The Law of the Dead

Day 17 – The New World Order

Malcolm Reese had never wanted to be in charge.

But standing on the roof of the old town hall, looking down at the quietly terrified people of Jackson Ridge, he realized something.

It didn’t matter what he wanted.

Because power didn’t belong to the ones who asked for it.

It belonged to the ones strong enough to take it.

And now?

This town—these people—belonged to him.

Jackson Ridge had stopped resisting after the first two days.

It only took a few public executions to make sure of that.

Cole had lined up three men—the ones who had tried to lead a counterattack against them—right in the center of the street.

He had made Malcolm pull the trigger.

Not because he needed him to.

But because he wanted Malcolm to understand.

"This is how you lead," Cole had said, voice low. "You don’t ask. You don’t negotiate. You teach them what happens when they break the rules."

Malcolm had pulled the trigger.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he knew if he didn’t, Cole would have killed them anyway.

And maybe Malcolm too.

Now, Jackson Ridge was quiet.

The streets were patrolled by armed men. The food stores were locked away, rationed out only to those who obeyed.

And Malcolm?

He wasn’t sure if he had saved this town…

Or if he had just built another prison.

"Got another one," Grady muttered as he stepped into the town hall.

Malcolm barely looked up from the old map of the region spread across his desk. "What’d they do?"

Grady smirked. "Stealing from the food stores."

Malcolm exhaled sharply. "Who?"

Grady shrugged. "Some kid."

Malcolm’s stomach twisted.

He stood, moving past Grady, pushing through the doors into the main square.

A small crowd had already gathered.

At the center of it, two of Cole’s men were holding a boy down—maybe thirteen or fourteen, his face smeared with dirt, his wrists bruised from struggling.

A woman—his mother, probably—was on her knees beside him, clutching at one of the soldiers. "Please, he’s just hungry—"

Cole stood over them, arms crossed. "That’s not the issue," he said, almost bored.

The mother turned to Malcolm, her desperate eyes locking onto him. "Please," she whispered. "You’re in charge now. You can stop this."

Malcolm felt every set of eyes in the square turn to him.

Waiting.

Watching.

Cole grinned from across the yard, arms crossed, letting Malcolm make the call.

"Show me what kind of man you are, Reese."

Malcolm swallowed hard.

The old Malcolm—the soldier who had once followed orders without question—wouldn’t have hesitated.

But this?

This wasn’t war.

This was something worse.

Malcolm exhaled slowly, then turned to the guards.

"Let him go."

The men hesitated. Even Cole raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?" Cole asked, voice light.

Malcolm ignored him. "He’s a kid. Give his family extra rations and put them on watch. If it happens again, then we deal with it."

The guards exchanged glances, waiting for Cole to contradict him.

But Cole just smiled.

He clapped Malcolm on the back. "See? That’s leadership."

Malcolm wasn’t stupid.

That smile meant something.

And it wasn’t good.

Cole found him later that night, leaning against the old sheriff’s station, cigarette between his fingers.

"You’re getting soft, Reese."

Malcolm didn’t stop cleaning his rifle. "No. I’m keeping people alive."

Cole laughed. "That’s cute. But let me remind you—these people? They need to be afraid of us. It’s the only way they’ll listen."

Malcolm set the rifle down, meeting Cole’s gaze. "Or maybe they just need to believe we’re not monsters."

Cole’s smile faded.

"That’s where you’re wrong," he said, voice low. "Because this world? It doesn’t need leaders. It needs gods."

Malcolm’s fingers tightened around the rifle.

Cole took a slow drag of his cigarette. "And you, my friend… you better decide which one you’re gonna be."

Then he walked away, leaving Malcolm alone with the weight of his choices.

Malcolm stood on the edge of town, staring out at the dark road beyond the barricades.

He could still leave.

Walk away.

But then what?

Jackson Ridge would still be here. Cole would still be in charge. More kids would end up in the dirt.

Malcolm knew the truth now.

He couldn’t just follow orders anymore.

If he was going to stay in Jackson Ridge, it wouldn’t be as Cole’s puppet.

It would be as a man who could actually make a difference.

And if that meant taking Cole out…

So be it.