"Emergency 911, this call is being recorded." The operator's calm voice warped the urgency of the situation, this was probably her 568th emergency of the day.
"It's my friend Judy! She's been shot! There's a hole in her chest, and she's barely clinging to life. We're on the side of the road, and she needs help now!" Dean's frantic plea reverberated through the receiver, his desperation palpable.
"Did you say someone's been shot?" The operator asked, her tone sharpening with concern.
Dean's heart raced as precious seconds ticked by. He couldn't afford to waste time on explanations.
"Yes, Judy Lane. She's been shot outside of..." His eyes darted to an envelope near the landline telephone, the address jumping out at him. "Outside of 1717 Smoke Park Lane, Roan Mountain, Tennessee. Please, send help immediately!"
"What is your name?"
"Dean Howard."
"Alright, Dean, where is the victim now?"
"She's on the side of the road near this address. She's fading fast. Please, hurry!" Dean's voice cracked with emotion, the weight of Judy's life bearing down on him.
"What happened? Did you witness the shooting? Where is the shooter now?" The operator pressed, her questions rapid-fire.
"There's no time for that! The shooter's gone, but she's dying! She needs help!" Dean's frustration boiled over, his words laced with desperation.
"Dean, I need you to listen to me. Are you safe now? Is the shooter with you? I need these details before we can send someone out there."
Dean glanced down at his trembling, blood-stained hand. "I... I shot her. It was an accident. She was showing me how to use a gun, and my hand slipped."
"You shot her?" The operator's voice carried a mix of disbelief and urgency.
"Yes, but please, get someone up here now!"
"I'm sending help right away. Apply pressure to the wound and keep her conscious if you can. Can you stay on the line with me?"
"No, there's no cell service here."
"Then go, Dean. Go quickly. We'll be there as soon as possible."
With a resounding click, Dean slammed the phone down and frantically searched the kitchen and living room for anything to help stem the flow of blood from Judy's wound. He grabbed several blankets and a vibrant red throw pillow from the couch, his hands shaking as he gathered the supplies.
Heart pounding in his ears, Dean raced back to the scene of the crime, his feet pounding against the earth. As he approached the spot where he had left Judy, he skidded to an abrupt halt, the blankets tumbling from his arms. His blood ran cold as he stared at the empty space where Judy's body had been just moments before. A crimson trail of blood snaked into the woods.