made in a heartbeat.
A refusal to abandon others immediately.

The Long Road Ahead

As Maya remains in a medically induced coma, her family prepares for a future filled with unknowns.

Brain swelling must subside. Doctors will gradually reduce sedation to assess neurological function. Every stage will carry both hope and fear.

Will she wake?

If she does, what will recovery look like?

What abilities might return — and which might not?

The family has been told that permanent brain damage is likely. But medicine is not prophecy. Especially in children, resilience can sometimes surprise even seasoned specialists.

For now, the focus is stabilization.

Breathing support.
Managing swelling.
Monitoring reflexes and response.

Each small movement — a twitch of a finger, a shift in a limb — is documented and analyzed.

Each one is also treasured.

A Mother’s Strength

In her social media updates, Cia Edmonds has balanced honesty with hope. She has shared the gravity of Maya’s condition without surrendering belief in her daughter’s strength.

Parents of critically injured children often live suspended between medical terminology and raw emotion. Words like “prognosis,” “neurological response,” and “critical care” become daily vocabulary.

But beneath that clinical language lies something far simpler:

A mother willing her child to survive.

Beyond Headlines

As national attention focuses on the shooting itself — the investigation, the timeline, the policy questions — Maya’s story serves as a reminder of the deeply human cost.

School violence statistics can feel abstract until you see a 12-year-old girl in a hospital bed fighting for breath.

Until you hear that she stayed behind to try to lock a door.

Until you learn that a classmate noticed a finger move — and that small observation may have saved her life.

A Town Holding Its Breath

Tumbler Ridge waits.

Classrooms are empty. Families comfort children struggling to process trauma. Counselors work overtime. Community leaders speak of resilience, but the grief is fresh.

And in a hospital room hundreds of kilometers away, Maya’s parents sit beside her bed.

Machines hum softly. Monitors flicker with data. Doctors move in careful rhythm.

The fight continues.

Hope, However Fragile

Hope in moments like this is complicated. It is not loud optimism. It is not denial of medical reality.

It is quiet persistence.

It is watching for the next small movement.

It is believing that even severe brain injuries do not always write the final chapter.

It is holding a child’s hand and refusing to let go.

Maya Gebala’s story is still unfolding. Her condition remains critical. The outcome uncertain.

But what is already certain is this:

In a moment of chaos, she chose courage.

And now, an entire community — and far beyond — is choosing hope for her.