Fallout

Corporal Solis tightened his cracked leather belt with stiff fingers, the ragged material of his gloves interfering as if to aggravate him on purpose. He slid to the last notch, noticing it still felt loose. He picked up his backpack and rifle, and struggled to his feet.

He didn't know why he kept plodding on this journey. He must have walked across all of North America, searching for something he knew was not waiting for him. Maybe it was all the military training that had been drilled into his head, or maybe because it kept him from going insane.

Last man standing wins, right?

The majority of the global population had died with the first nuclear explosions.

Lucky bastards.

Nuclear winter had arrived. The sky vomited ash and snow to slowly bury the last of the survivors. Solis thought he must be the last survivor...he had not seen another soul in weeks...or maybe months. He had lost count.

Sometimes the dim light of the sun and snow played tricks, making him do a double take thinking he had seen something stirring in the distance. These tricks had happened so often he almost ignored the prints in the snow.

A stag nuzzled at the brittle branches of a tree, searching for something he knew was not waiting for him. His stomach rumbling, Solis lifted his rifle, unsure.

The last two souls on Earth crossed paths in the forest of decay and snow. Survive another day alone, or walk together into extinction?