‘Charlie Hebdo, that was a symbol. This is war.’

PARIS— The weather was mild and the terraces were full, like every Friday night in Paris, when horror struck. A shooting in a restaurant in the 10th arrondissement. Explosions near the Stade de France, the site of the France-Germany match.

Another shooting inside the Bataclan concert hall, where there was a rock show, followed by a hostage taking, before the bloodiest attack of the night.

In all, there were six targets in Paris, all perfectly co-ordinated. It was a veritable bloodbath in a city that has hardly recovered from Charlie Hebdo. The trauma is total.

The La Presse correspondents’ apartment in Paris is located near the Bataclan and we heard a series of gunshots around 10 p.m. as we approached the theatre, while the police were arriving.

“There was a flurry of gunfire in the Bataclan. There’s blood everywhere,” one man told us as he was leaving the perimeter before it was cordoned off. At the corner of Boulevards Voltaire and Richard-Lenoir, people began to gather, as the police — overwhelmed — ordered the crowd to keep moving.

“There are still gunmen on the loose. Do you want to get shot?” one police officer yelled. Some wanted to go home; others wanted to know if their loved ones were safe. A young man, in tears, begged police officers to let him go. “I want to know if they’re OK!”

The sirens of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances ripped through the Parisian night. Trucks and cars kept going to the affected areas. And the paranoia never stopped growing. An abandoned bag or an oddly parked car triggered police intervention and provoked mob scenes.

Niza, a Tunisian living in Paris, seemed devastated. “I left that stupidity over there just to find it again here. Because it was surely Arabs who did this.”

On the Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, a first group of survivors were evacuated by police. They were crying and holding each other in their arms. On the phone, they consoled their friends and family. “It’s everywhere, all of Paris!” one man said.

The security perimeter around the Bataclan got bigger.

No one was allowed in or out. The police rescue operation occurred just before midnight. The metro was closed — five stations were no longer operational.

We crossed paths with Julien. His pants were torn. He was at the Bataclan, made it out, leaving his glasses and his cellphone behind. He found refuge somewhere on Boulevard Voltaire. He showed us his concert ticket, said he needed to talk.

“It was a trap. They came from behind,” he said. “I thought the noise was part of the show. I saw two guys. They fired everywhere. They were talking about Syria. They wanted to kill the band. I helped one guy who was injured. They shot bodies on the ground.”

Dazed, he repeated: “It was just a rock concert.” But he is happy to be alive. “And, at the same time, I feel like a coward because of those who died. And hatred, too. Charlie Hebdo, that was a symbol. This is war. They’re attacking civilians.”