A/N: This has been bouncing around my strangely empty head and I've got nothing better to do with my life right now so why not write it? Besides I've noticed that there is an absolutely abysmal amount of Zombieland fics for such an awesome and easily writable movie. Anyway with my mini-rant out of the way, here is the full summary.

Following a botched Twinkie hunt, Little Rock is left wounded and alone in front of a Horde, only to be saved by a total stranger. Who is he? Why is he here? And what's this about a Survivor Colony in Vegas? But things are no longer of the carefree variety in Zombieland, as survivor groups hunt each-other and their guide has his own history that he needs to hold back, his own Demons that he needs to face…

Chapter 1: The Saviour

She was running.

Scratch that, she was sprinting away like hell itself was after her.

She had gotten separated from the others, the horde had attacked and Krista had told her to run. She had said they'd be right behind her. But that had been before the zombies had cut them off behind her, before the gunfire started.

She knew she shouldn't have let Tallahassee convince her that household items made for the funniest kills for 14 (and ¾) year-olds. Now all she had was a butter knife, after killing several zombies with a nail-gun she'd found in the hardware section of the store they'd been in, she'd run out of nails.

One of the infected forced her to take a turn. She chose right. It was the wrong choice.

She slammed into the filing cabinet in the room she had just ran into, her speed and force flipping her over it and sending her through the weak dry-wall above it.

She looked up, fighting through the pain all over her body, and found herself staring at rows of warehouse shelving, and a shitload of zombies.

'I hope you and your motherfucking Twinkies burn in hell Tallahassee'

And then they noticed her, laying on the floor, bleeding from multiple cuts on her body, her hair sticky with the stuff. They could see the large gash on her head, her unfocused eyes and weak limbs. Instinct told them it was easy prey, but they didn't need instinct, they ran at her anyway, yelling and screaming in triumph, aching for a feed.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain of their teeth sinking into her flesh, waiting for the sound of her own skin and organs being ripped apart.

She was greeted by the sound of gunfire.

She opened her eyes, and she saw a boy, maybe slightly older than her, holding back the zombies with a stream of bullets. it was hazy, but it definitely wasn't a hallucination. She saw the zombies drop, one by one, and then he looked around, as if scanning for more before leaning down to her. "You're not looking too good. Sorry if you think I'm breaking any boundaries, but survival first, personal space second."

Then he holstered his gun on his back, she couldn't tell what it was, longer than an Uzi but far too short to be any kind of rifle. He then took out what seemed to be a pair of pistols from a gun jacket, cocked them, then put his left arm under her knees and his right arm behind her back, and lifted her up. It took a few seconds for her to realise that he was carrying her bridal style, and she could feel the heat on her face from the amount of blood rushing through her cheeks, before her head started searing in pain and she gasped. "Shit, you're looking worse than I thought. Hang on, I'm gonna have to get you back to my place fast." And with that, he took off running.

She couldn't remember any of the directions, her head hurt too much for her brain to process anything. But she felt his arm moving underneath her and he used the end of one of his pistols to enter a code into a keypad beside a big, metal door, and as it slid open he entered the dark room, and placed her on a mattress at the far end of the room from the door, just as the door slid shut again.

"Right, I can't do much, I've only got a watered down course on first aid to go on and some mother-knows-best remedies, but I need to stop the blood pouring out of your head, and I can only do that if I can tell where the cut is on your head, which I can't because you're covered in blood. I'm going to wash your head, O.K?" She managed a faint nod and he immediately started pouring some water into a bucket. When it filled, he brought it over to her.

"This is gonna sting, so be warned" He gently tipped the bucket onto her hair, and she hissed in pain, but bore with it. He gently began running his spare hand through her hair, clearing away most of the blood and allowing him to see where the cut was.

"On the bright side, it isn't very deep, probably just nicked a vein. On the not so bright side, it's got few splinters in it, so I'll have to pick them out before I can do anything else."

It took him a good few hours to pick out all the splinters with the tweezers he'd fetched to help her, and from there he used a bandage to secure an ice-pack over the cut, stopping any swelling and halting the flow of blood from the wound. He went and filled several bottles of water from the nearby sink and placed them by the mattress where she lay.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, and she opened her mouth to speak, but found her mouth and throat dry. "Course, sorry, I'm always forgetting why I do things like this." He uncapped a bottle and held it to her lips, and she drank deeply. The cool water soothed her burning throat and allowed her to talk. "Yes, thanks. Look, this is gonna seam like a stupid question, but why did you save me?" "I hate seeing girls die. I know it seems sexist, like you can't handle yourself or something, but I always have hated seeing girls get hurt. That and the fact that we need all the survivors we can get."

"Fair enough. Uh, I came here with friends. Do you know where they are?"

"Their looking around the store for you, they're on the other side of the compound to us right now, so I'll wait for them to come over here before I approach them. No offense, but your not in the best condition to look after yourself after running through a wall." She nodded, and then asked, "Um, your face is hidden by a shadow, could you move forward, so I can see your face please?"

He did as she asked, and she got her first good look at him. He was Caucasian, with jet black hair. His features were rather unremarkable apart from his red eyes. When he noticed her staring at his eyes, he explained. "Genetic Mutation; it does nothing to harm me, but it makes my eyes red. Also lets me see better in the dark for some reason."

She nodded at his explanation and sat up suddenly. "Whoa there, you took a nasty shot to the head, I wouldn't try anything over-taxing or fast movements yet, before we check you for a concussion" She turned to him and said "You're British" He sighed, evidently he had had to explain his accent many times before. He answered "English, actually. There are four separate countries in what's left of Great Britain. Though considering my father was Scottish and my mother Irish I'm almost British yes."

"But… Does that mean Britain's gone too?"

"Yeah, along with most of Europe and Asia. Russia closed its borders but some probably got through."

"So, it really is the apocalypse?"

"No, if it were the apocalypse then big fireballs would have come from the sea and random shit like that. I think it's just a pandemic that cost the world over 90% of its population. The scientists weren't fast enough and the virus killed them all before they could develop a cure. Simple as that." she nodded again and looked around.

She found herself in a rather large room, about the size of your average lounge area. But what surprised her was that one wall was stocked full of ammo, shelves of it. Another wall was covered in guns, and the third was paced full of CCTV monitors, obviously for the store outside the heavy steel door on the opposite side of the room.

The side with the door on was bare, apart from a desk and several notes pinned to the wall. The desk was large, on it was a laptop, a notepad, a microwave and a mini-fridge, along with several paper plates and a bin underneath it. "What, no washing machine?" she asked.

"It's in the other room." He pointed to a previously unnoticed door at the edge of the gun-wall. "Along with my cupboard of clothes and the shower" Her eyes widened and she stared at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

"Yes, you can shower. Take your time, this place's boiler is on 24/7 so infinite hot water. There are spare clothes for women in the wardrobe marked with the giant F on the front, so you can put your current stuff in the wash." She squealed in delight and got up, heading over to the door before turning back to him.

"Well, since you saved me, I owe you a name at least. I'm Little Rock"

"Your parents must have really loved you. Little Rock is an awesome name."

"Piss off. In my group we go by place names."

"Well, my survivor cell didn't use places, I went by…" His yes glazed over for a moment, before he looked into his reflection in what was left of the bucket water, and staring into his own eyes.

"Phoenix"

A/N: Well? You like it? All reviews welcome. Next chapter, Phoenix meets the other three musketeers (Crap pun, sorry) and Little Rock finds out a little more about him.