The Wall by Ramz Artso Page A

my stomach tighten with alarm.
    ‘Stay down and don’t move,’ my father ordered, before elbowing his way to his wife’s motionless body and checking her pulse.
    ‘Dad, is she breathing? What the hell is happening here?’
    He preferred not to answer the first question, opting for the second one instead. ‘We are under attack by the wildlings,’ he delivered, almost emotionlessly, and my heart skipped a beat at his words. He shuffled back to me. ‘Listen to me very carefully, Denise. I want you to go back to your bedroom, get dressed and meet me in the living room in two minutes. Is that clear?’
    ‘Yes, but what about Mom?’
    He shook his head, glanced at the woman he had been married to for the past twenty years of his life and fixed me with a piercing stare. ‘I’m afraid she’s gone, D.’
    ‘What ? No!’ I exclaimed in denial, moving in her direction and instantly encountering resistance in the face of my father. ‘Let me go! Dad, let go of me!’
    ‘Cut it out right this instant!’
    ‘I said get off of me! I want to take a look at Mom, she can’t be dead!’
    ‘Stop, I said stop it, girl!’ He said this in such a commanding and authoritative tone, I couldn’t help but obey. ‘We don’t have time for this! I loved your mother, but she’s gone and there’s nothing we can do to change that. However, you and I are still alive and god damn it I intend to keep it that way! Now, pull yourself together and do as you’re told!’
    ‘O-okay,’ I managed croak out, choking back a sudden onset of tears, as I tried not to think about my dead parent and instead concentrate on the fact that NNYC was being invaded by the wildlings.
    Moving fast, I crawled out of the master bedroom and quickly got dressed, while my father packed a big ba g and armed himself with his impressive collection of deadly guns and razor-sharp blades. Just like Klarkson’s father, my dad was a Controller. In fact, the two of them were good friends, which was how Klarkson and I had met – at a family dinner, hosted for his mom’s fortieth birthday.
    Wearing his blue jumpsuit uniform, he bounded in my direction with a little pistol in hand. ‘You remember how to use this, don’t you?’
    ‘Yeah, yeah, I think I do.’
    ‘You think, or you do?’
    ‘I-I do.’
    ‘All right, then. Just remember not to panic, okay? I’m with you, okay, honey?’
    ‘Okay, Dad.’
    And with those words, I was following my father down to the elevator and out of the luxury condominium where we lived. Outside, we mounted his electric motorcycle and, rising a few meters above the ground, rumbled off onto the nearest highway.
    During the ride, I received a message on my Videophone from Klarkson asking if I was all right. I texted him back about Mom and told him we were headed in the direction of the Capitol Building, which was the Controllers’ headquarters. He decided to call me in response, but I declined the call, not wanting to talk in front of my only surviving parent.
    About twenty minutes later, we reached out destination and the moment I leaped off the bike, Klarkson came striding my way, while Richard moved towards Mr. and Mrs. Oakland; Klarkson’s parents.
    ‘Baby, I’m so sorry about your mother. What happened?’ he inquired, locking me in a tight and much needed hug, as special combat teams, or SCTs as they were commonly referred to, began taking off aboard carpet-like machines knows as levitators. Not before long, they were all over the damn place, speeding to and fro with their flashing sirens wailing in the night.
    ‘I – she,’ I stuttered, unable to speak probably due to the lump that had suddenly formed in the back of my throat. ‘She was k-killed with an a-arrow.’
    ‘Dear god, that’s terrible! I don’t know what to say. I really am so sorry, boo!’
    At that instant, the Golden Trumpets exploded in the night. That, of course, could only mean one thing. Every New New Yorker knew that the blast of the Golden Trumpets