A/N: I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. I've really been wanting to write a ZLand fic. I'll probably regret it later. This is, like, my favorite movie. One of them, anyway. Tell me what you think! I know, staying at the mansion is unrealistic, but this is a oneshot, so I didn't want to get into making up a long, drawn out explanation. Sorry about that. This definitely isn't my best work, but oh well. Enjoy :)

P.S. If you want to imagine language in here, that's your business, and it would probably be more realistic with it, but I'm not going to put something out there full of swearing. That's my personal choice. You don't have to like it, but I do ask that you respect it. Thanks :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Zombieland, or any of the characters. I'm just a huge fan with an overactive imagination.

*Columbus*

Bill Murray's mansion. I never quite got used to the fact that we lived there - or that I shot the former owner. It was great there. Since it was California, it never got too cold, it had a steady supply of basic needs, plenty of ammo and we hadn't seen a single zombie in months. Sure, we still stayed in pairs, kept watch every night and made sure we were always armed, but we didn't have to live in fear anymore. It was nice. While it lasted.

I've never been exactly fond of waking up to loud noises. Like in the fourth grade, for instance. Over the summer, my parents shipped me off on a bus with twenty-nine sweaty, overweight kids to camp, in the hopes that I'd become capable of social activities. There I was given the counselor from hell. I somehow managed to anger him the first day, and for three weeks, I woke up every morning to a foghorn in my ear. My parents never tried to socialize me again.

A shattering window is a far cry from a foghorn, but for a second I thought I was back in that hellhole. But then I realized the zombie that had broken through my window wasn't going to sit there and watch me for long. And there she - it - was, crouching on the floor, staring at me, waiting for me to move.

I looked around. I had rolled over in the night, so my double-barrel was about an armlength away. I reached for it slowly, hoping it would prevent her from feeling threatened.

It didn't.

*General*

The zombie lunged, and he grabbed his shotgun, hitting it in the head with the barrel. She hissed and clawed as he rolled away. Scrambling backwards, he fired into her chest.

Is that Demi Moore?

He shook the thought from his head and pulled the trigger again, but it clicked uselessly in his hands.

You forgot to reload last time.

Muttering a colorful mixture of expletives, he wielded the gun like a baseball bat as it threw itself in his direction.

A brief scuffle ensued, ended by a loud bang. Columbus looked up to see Wichita lowering her smoking gun.

"Need some help?"

"Thank you."

"Welcome." She cocked her head to the side. "Is that-"

"I think so."

"Huh." She stepped up and fired once more, just to be sure, but he had turned his attention to something else.

"...Wichita."

*Wichita*

I don't know what it was, but something in his tone made me turn. Thinking back on it, it was probably a mix of panic and alarmed shock. I turned around, and his eyes said the same thing. He was holding his left arm stiffly; when I looked closer, I realized why.

If Demi Moore's dentist wasn't a zombie, he should have been proud. Her teeth had left a perfect imprint on his skin, and blood welled up from the puncture points. Black edged the bite.

It made me sick.

My hand went to my mouth, even though it didn't help me breathe. There were tears in his eyes.

I looked around and grabbed his sweatshirt, ripping off the sleeve and tying it as tight as I could manage around his arm.

"Wichita."

I knew my eyes were red as I glanced up at him. "What?"

"It's not going to work." He spoke so quietly that you couldn't have heard him from five feet away. But I did. I shook my head slightly, my volume barely higher than his.

"How do you know? How can you..."

"I've seen it before. It doesn't work."

"It could..." I knew I was grasping at straws, but I had to grasp for something.

"...No..."

"...Please...

"...No."

I threw my arms up in the air. "Well, what do you want me to do, Columbus? Nothing? Sit here and watch you become... that?" I gestured to the dead form on the floor.

"No." I realized he wasn't looking at me. I followed his eyes to the gun in my hand.

My eyes flashed as my voice rose. "No. No, I'm not going to shoot you, how could you even say that? That is not happening!"

He kept trying to speak as I yelled at him. Finally, he got my attention.

"No, see, this is the only option we have, because I don't want to turn into a fricking zombie!"

"There has got to be some other way."

"I'll do it myself, if you want."

I didn't know what to say. I finally decided on: "I'm not gonna let you shoot yourself."

"Well, then, you're gonna have to do it. We can't wait for Tallahassee and Little Rock, they're halfway to San Francisco by now."

"But why-"

"Because." His tone was a little softer now. "In Zombieland, everyone's last mistake is not being fast enough. I just made that mistake."

"No," I said, somewhat hesitantly. "Your last mistake would be if you didn't kiss me right now."

He kissed me. We said goodbye.

And then I shot him.

I know there wasn't a choice. There was never a choice. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

It's not fair. But I guess nobody survives forever in Zombieland. Even the ones with the best rules.

I'll miss him. So much. So will Little Rock, and Tallahassee, although he won't admit it. Not Tallahassee.

It isn't fair.

When they get back, I'll have to tell them what happened. I'll have to relive it all over again. And again. And again. Every time I close my eyes.

I'll never forget this day. Never.

A/N: I know. It's probably stupid. But it's, like, three o'clock in the morning, or something like that, so I'll probably take it off later. Oh, well.