DeKalb Officer Slain in Line of Duty: Deadly Confrontation Near Emory University

On a seemingly ordinary Friday afternoon in Atlanta, Georgia, chaos erupted at the intersection of science and community, leaving a city in mourning and a nation grappling with yet another act of violence. At approximately 4:50 p.m. on August 8, 2025, a barrage of gunfire shattered the calm near the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Roybal Campus and the bustling Emory Point shopping area, adjacent to Emory University. What began as a routine day transformed into a harrowing scene of tragedy, heroism, and unanswered questions.
The Georgia Bureau of Investigation has identified the gunman as 30-year-old Patrick Joseph White of Kennesaw, Georgia, a man whose actions would claim the life of a dedicated police officer and send shockwaves through one of the nation’s most prominent public health institutions. White, armed with a long gun and later found with three additional firearms, unleashed a hail of bullets that struck at least four CDC buildings, leaving bullet-pocked windows as a stark testament to the violence. The gunfire reverberated across Clifton Road, a corridor lined with the prestigious campuses of the CDC and Emory University, replacing the hum of daily life with fear and confusion.
DeKalb County Police Officer David Rose, a 33-year-old former Marine and recent police academy graduate, was the first to respond to the reports of an active shooter. With courage that defined his service, Rose confronted White near the CDC’s main entrance. In the ensuing exchange, Rose was fatally wounded, struck by gunfire that would claim his life at a nearby hospital. A second officer sustained non-life-threatening injuries, but no civilians were physically harmed—a small mercy in a day marked by loss. Rose, assigned to the North Central precinct since joining the DeKalb County Police Department in September 2024, leaves behind a grieving wife, two children, and a third child on the way. “This officer responded to the call as he was trained to do,” said Interim Chief Greg Padrick, his voice heavy with sorrow. “He was committed to serving the community.”
As the gunfire erupted, White entered a CVS pharmacy at Emory Point, a retail complex just across from the CDC. Witnesses described a rapid succession of shots—“like fireworks going off, one right after the other,” said Brandy Giraldo, chief operating officer of The General Muir, a nearby deli where staff locked doors and took cover. On the second floor of the CVS, a tense confrontation unfolded between White and responding officers. When the dust settled, White was found dead, his body marked by a gunshot wound. Authorities have yet to confirm whether the fatal shot was fired by police or self-inflicted, leaving a critical piece of the puzzle unresolved.
The motive behind White’s actions remains elusive, though whispers of a possible catalyst have emerged. Neighbors described him as a helpful figure in his Kennesaw community, often seen assisting with yard work or walking dogs. Yet, they also noted his vocal opposition to COVID-19 vaccines and a recent decline in his physical health, which some reports suggest he attributed to the vaccine. Unconfirmed accounts from law enforcement sources and White’s family point to a belief that he was ill, possibly blaming the CDC for his condition. Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens, speaking at a press conference, cautioned against speculation, noting that the investigation is in its early stages. “We do not yet know the full story,” he said, urging patience as the Georgia Bureau of Investigation leads a meticulous probe into what they’ve called a “complex crime scene.”
The immediate aftermath saw a massive response from law enforcement, with Atlanta Police, DeKalb County Police, Emory Police, Georgia State Patrol, FBI, ATF, and other local agencies converging on the scene. Helicopters buzzed overhead, and more than 50 police vehicles lined the streets, officers armed with rifles and tactical gear moving swiftly to secure the area. Emory University issued an urgent alert, instructing students and staff to “RUN, HIDE, FIGHT” as the campus and surrounding facilities, including Emory University Hospital, went into lockdown. The CDC followed suit, with 92 children at an on-site daycare safely evacuated and reunited with their anxious parents hours later. “I’m angry that at a year and a half, he would have to experience something like this,” one mother told reporters, her relief tempered by frustration.
The physical toll was evident: shattered windows across multiple CDC buildings stood as silent witnesses to the chaos. Yet, the emotional impact cut deeper. DeKalb County CEO Lorraine Cochran-Johnson captured the collective grief: “Today is a very dark day. There is a wife without a husband. There are three children, one unborn, without a father.” Officer Rose, remembered as a hero who rushed toward danger, was praised by FBI Director Kash Patel as one who “made the ultimate sacrifice.” Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, referencing a separate shooting at Fort Stewart earlier that week, lauded first responders who “rushed toward the danger to subdue the shooter and save lives.”
In the wake of the violence, the CDC directed its staff to work remotely pending a comprehensive security assessment, a move underscoring the lingering uncertainty. Emory University lifted its shelter-in-place order by 6:30 p.m., but the scars of the day remain. Atlanta, a city no stranger to resilience, now faces the daunting task of healing while grappling with the broader implications of gun violence. Mayor Dickens denounced the normalization of such incidents, calling for an end to “mass shootings and active shooter scenarios” driven by “individuals with high-powered weapons and mental challenges or anger.”
As the investigation continues, the community mourns a fallen hero and searches for answers. Officer David Rose’s legacy endures in the lives he touched and the safety he fought to preserve. For now, Atlanta holds its breath, honoring the brave and seeking solace in the face of an unthinkable tragedy.