911

by Karen Heslop 

Stefanie gripped the phone in terror, as her eyes darted around the dark street.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“I think I’m being followed.”

“Where are you, Miss?”

“I don’t know. I . . . the bus broke down, and I decided to walk.”

“Okay. Do you see any landmarks? Signs?”

“No . . . wait.” She quickened her pace, and strained to see the building a few meters away.

“Oh! It’s a restaurant! It’s Phil's. Thank God! I can wait for my friend there. Hello?”

Stefanie looked at her screen. The timer inched forward but the line had gone quiet.

"Must be a bad connection," she muttered before shrugging and ending the call.

The dispatcher listened to the buzz of the dial tone, afraid to move and disconnect the call on her end. Her coworker held the gun he had used on the other dispatchers before her face. The acrid smell of gunpowder burnt her nostrils as he moved closer. She had heard rumors that he was unstable.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he remarked, "I wonder who dispatchers are supposed to call?"

Glenda closed her eyes. He pressed the small pistol to her forehead. The gun's muzzle was still warm.

Bang.

Karen Heslop writes from Kingston, Jamaica. Her stories have been published or are upcoming in a Devolution Z anthology, 101 Words Magazine, Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, The Flash Fiction Press, The Nine Tales Series, Speculative 66, Cemetery Moon, Phantaxis Magazine, Bloodbond Magazine, The Blotter Mag, Black Girl Lit Mag, and Bards and Sages Quarterly.