Horror raced through Ben’s veins. His blood ran cold and he couldn’t breathe. For a second he looked down at her still body and couldn’t move. Then his brain relayed to his limbs he needed to help her. He scrambled down the rocky slope and reached Whitney, his heart clenching at the sight of blood on the side of her head. Ben ripped a portion of his shirt to gently press against the bleeding wound. With his other hand he checked Whitney’s pulse and felt intense relief that he found one. The fall hadn’t killed her. Thank God, he had his cell with him. Holding the rag to her head with one hand, he opened the phone and dialed 9-1-1with the other. It seemed to take forever for someone to answer, even though he only heard the dial tone once. “9-1-1. Please state the nature of your emergency.” “My name is Ben Spencer. My friend fell maybe ten feet on a hiking trail and is unconscious. She’s bleeding from a cut on her forehead.
