By Bonnie N. Davis

Darryl “DJ” Roman Burt II may have had premonitions about his impending death as he drove to meet four friends at an Orlando, Fla., nightclub to celebrate the master’s degree and certificate in business administration he had received just hours earlier in Jacksonville from Keller Graduate School of Management.

As the 29-year-old drove, he played the gospel song “Safe in His Arms” over and over.

He had a feeling, he told Alex Barr, a college friend who was making his way to Pulse nightclub from Savannah, Ga., to join the celebration. He seemingly knew that “his work here was coming to a close — that his work and labor were finally being fulfilled,” Mr. Barr said.

“He said, ‘I can’t shake this feeling,’ ” Mr. Barr told the 300 family members, friends and other mourners last Saturday at Mr. Burt’s funeral in Amelia County, where his family has ties.

Mr. Burt was among the 49 people killed June 12 at the nightclub during a gunman’s hourlong rampage, the nation’s worst mass murder in modern history. More than 50 people were wounded during the bloody nightmare before the shooter was killed by police.

As Mr. Barr spoke about the friend he’d met when they were freshmen honors students at Claflin University in Orangeburg, S.C., he was flanked by Fred Johnson, Javád Whigfall and Antwine Jenkins, the three other friends who joined them at the club.

Although Mr. Barr, also 29, made no direct references to the massacre during the service, he later spoke about it in detail during a Free Press telephone interview.

After celebrating his graduation with his parents, Darryl and Felica Burt, and his younger brother, Roger, Mr. Burt wanted to celebrate with his friends. They decided to drive to Pulse, a popular gay nightclub.

“We got there late. We were pretty tired,” said Mr. Barr.

“DJ and Javad went to get drinks. I sat down. We floated and three of us went to the left side where R&B music was playing,” he said. “DJ was at the bar and turned to make sure everyone was OK.”

A little while later, just after the bartender made the last call for alcohol, Mr. Barr said he heard shots.

“We thought maybe two people were having an argument. Then we knew someone was shooting on purpose. We immediately retreated from the room,” he said.

Mr. Barr, Mr. Whigfall and Mr. Jenkins headed for what they thought was an exit, but found a dead-end wall instead. They then went into the men’s bathroom, ending up huddled in a stall for the disabled with about 15 people. Five had been shot and killed by the gunman.

Inside the stall, they started texting one another. Mr. Burt responded that he was still inside the club and the men later learned, via text, that Mr. Johnson, who had been shot in his left arm and hip, was outside.

After a while, they noticed Mr. Burt was no longer responding to their texts.

The fear and panic was “beyond frightening,” Mr. Barr said. He recalled wondering if the shooting and ricochet of bullets would ever end.

Meanwhile, the gunman, later identified as Omar Mateen, 29, was just across the hall from the bathroom, Mr. Barr said, adding the shooter apparently thought that he had killed everyone in the bathroom stall.

“I was focused on keeping everyone calm and telling them not to whimper,” said Mr. Barr.

“He thought everybody was expired and just not making noise,” said Mr. Barr, Survival mode kicked in, he said. He and his friends quieted the wounded with prayers and assurance.

“I really believe it was God (who saved us.) What he (Mateen) did to those across from us, he didn’t do to us. I knew it probably was prayer because he was less than 20 feet away from us the entire time. It had to be a higher power,” said Mr. Barr, who earned a degree in philosophy and religion at Claflin.

The shooting, which started about 2 a.m., ended around 3 a.m., said Mr. Barr.

Law enforcement authorities blew a hole through the bathroom wall to get them out. But the survivors in the stall refused to move or leave until police proved their identity.

Mr. Barr said he didn’t learn of Mr. Burt’s death until the next day, when he saw DJ’s name scroll across a television screen. He said while he is scheduling counseling sessions through the City of Orlando and the FBI, he was in denial that Mr. Burt was gone until the funeral.

Born in Henrico County, Mr. Burt grew up in Kentucky and Indiana. At the time of his death, he was working as a financial aid officer at Keiser University in Florida and doing volunteer work in the community with the Jacksonville Jaycees.

Mr. Burt’s mother recalled that doctors thought she had a tumor but later determined that she was pregnant with her son. At that point, she said that she knew he was special.

“There are so many things about you I am going to miss,” she wrote in the funeral program. “Your smile, genuine and full of joy. Our conversations, because we talked about everything … there were no limits. Your realness … not everyone could deal with (our) truth, but at the end of the day, it was real.”

Numerous tributes were shared during the funeral by friends, family and former colleagues. Jamel Covington, who once worked with Mr. Burt at a McDonalds restaurant in Jacksonville, Fla., said that it took her 29 hours to get to the funeral from Haleiwa, Hawaii, where she now works.

“I loved DJ like a brother,” said Ms. Covington. “He touched many lives.”

Darryl Burt, Mr. Burt’s father, encouraged parents to “cherish, treasure and enjoy every moment with your children — the good and the bad — because the next moment is not guaranteed.”