So I was re-watching Zombieland one night, and I got to thinking: what would have happened if Columbus had gotten out of the Hummer and taken the truck back to Ohio? So this is an AU about Columbus Ohio and my OC Beverly Hills. Yeah, I know. Real creative. Whatever. Please please please please please leave a review guys. I don't see much point in continuing this if I don't know if people like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Zombieland, or Columbus, or the other characters in the movie.

Rating: T, but it's subject to change.

The fires still burned in some places. The city had been hit and hit hard when the infection spread. The haphazard militia that had formed after the first few attacks had gone wild and burned everything in sight in an attempt to kill the zombies. But that had done nothing but make the zombies even more dangerous. Now, while you were being eaten alive, you were also being cooked alive. Houses were reduced wooden skeletons, cars were stripped to their frames and trash littered the streets, fueling the flames and making the rat that skittered out of the sewers jump when the breeze caused the trash to shift and rustle against the concrete.

The man standing on the edge of the highway, however, seemed unfazed by it. He stood between the broken, warped railing, staring down at the destruction. His shoulders were slumped and his greasy brown curls looked like they were standing on end, giving the viewer an idea that he ran his fingers through his hair on a regular basis. A double barrel hung limp in his right hand, but it still put me on edge as I stalked him.

He didn't hear her when I crept over the black top to sneak up behind him. He didn't hear the scrape of my boots against the road, or the slight clank of the 'armor' I had fashioned out of kitchen ware. And unless he was deaf, he didn't hear the sound of my own gun being cocked as I pressed the barrel against the base of his skull and gave him a quick, hard jab.

"Are you a zombie?" I whispered. Every sound was too loud in the desolate wasteland. Every gust of wind, every footstep, every breath echoed in my head as we stood there, waiting for him to answer. He didn't move, didn't speak. He didn't growl at me, quake with fear, or even try to pull away from the end of my gun. I couldn't see his face, but he didn't appear to be a zombie.

Yet.

So I jabbed him again. "Are you a zombie?" I asked, a little louder this time. "Have you been bitten?"

Still he remained silent and unmoving. Just when I was thinking I should blow his brains out anyway and see if he had anything useful, the man shifted his weight to his other foot and tilted his head to look up at the sky.

"She was right." He murmured. "It's all gone. My house, my family... everything." He whispered. "It's all gone."

I growled and jabbed him again. "Are you infected?" I hissed. "I'm not gonna ask you again!"

The man sighed and lowered his chin to his chest. "What happens if I say yes?" He asked, finally acknowledging me. "Are you going to shoot me?"

I almost snapped back yes. That desire was interrupted by the one that told me to shoot him, since he was clearly a zombie. Then logic stepped in and reared its ugly face. Why would he bother to ask me? Shouldn't he be begging for his life, trying to reason with me? Or telling me yes, he was infected, and could I please put him out of his misery before he turned and ate me? The gun shook in my hand. I'd never fired the thing, never fired a gun at all. I was certain I could, if I had to though. I knew... believed I would.

But not at this guy. He wasn't a zombie. I was sure of that.

"Tch." I lowered my gun a fraction of an inch. "I would have. But you're not infected."

"How can you be sure?" He asked, still staring down at the burning city. "You could shoot me, just to be safe. You don't need another survivor to compete with for food and shelter."

I rolled my eyes and stepped back in disgust. "If you've got a death wish, look somewhere else... Actually-" I needed food. My stomach growled like one of those zombie freaks, reminding me how long it had been since I'd eaten. "Hand over your gun, and any food or supplies you have. Now." The cold steel of my gun pressed into his neck again, digging in, trying to push the point into his skull.

But the man just responded with a hollow laugh. "You're pretty young to be a killer." It looked like he flinched at his own words, and he suddenly jammed his free hand into his pocket as he hunched his shoulders.

The silence around us was almost palpable, and I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot to try and ease some of my tension. "Well? Are you gonna give it up, or what?"

"Or what." Before I could react, he'd ducked to one side, and pulled his free hand from his pocket to shove my gun in the opposite direction. I let out a surprised yelp and instinctively loosened my grip on it as he tugged on the barrel and pulled it out of my hands. In a flash he had my own weapon turned back around on me.

I backpedaled wildly, looking up at him with pure terror. "D-don't... I-I'm sorry d-dude... I'm sorry... please..."

The guy just gave me this weird little smirk, like he didn't actually know how to smile. "I wouldn't waste a bullet on another survivor." He lowered the gun and flipped it around, holding the butt out towards me.

I just stared at him for a second, confused. Hesitating for another, brief, second, I accepted the shotgun and let it hang by my side. "Um... Thanks dude."

The guy's lips twitched like he was trying to smile again. "Yeah. Come on." He slung his double-barrel over his shoulder and walked past me, heading back down the highway, out of town. "I have food in my truck."

I looked at the back of the guy's head like he was crazy. I'd just threatened to shoot him, and he was inviting me back to his truck for some lunch? Maybe he was a pervert... a freak who hadn't gotten his jollies in too long. Well...

I'd eat his food. And if he tried anything, then I'd kill him.

I ran to catch up with him, armor clanking and both hands wrapped tight around my only protection.