Chapter 39: Guilty Until Proven Innocent

The boss stared coldly at the aftermath of the raid on his camp in disbelief. Reports varied depending on the witness. But one thing was certain: the attack had been swift and chaotic, and because of this nobody seemed to know the truth of the matter.

But the numbers varied from one or two men to two dozen having infiltrated the camp and set fire to the supplies before running off with three of their snowmobiles while disabling the others.

Though three of the vehicles were stolen, it was impossible to know if they had brought their own or not before taking off. At the very least, they could confirm at least three men from Paradise Falls had managed to successfully sneak into their camp in the middle of the night and sabotage their supplies.

For the most part, they had kept their resources pooled together in the same tent. Keeping a tent heated wasn’t easy, and it took a lot of resources to manage it. It was a matter of necessity, not laziness that they kept the bulk of their food, fresh water, medicine, fuel, and bullets in the same place.

It took a long time before the Raider’s Boss to fully get a grasp on how severe their situation was, and when he looked over at one of his advisors who stood nearby with his head low, there was single question on his mind.

“Has anything been salvaged from this mess?”

The man didn’t speak, he simply led the boss over to a tent, they had spent the nigh sifting through the ashes and the debris, as well as tracking down every resource that remained in the camp outside their stockpile that was now mostly rendered to cinders.

“This is it boss, we have no medical supplies, food and water are limited to a day maybe two. Fuel is gone, not that it would matter as our snowmobiles aren’t working properly. Probably some form of sabotage we haven’t been able to figure out yet…. And we have enough ammunition for a single assault. I know we were waiting to get a better layout of the neighborhood before conducting our next attack. But….”

He stopped before he could finish his sentence. The answer was obvious, and the boss knew it, exhaling heavily through his nose as he tried to forcibly restrain his growing wrath.

“But we now no longer have the luxury of waiting… And we have been effectively cut off from escaping. We either attack now and gamble everything on a successful assault. Or… we freeze to death…. Who was responsible for last night’s watch?”

The advisor looked away from the boss. But that only served to provoke the man, who kicked his subordinate in the chest, dropping him into the snow before following him to the ground.

The boss gripped his advisor by the throat while screaming in his face.

“I want a name you motherfucker!”

“Omar!” he said, his voice rasped by the hand wrapped around his larynx “It was fucking Omar!”

The boss stood up, dusting the snow off his pants as he did so.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now go get a group of men and bring Omar to the center of the camp…. I want everyone gathered to witness what comes next.”

The advisor scurried off, fulfilling the boss’s orders while the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his last cigarette. He tried his best to light it up, but the butane in his lighter had already frozen solid, causing him to throw both the cigarette and the lighter into the snow in frustration.

“God fucking dammit!”

—

Omar was brought forth into the square, bound and shackled with whatever the raiders could find. His face was swollen, and the blood dripping from his nose had already frozen.

Amidst the ravages of the winter storm, the entire camp was gathered, raiders and followers all were forced to witness as the Boss stood in the center of the circle next to Omar.

His hands seemed to be wrapped around something small. Something that was concealed beneath his thick winter gloves.

“Omar… You were given the privilege, and the distinct honor of commanding last night’s watch. And yet, under your protection, you allowed the enemy to slip into the camp undetected and to sabotage our supplies. The lifeblood of this brotherhood! And yet, you are not blind, nor are you mute. What excuse could you possibly have to have failed to fulfill your duty?”

Omar couldn’t plead, he was gagged, whatever words he intended to use in his defense, as a protest of his mistreatment were muffled and silenced by the wind.

The boss raised a hand to his ear and mocked the man with a feigned gesture.

“What? Have you no words in your defense? Then, since you cannot provide any evidence that absolves you of your incompetence, you are guilty. The penalty is death. Come brothers, let us serve justice!”

The boss immediately flung out the retractable baton that was contained within the hilt he held. And the other raiders stepped forward each bearing a blunt instrument of some kind.

Many of them exchanged glances with each other, among themselves and Omar, and with the Boss’s advisors.

No one moved, only the wind howling could be heard in that moment. The boss didn’t repeat himself; he didn’t need to. Then one man stepped forward, and the execution continued.

Under their current and dire circumstances, and hesitation would be a sign of guilt. A sign of treason, a sign of betrayal. And to be guilty of such a crime was to incur the same punishment as Omar for his failure to guard the perimeter.

The followers looked away as the sentence was conducted. And by the time the beating had finished, Omar had ceased to breathe.

The boss tossed his marred baton into the snow and pointed at his foot soldiers. His declaration was filled with desperation.

“At high noon, we begin the next assault. We either succeed and bring these wretches to their knees begging for our mercy. Or we die in the snow. But we go forward! There is no other path now! Omar has seen to that! Prepare for battle!”

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