In her forthcoming memoir The First Survivor: Life with Canada’s Deadliest Mass Shooter — set for release with Sutherland House Books on Jan. 20, 2026 — Lisa Banfield recounts her life with denturist Gabriel Wortman. On the eve of what would have been their 19th anniversary, Banfield was the first person attacked during the rampage in Nova Scotia that would leave 22 innocent people dead. In this exclusive excerpt, she describes the hours of escalating violence on the evening of April 18, 2020, as she was beaten, restrained and forced to flee into the woods, surviving the night — unaware her partner was about to carry out a slaughter that still reverberates today.
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Saturday evening, April 18, 2020
I don’t know how long I was in bed when I heard him return from the warehouse. I heard a weird whooshing sound. What was he doing?
I pretended to be asleep when Gabriel opened my door. If I ignored him, maybe he would just leave me alone. But he didn’t. He stood over my bed and began screaming at me: “Get up!” He ripped off the blanket, exposing my naked body. I was alarmed, but tried once again to redirect him as I pulled the covers back up and told him to go to bed.
This time he persisted and kept yelling at me to get up. He was in a mood and wanted to fight. This was not going to be good. Without warning, he took my laptop from my bed stand and smashed it on the floor.
“Gabriel, what are you doing?” I screamed.
Furious I hadn’t moved as he commanded, he grabbed my cellphone and did the same thing, but this time crushed it under the weight of his boot.
Something within him snapped.
He yanked the blankets off me and grabbed me by the hair, forcing me to the floor. He got on top of me and started choking me.
My instincts took over and I tried to stay calm, “Gabriel, it’s OK. I’m sorry.”
“Get up,” he ordered me, “I’m done.”
I kept trying to talk him down. “Gabriel, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”
He wasn’t having any of it.
“Oh, you stubborn bitch. You got a little Beulah and Gilly in you.”
He pulled me up by my hair. I tried cradling my head to ease the excruciating tension on my scalp.
As I stood up, he kicked me in the stomach, sending me backward onto the corner post of my bed. The solid log post of the Amish pine frame offered no flex as I felt and heard my lower back crack.
I dropped to the floor, wincing in pain. I lost my breath. Stunned, I froze. I wanted the beating to stop.
“Get up,” he barked at me.
I tried, but it was so painful. Before he could hit me again, I found my inner strength and used the bedpost to get up as he demanded.
Still naked, I braced myself before he’d hit me again.
“Get dressed,” he yelled. He opened my closet door.
I grabbed whatever I could get on quickly, a pair of tights and a thin black top.
“Let me get my purse? I need my purse.”
“You don’t need your purse,” he yelled, grabbing me by the right wrist. He tied something around it. I think it was from a bathrobe belt in my closet. I’m not sure, but it was a soft material. I couldn’t think clearly or process what was happening.
“Let’s not forget my gun. I need my gun,” he said in a calm, matter-of-fact way.
He dragged me around the house. We went through the kitchen to his bedroom. “Be careful. It’s slippery,” I heard him say.
Are you kidding me? I thought. You just beat the shit out of me and now you’re worried I might slip?
He walked past the open safe that contained $60,000, without taking any of it. He was in his own zone as he entered his bedroom.
He grabbed his black handgun tucked in a nook of the adjoining sunroom. We walked down to the landing by the front door, where he picked up a jerry can of gas and threw it into our sunken living room.
I put my bare feet into sneakers when, in a calm, eerie robot state, he said, “Turn around.”
And as I did, flames erupted. It was surreal.
I knew he had lost his mind. Gabriel would never damage the home he took so much pride in creating. I had to get free; I had to run.
Still tethered by the robe belt or whatever it was, we moved from our deck to the driveway. He doused our white decommissioned car with gasoline but didn’t light it.
Instead of screaming at him, I tried to stay calm and offered him a way out. “Gabriel, it’s OK,” I said soothingly, even though it was anything but OK. “Gabriel, I’ll tell them I accidentally started the fire. I will take the blame. It will be OK. Please, please Gabriel, don’t do this.”
“It is too late; you will never look at me the same way,” he said.
He pulled me to the road as the flames engulfed our home. I dug my heels into the gravel, trying to slow his pace.
“Gabriel, please don’t do this. We can get through this,” I pleaded.
“It’s too late, Lisa. You told me if I ever hit you again, you’d leave. I’m done.”
I dropped to the ground and tried to kick him away. He ripped my sneakers off, then threw them in opposite directions on the road. “You can’t run now, you little bitch.”
I didn’t know how to stop him; he’d gone too far. I needed help.
“At the end of the night, I’m gonna die,” he said coldly. “You won’t die, as long as you don’t run away from me.”
His eyes darkened. Stark and distant, I didn’t see Gabriel anymore.
It was like there was no light in them. Forcing me to my bare feet, he dragged me across the road to the entrance of the woods. I cried out in pain.
On the path back to our warehouse, adrenaline kicked in. I thought if I could just get out of my unzipped coat and run, I could escape.
He wanted me to go in front of him. I knew this path as well as him, but in the dark I struggled to get my bearings.
I reacted instinctively, shifting my shoulder, I got out of my coat and fled. I couldn’t see anything; I tripped over some kind of root. I tried to hide, but he had a flashlight so he found me instantly and grabbed me.
My stomach churned as he confirmed my worst nightmare. He’s going to kill my family. My back throbbed. He ignored my moans as he thrust me forward. I didn’t cry. I stayed silent so as not to anger him further.
As soon as we came to the driveway, he released me. “Don’t move.”
His eyes said it all.
I watched in horror. He poured gasoline on all our cars, the white Ford F-150, and his backhoe. He calmly unlocked all the dead bolts and opened the warehouse doors.
Once we were inside, he grabbed a set of handcuffs from behind the bar. “Give me your hands.”
“Gabriel, you don’t have to do this, please,” I begged.
He cuffed my left wrist. “Give me your other wrist.”
He was on a mission and couldn’t be stopped. “We’re going to burn down the Dartmouth clinic and then we’re going to Maureen’s.”
Dear God. If he’s going to kill my family, just kill me, now. I dropped to my knees and covered my face with my hands. A shot rang in my ears.
I never heard a gunshot up close. It ricocheted off the cement to the right of me.
“Give me your other hand,” he demanded.
“Gabriel, please, don’t,” I said hysterically.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Give me your other hand.”
Another blast hit the floor on the left side of me. Terrified that my head would be his next target, my entire body numbed. I lost hope.
Perhaps exasperated by my refusal to move, Gabriel grabbed my arm and pushed me into the backseat of the replica police cruiser, slamming the car door as he walked away.
He tossed guns onto the front-seat passenger side. I panicked. I’m trapped.
At least I had use of my hands, but I needed these cuffs off. I struggled to free my left wrist without success. There were no door handles in the back seat, so I kicked at the partition to the front seat. I kept kicking with my bare feet while he was out of sight. The Plexiglas didn’t break or crack. I thought, If I am to survive, I will need to use my hands and get this cuff off. I felt confined and restrained. Desperate, I kept clawing to get the handcuffs off my left wrist. My skin was breaking beneath the metal of the cuff. I have to escape.
I stopped moving when I saw him come in from outside. He didn’t even look at me as he went upstairs to the loft apartment. Almost trancelike, my body stilled. I retreated to the innermost safety of prayer: God, act as a shield against any harm to myself and my family; Thank You, Father, that You have me in the palm of Your hands; God thank You that no weapon formed against myself or my family will prosper. Give me strength to get out of this car; God, please help me.
I repeated this mantra over and over in my mind, then audibly to my own ears.
Miraculously, I finally ripped free of the cuffs. My left wrist bled from the fresh claw marks. I still have the scars as a lifelong reminder of my terror and survival.
Fight or flight. I did both.
I reached around the window divider on the passenger side, but the Plexiglas didn’t budge. I tried the other side, and suddenly it gave way.
By the grace of God, there was just enough of an opening for me to get through. I crawled in the front seat and opened the driver’s side door. I ran for my life.
Knowing he was still up in the loft, I bolted straight for the woods to the right. There were no windows on that side so Gabriel wouldn’t see me. I managed to get through our property line to where I saw a truck on a neighbour’s property. I didn’t want to involve anyone, so I went to the truck there. I checked the back door, and it was unlocked.
I jumped in and quickly looked around for something warm to wear. The dome light came on and I freaked out that he’d see me. But within seconds, the light dimmed. I was freezing. As I reached around I felt nothing but tools. I saw a neon vest, but I definitely didn’t want that.
My heartbeat was racing beyond my breath. I couldn’t stay here. If he lit fire to all our vehicles, what if he did the same thing to this one?
I jumped out and dashed for the woods. The spindly trees whipped about my face and head as I tried to move deeper into the forest. I was terrified that every branch cracking beneath my weight would give me away. I crawled on my hands and knees in order to get through them.
The tie on my wrist trailed behind me and kept catching on twigs and branches. I pulled it off.
With no light but the moon, I kept moving in my bare feet, wincing in pain. Explosions like firecrackers filled the night air. My ears were hypersensitive to every unfamiliar sound. I dragged my body for what seemed like forever. I finally came upon a fallen tree trunk with big roots. Thank you, God. I crouched like an animal in its hollowed opening.
I thought nothing of the dirt and leaves that must have been crawling with bugs. With great relief, I molded the cavity with my body as tightly as I could. The cold began biting at me. My body throbbed all over until numbness set in. Finally, feeling somewhat safe, I wept as I stared into the darkness.
I lost track of time. I stretched my black yoga pants over my frigid feet, tying a knot to cover them. I was afraid of frostbite. I could see my breath, so I tried to breathe beneath my thin top so its vapours couldn’t be seen. The sounds baffled me. The bangs echoed loudly as if in a war zone out there. I kept wondering, Where are the fire trucks? Where are the police? The ambulances? Doesn’t anyone see what is happening?
Through the woods, I saw another house on fire in the distance. Flames shot up high into the sky. Suddenly I heard two guys freaking out. Maybe they could help me? I didn’t want to yell out in case Gabriel could hear me. I thought if I could get to them, I’d be safe. I felt around and picked up a stick to help prop myself up. I stepped forward using my makeshift cane, but it snapped beneath my weight. I fell to the ground. Then I heard whistling. Oh my God. Is that Gabriel? Was he taunting me?
“Hey boys.” It sounded like Gabriel’s voice.
Two shots rang out, startling me, followed by dead silence. It was him; I knew it was. Alarmed at how close Gabriel was to me, I crawled as fast as I could back into the hollow of the fallen tree. The woods fell silent again. As I peered out, I saw what seemed to be a shadow of a man holding a rifle. I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating or not. I froze with fear, praying to God again and again.
After some time, an opening through the trees revealed a black, tank-like truck with bright lights racing up and down the dirt road. I remained hidden. I heard another voice through a megaphone: I strained to hear if it was the Colchester Police, but they didn’t repeat it. I thought maybe it was the police or, could it be Gabriel? He owned one of those microphones. Mentally exhausted, I thought he could be taunting me. I couldn’t be sure. I decided to stay put until morning when I could see.
During the night I could see stars in the sky, and nocturnal sounds filled the woods. Had I survived being killed by my partner only to be eaten by a bear? I felt around for something to protect me. There was a rock — at least it was something and it seemed to calm my paranoia. All night I continued to pray for my family, who I would learn had experienced their own nightmare — along with our unsuspecting neighbours.
6:28 a.m. Orchard Beach Drive, Portapique
At sunrise, I thanked God that I made it through the night. I started moving on my hands and knees from my burrow, but stopped suddenly.
What if he’s still out there? I turned back and laid there in silence for what seemed like a half hour or more trying to decide what to do. I can’t stay here all day; I need to get help. I convinced myself to try.
My cold, bare feet didn’t even feel the pain from the uneven gravel. My body mindlessly moved toward safety. I prayed, God, guide me out of here.
When I reached the ditch that bordered the woods, I saw Leon Joudrey’s grey house. I didn’t know him well, but he had done a few jobs for Gabriel. His dog barked as I approached, and he let me in.
I desperately scanned the room and bolted for the bathroom, thinking Gabriel is going to find me. I asked him to call 911. I was trembling when he handed me his cellphone, but I dropped it. Leon picked it up as my hands were shaking. “Hello,” I could barely speak.
“Hi Lisa, we’re going to help you OK, stay on the phone with me.
“You’re not injured, are you?”
“I’m in pain now. My back.”
“We’re going to get you some help and then we’re going to get you some medical attention.”
Through the windows we could see uniformed SWAT teams coming up the driveway. Just hours earlier, RCMP investigators had assumed I was dead, burnt in the fire that destroyed our home.
Leon’s dog barked again when an armoured truck let out a small army of police, who created a perimeter of protection in the yard.
I still feared Gabriel would suddenly appear and shoot me. They took me to the end of Portapique Beach Road, then immediately transferred me into an awaiting black SUV. The RCMP had set up a coordination checkpoint near the Great Village Fire Hall. A member of the Emergency Medical Response Team did a quick examination and found me “moderately hypothermic,” as my body wasn’t circulating heat and my lips had a hue of blue.
Constable Ben MacLeod would write in his notes that I was “fearful for my life” and in “a state of terror,” with a distraught, disheveled appearance. He noted that he had only seen one other person in his career who was petrified to the same extent: a woman who had been kidnapped and held captive for three days.
I had trouble walking because my lower back throbbed in ceaseless pain. They transferred me to an ambulance for initial treatment. The female attendee was immediately comforting and showed me such compassion. I had a momentary feeling of safety.
RCMP officers drove me to a checkpoint they’d set up in Great Village. They were asking questions but my thoughts were spinning, acutely aware that Gabriel was still out there. Upon arriving, I was immediately placed into an awaiting ambulance where the paramedics covered me with blankets and pumped painkillers into me. Constable Terry Brown and Constable Dave Melanson asked me questions.
I warned them about the white decommissioned police car Gabriel owned. I could tell they thought it was just a normal ghost car, so I emphatically repeated, “No, it looks exactly like your police car … with stickers. It looks identical … the lights on the top.”
I told them about the guns he took with him in the front seat and how he handcuffed me. Then I told them about hiding in the woods.
They wanted a description. The last time I saw Gabriel he was clean-shaven, wearing black jeans.
I asked if my family was safe because Gabriel said he was going to Dartmouth to burn the clinic and then go to (my sister) Maureen’s.
Shortly before 8 a.m., I arrived at the Colchester East Hants Hospital in Truro and was examined again. My medical record noted I had tenderness in my lower right flank; superficial scratches and abrasions on my hands, feet, and legs; and bruising on my upper back and left wrist and hand. X-rays revealed fractures in my ribs and lumbar spine.
Neither hospital staff nor RCMP took pictures of my injuries. An officer was posted outside my room for protection.
No one told me innocent people had been murdered overnight.
According to records, within hours of being admitted another constable asked me questions about the previous night.
I still feared for my family’s safety. Gabriel was still out there. I would soon learn that my sisters and brothers had already been drawn into the RCMP investigation.
The police gathered them in the station with supervising officers in a glassed-in conference room. The police still hadn’t apprehended Gabriel and had no idea where he could be hiding out. They separated my family members for individual interviews in rooms wired for sound and video. Without exception, my family told them as many details as they could about Gabriel.
Maureen gave the RCMP pictures that Sunday in the early hours — images that were later used in news conferences, including the BOLO (Be On the Look Out) picture of Gabriel Wortman (with my image edited out), his replica car with the fleet number, and pictures of other vehicles he owned.
Maureen also told the police about the large amount of money Gabriel had recently withdrawn and worried that may be part of what was unfolding — could it be a robbery gone bad? Hells Angels?
She helped them realize how many police cars Gabriel had collected, and that he owned an RCMP uniform. Janice (another sister) recounted how I’d sent her the anniversary photo at 6 p.m. the night before, as she described Gabriel as a narcissist. She shared that her biggest fear was that Gabriel would kill me and then himself.
My family told the RCMP anything and everything they could remember to help them find Gabriel. They shared their own impressions and stories of Gabriel’s psychotic behaviour, especially with me, his obsessive buying habits, and his fascination with guns. All of it was recorded as each freely provided their statements without regard for their own legal jeopardy.
Both my brother and brother-in-law independently told officers details about their relationship with Gabriel. They knew about his gun collection and how he’d use the mud flats of the basin for target practice. They shared that I had asked them to purchase some bullets from Canadian Tire for Gabriel because they were hunters. I wish I never asked my family to get them.
I survived
Unfortunately, because of COVID restrictions, I could have only one family member stay with me that Sunday evening. Maureen arrived at my hospital bed 12 hours after my rescue. She never left my side. I told her everything. We cried as relief washed over us.
Given my traumatized and medicated state, Maureen asked the hospital staff once again if Janice could come help. Under these extraordinary circumstances, they agreed. They brought in a cot so they could take turns looking after me. My “trauma brain” struggled to remember sequential details of what happened. I hardly slept, as my thoughts were consumed by so many unanswered questions.
What had Gabriel done? Why? Did he plan this? Where was he?
Main image: Lisa Banfield with Gabriel Wortman, attending a family wedding in 2019. Photo courtesy Sutherland House Books
