Police Urge Suspect to Turn Himself In: ‘We’re Coming for You’ 4421
The night of February 24, 2026, felt ordinary across northwest Atlanta.
Dinner dishes were being washed.
Children were settling into pajamas.
On Tiger Flowers Drive NW, inside a home in the 2200 block, a mother and her daughter were winding down for the evening.
It was just before 10 p.m.
Nothing about the quiet suggested danger was approaching.
At approximately 9:49 p.m., gunfire erupted.
Shots tore through the walls of the house.
Glass shattered and panic filled the rooms.
When Atlanta police arrived, they found a 44-year-old woman and her 7-year-old daughter suffering from gunshot wounds.
The child was identified as Zoey Price.
Her small body had been struck inside the place that should have protected her most.
Officers immediately began rendering aid.
Faced with delays in ambulance response, they made a decision that would define the next moments.
They transported Zoey directly to Grady Memorial Hospital themselves.
Police vehicles sped through Atlanta streets under flashing blue lights.
Inside, officers fought to keep a child alive.
Time was measured in heartbeats.
Doctors worked urgently at the hospital.
Medical teams pushed against the reality of severe injuries.
Despite their efforts, Zoey later died.
Seven years old.
An age of elementary school art projects and playground laughter.
An age far too young for a hospital trauma bay.
Her mother survived the shooting.
She remains hospitalized in stable condition.
Authorities expect her to recover physically.
But physical recovery does not erase what happened inside that home.
It does not silence the memory of gunshots in the night.
It does not restore what was lost.
Atlanta Police Chief Darren Schierbaum addressed the public soon after.
He stated investigators believe the shooting stemmed from a dispute between two individuals roughly 30 minutes earlier.
Authorities clarified that it was not domestic in nature.
The suspect, police say, is not a family member.
Investigators believe someone came to the residence and deliberately opened fire into the home.
Then fled into the night.
Bullets do not ask who is inside.
They do not pause for age.
They do not consider innocence.
Zoey was not part of a dispute.
She was not involved in conflict.
She was simply inside her home.
Neighbors reported hearing rapid bursts of gunfire.
Some initially thought it was fireworks.
Others immediately dropped to the floor.
Crime scene tape soon surrounded the house.
Investigators moved carefully through the area.
Shell casings were documented.
Flashlights cut through the darkness as detectives searched for evidence.
Doors were knocked on.
Security cameras were reviewed.
The street that once felt routine now felt fragile.
Residents stood quietly behind police lines.
Some held their own children close.
Chief Schierbaum delivered a message directly to the suspect.
“You know who you are,” he said at a press conference.
His tone was firm and unmistakable.
“If you’re watching this broadcast, turn yourself in,” he added.
“We are going to come to your house, we are going to the restaurant, and we’re going to take you into custody.”
It was both warning and promise.
Police say they are pursuing strong leads.
The investigation remains active and ongoing.
Authorities are urging anyone with information to contact Crime Stoppers.
Inside the hospital, a mother is recovering.
She will wake to a reality no parent should face.
A bedroom that once held a child now stands quiet.
Zoey Price was seven years old.
She had favorite colors, favorite snacks, favorite songs.
Those details now matter more than ever.
Her name has spread across Atlanta.
Schools pause to acknowledge the loss.
Churches whisper prayers for her family.
Community grief moves in waves.
Shock first.
Then sorrow.
Then anger.
Because a dispute between adults ended a child’s life.
Because bullets entered a home.
Homes are meant to be safe.
They are meant to shield families from the world outside.
That protection was pierced.
Investigators will reconstruct timelines.
They will trace phone records and examine evidence.
They will work toward arrest.
But none of that brings Zoey back.
None of that restores bedtime stories.
None of that rewrites 9:49 p.m.
The house on Tiger Flowers Drive will never feel the same.
Neighbors will glance at it differently.
The sound of sudden noise will carry new meaning.
Atlanta has seen violence before.
Yet when a seven-year-old is killed inside her home, the wound feels deeper.
It feels collective.
Parents across the city double-check locks.
They check on sleeping children more than once.
They imagine the unthinkable.
Zoey’s life was measured in seven short years.
But her absence will stretch across decades for those who loved her.
Birthdays will arrive differently now.
Police continue their search.
They promise accountability.
They promise justice.
Until then, a community waits.
A mother heals in a hospital bed.
And a child’s room remains still.