The fields were blanketed in snow. Bales of hay were piled in groups of three, scattered across the rolling hills, but they were indistinguishable under the white powder. The world was white as far as the eye could see. 

A company of soldiers bearing heavy backpacks marched through the expanse. They wore white in an attempt at camouflage, and their faces were completely obscured by masks, hoods, and goggles. Each one had some sort of firearm primed for combat. Their eyes were shifty, darting from one direction to the next, but their paranoia was justified. They were living through the apocalypse, after all. 

It had been three months since the bombs dropped. Whistling through the sky like banshees, they claimed countless lives and threw the world into disarray. They were a dying dictator’s final command, released in the hopes of cementing his legacy. Subsequently, protests flared, governments crumbled, and chaos reigned. Laws became mere suggestions; it was kill or be killed. To make matters worse, a devastating nuclear winter set in, smothering civilization in glacial cold. Hope was a flickering ember in scant few souls. 

Under normal circumstances, the company would have been alive with chatter. Obviously, though, these were far from normal circumstances. The beleaguered soldiers kept to themselves, various thoughts floating through their heads. Each thought was more pessimistic than the last. 

Suddenly, the grim-faced general at the head of the march raised his fist, calling a halt. The blizzard was subsiding, and a group of tall, dark silhouettes had materialized out of the haze just in front of the company. Upon closer inspection, the silhouettes were revealed to be pine trees, a few out of a massive forest. 

On edge from the sudden change in environment, the general ordered his troops to prepare their weapons. Most were already clutching theirs in white-knuckle grips, and those that weren’t needed no second bidding. Forests could well be treasure troves of resources, but as every soldier in the company knew, those resources were coveted by all, especially by the more unsavory types. 

They advanced into the forest. Danger might lurk behind every tree trunk. Quickly, they located edible plants and fungi, preserved under layers of ice and snow, and looted what they could. 

As they moved deeper into the woods, a sharp yell resounded from the back of the company, followed by a muffled thunk and a rustle of leaves. Nearly every soldier had a partner to watch his back, but, clearly, not everyone.  

The soldiers near the back flew into a panic, shouting and firing into the trees. The general whirled around and scanned his army. He knew his company well enough to notice that they were one short. On a different day he might have dashed his cap to the ground in frustration, but today he simply sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He warned the soldiers to keep their eyes peeled. 

The group proceeded. They gathered what they could from the frozen forest, pulling their jackets tighter as the sun set and the cold intensified. Fortunately, they discovered an abandoned campground, complete with tents and fire pits, and decided to make camp then and there. The soldiers could barely take another step, and—though he tried to hide it—the general was also in dire need of a rest. 

They unloaded what provisions they had and climbed into the tents, glad of the shelter with all their hearts. A crackling bonfire was lit in the center of the camp, and the soldiers took their leisure, playing cards and reminiscing about times long past. Eventually, the skies darkened, and the group retired for the night. It was a moment of peace in a world of anarchy. 

But of course, nothing good lasts forever. 

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire rang out. Soldiers were jolted awake. Some stumbled out of their tents with bleariness in their eyes. Others never woke up, pellets of steel sending them into eternal slumber. 

Ducking and weaving, the general dashed around the camp, shouting an improvised alarm to rouse his company. It was a full-scale ambush. Men and women clad in black flak jackets rushed out of the gloom, taking potshots at anything that moved. The company was thrown into disarray, some deserting into the wilderness while others lay down their lives for a nonexistent cause. The general had surrounded himself with a group of soldiers, and he directed them back toward the path, weapons cracking like thunderclaps. It was a futile effort, though; in the pitch-black darkness, it took only half a minute for them to lose their way. Bullets flew high and low, and the general could only look on in horror as the last remnants of his loyal company fell like stalks of wheat to the scythe. The final soldier threw himself in front of a shot meant for the general, and he collapsed to the ground, managing a shaky thumbs-up before lying still. 

At once, the gunfire ceased. The general hid behind a tree as the black-clad soldiers celebrated their victory. Apparently, they had not noticed the general’s presence, so he fled further into the woods before that could change. 

He ran and ran and ran, harder and faster. He was all alone. A commander was never much use without his forces. 

The general fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Everything he and his brave company had worked for—snatched away in an instant. He was without supplies, firearms, or equipment, and he could already feel bitter cold in his old bones. There was nothing left for him, and as the realization hit him, he broke protocol and began to cry in earnest sobs, his stout frame shaking. He was alone. 

He did not have to wait long to be reunited with his comrades.