The trail grew clearer with each step, the prints sharp and fresh in the snow. Alex's breath fogged the air, his pulse quickening as he followed the tracks deeper into the forest. The forest had always been an indifferent place, but now it felt claustrophobic, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable confrontation.
The tracks led him to a clearing, where the trees opened up to a patch of sunlight. In the center of the clearing, a makeshift camp was set up—an abandoned firepit, a torn tarpaulin draped over a fallen log, a stack of firewood. And beside the firepit, sitting with his back to Alex, was a man.
Alex froze, his hand instinctively reaching for the flare gun at his belt. The man had yet to notice him, and Alex hesitated. This could be anyone. A fellow survivor, yes, but also possibly a danger. The wilderness had turned people ruthless before.
"Hey," Alex called, his voice hoarse from days without speaking.
The man's head snapped around, his face a mixture of surprise and wariness. He stood slowly, his posture tense, his hand hovering near a knife tucked into his belt.
"Who are you?" the stranger demanded, his voice rough and guarded. He was tall, unshaven, with dark eyes that seemed to pierce right through Alex. His clothes were worn, patched up in places, and he carried the unmistakable look of someone who had been surviving for a long time.
"I... I'm Alex Kane," Alex said, keeping his voice steady. "I crashed nearby. Just trying to survive out here."
The man's eyes flickered to the flare gun in Alex's hand, then back to him. He didn't relax. "Surviving isn't easy out here. You should know that by now."
Alex nodded, the weight of the wilderness pressing in on him. "I do. I'm just trying to find food, shelter... maybe a way out."
The stranger didn't speak for a moment, studying Alex with a level of suspicion that spoke volumes. Finally, he lowered his hand from his knife, though his expression remained wary.
"You're not from here," the man said. "You're not from Great Bear."
Alex shook his head. "No. I crashed during... some kind of storm. Geomagnetic. It messed with the plane. I don't know how long I've been out here."
The man stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding. "I'm Mack. Been out here longer than I care to remember. You're not the first to crash. Probably won't be the last."
He glanced back at the firepit. "You want to share the warmth?"
Alex hesitated, but the invitation was one he couldn't turn down. He hadn't seen another human being for what felt like an eternity. "Yeah. Thanks."
As they sat around the fire, the warmth was a welcome relief, but the tension in the air was thick. Mack kept his distance, his eyes flicking to Alex every now and then as they shared what little food they had. Alex offered some of his remaining crackers, but Mack refused.
"I don't trust easily," Mack said, breaking the silence after a long while. "Out here, you can't afford to. People... people change when the cold gets to them. When hunger sets in."
Alex didn't know what to say to that. He had seen the way hunger had gnawed at him, had felt it scrape against his soul. But he wasn't ready to admit the truth.
"I'm not here to make trouble," Alex said. "I just need to survive. Like you."
Mack studied him for a long moment, as if weighing the truth in Alex's eyes. Then he sighed, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. "Survival's a full-time job, Kane. And there's no one who's going to help you but yourself. Not out here."
He paused, looking at the smoldering fire. "The world's changed. You might be one of the last people still out here."
"Last people?" Alex echoed.
Mack nodded. "I've been to the coast, to the towns. There's nothing left. The world went dark after the storm hit. Power grids went down. Communications were lost. No one really knows what happened, but everything went quiet. No planes, no ships, no radio. Just the storm, and then silence. You get what I mean?"
Alex shivered despite the warmth of the fire. "What happened to the people? The survivors?"
"Some left," Mack said flatly. "Some didn't."
The two sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. The weight of the conversation hung heavily in the air. What had happened to the world? What had happened to everyone else? And how long could he last out here alone, fighting against the unforgiving wilderness?
The following days passed uneventfully, though the cold remained a constant companion. Alex and Mack spent most of their time searching for food, hunting what little game the forest had to offer. Rabbits, birds, and the occasional squirrel became their primary sources of sustenance, while Alex worked to reinforce their camp with a better shelter.
The work was grueling, but necessary. Mack proved to be resourceful, his survival skills honed after years of living in the wild. He taught Alex how to set better traps, how to track animals by their prints in the snow, and how to filter water from nearby streams. But there was a distance between them that Alex couldn't ignore. Mack was closed off, more so than anyone Alex had met.
One afternoon, as Alex returned from setting a new trap line, he found Mack sitting by the fire, staring at something in his hands. It was a photo, yellowed with age, worn at the edges. Alex saw the flicker of sadness in Mack's eyes before he quickly pocketed the picture.
"Who's that?" Alex asked, cautiously.
Mack looked at him, the question hanging in the air like a test. Finally, he replied with a quiet bitterness in his voice. "My wife and son. Before everything went to hell."
Alex didn't know what to say. Mack's loss was raw and painful, an open wound. The wilderness had claimed so many, Alex knew. But here, in the heart of it, Mack had lived through something far worse than mere survival.
"Sorry," Alex muttered.
Mack didn't respond, but the silence between them spoke volumes.
As the days dragged on, the weather grew more erratic. The storms became more frequent, longer, and more violent. The once-relatively calm forest now seemed to be a battleground of wind, snow, and icy blasts.
Alex and Mack huddled together more often, both battling the elements as much as they fought hunger and cold. There was little time to rest, no time for luxuries. Survival was their only focus.
One night, as a particularly vicious snowstorm swept through their camp, Alex awoke to the sound of Mack shouting in the darkness.
"Mack!" Alex called out, scrambling to his feet.
Through the howling wind, Alex saw Mack struggling against the snow, his face pale and twisted in panic. "The shelter—it's collapsing!" Mack yelled.
Alex bolted toward him, heart hammering in his chest. The storm had grown stronger overnight, the weight of the snow too much for the makeshift shelter they had built. Alex grabbed Mack by the arm, pulling him toward the cave.
But it was too late. The snow fell harder, faster. And the world around them turned to white.