Judy's body slams violently against the door of the pickup truck, the impact reverberating through the cab. She cries out in agony, her hand instinctively reaching for the wound, desperate to stem the flow of blood. Her breaths come in short, frantic gasps as she struggles to draw air into her lungs. Crimson liquid oozes between her fingers, staining her seat and pooling on the floor beneath her. Her vision blurs, the edges darkening as shock sets in.
Dean sits frozen, his eyes fixated on Judy's writhing form. The Modafinil he gets from India keeps him awake, but can no longer help him make sense of the chaos around him. He strains to hear the voices that were there moments ago, urging him to hurt his friend, but they have vanished. His ears ring, as if someone is repeatedly smashing cymbals directly in front of his face. Slowly, a desperate voice begins to penetrate the fog of his mind.
"Deaaaaan, why... Dean. Why?" Judy screams, her words laced with anguish as adrenaline surges through her veins.
"WHY? DEAN. WHY?"
Dean's eyes lock with hers, and he sees the tears streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat and blood. His gaze travels to the wound she clutches desperately, and then to the gun in his own trembling hands. In a sudden moment of clarity, he throws open the door and races to the other side of the truck, he carefully opens her door, and helps her onto the ground.
"Why, Dean, why?" she sobs, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I... I shot you. I fucking shot you..." Dean stammers, his own voice cracking with emotion.
He presses down on the wound, mimicking what he's seen in movies, but it only sends Judy into a fresh wave of agony. She forces out words between agonized screams.
"Phone... ambulance... Hurry."
Dean fumbles for his phone, his hands slick with blood. He tries desperately to unlock the device, but the blood on his fingers prevents them from making proper contact with the touch sensors. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he finally manages to unlock the phone and dial 911. His heart sinks as he hears the dial tone. No service.
Judy's consciousness wavers, her eyelids fluttering as she battles to stay awake. Blood continues to pour from her wound like a fountain. With a trembling hand, she points towards a cabin visible just up the road.
"The cabin... next turn. On the right, upstairs. Take my keys," she manages through clenched teeth, each word a Herculean effort.
"I'm not leaving you here like this. We need to stop the bleeding," Dean insists, his hands still pressed against her wound, eliciting another wince of pain from Judy.
"NO. Ambulance now. First aid... in cabin."
Dean looks around frantically, then removes his hoodie and drapes it over the wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood. It does little to help.
Judy reaches up, placing a bloodstained hand on his cheek. Tears mix with the blood on her face as she pleads with him.
"Get help, Dean. Please.
Dean grasps her hand, squeezing it tightly as his own tears begin to fall. He wipes them away with the back of his hand and gently places Judy's hands over the wound.
"Just hold that wound down, OK? I'll go get help."
He rushes to the car, retrieves the keys from the cup holder, and sprints towards the cabin. It takes him a few minutes to locate it, and he frantically tries each key until he finds the small, golden-brown one that unlocks the door. As he steps inside and switches on the lights, the room is illuminated, revealing decorations for a party. Banners and balloons adorn the walls, proclaiming "Congratulations!" A novelty check stands in the living room, and Dean knocks it over in his haste to find a phone. He had to save his friend no matter what.