Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Zombieland characters are the property of their original owners.
“HEY, GUYS!” yelled Xander Harris, right before he dove for the floor of the small souvenir shop, his hands protectively clasped over his head, which kept the immediate fusillade of gunfire that blew out every front window of the store that former California native was taking shelter in from having the resulting broken glass slice into his cranium.
Patiently waiting for the ammunition going through the now-open windows to stop zipping over his prone body, while also listening to the thunking sounds of the aimed-lower rounds thankfully being stopped by the thick concrete blocks at the base of the shop’s front wall, Xander gave himself an all-over body shake, just like a dog after its bath, only instead of water, the man sent fragments of sparking glass flying everywhere. After that, with the barrage of bullets still continuing to be sent in his direction, Xander’s composed mood began to turn into growing irritation.
*Okay, it’s no surprise they’d be trigger-happy, considering that at any moment a zombie could attack those guys, but for crying out loud, I spoke to them, which none of those brain-chomping jerks can do! Not to mention they already went through the accidental shooting of a normal human, so you think they’d be a little more cautious in the future!*
Xander’s dark thoughts were interrupted by the sudden cessation of the gunfire being sent his way, accompanied by a noisy argument abruptly breaking out on the other side of the street from the gas station there. He could hear various voices but not actually the words, as two women (or rather females, since there was intermixed in the quarrel the sound of a strident adult woman and the shriller screech of a pre-teen girl) along with the somewhat whiny shouting of a young man, all of this laid over by the bellowed obscenities of the oldest guy, delivered in a southern accent.
“MOTHERFUCKIN’ ASSHOLE, I’M GONNA BLOW HIS HEAD OFF!”
Xander dryly noted to himself that yelling guy was clearly suffering from withdrawal symptoms, since he evidently hadn’t been able to find his latest fix since that previous occasion in the amusement park. Well, that could be dealt with, considering there was no way the New Council troubleshooter wasn’t going to bring along his own supply when Xander visited this reality that had been overrun by zombies worldwide. Rolling over on the floor while ignoring the crunching of the broken glass under himself that this action caused, Xander reached into an inside jacket pocket, and he yanked out a small, wrapped package that was pretty flat due to landing on it a few moments ago during his dive for cover. Still, the contents of this package, even if slightly squashed, would be more than enough to satisfy the desperate hunger of the man outside in the street who was now surely reloading his weapon for another attempt to blow chunks of Xander Harris all over the tacky contents of the California souvenir shop.
Giving his private stash a sad, farewell gaze, Xander then threw the package as hard as he could away from himself, his hand going back and up as he sent his little present sailing through the open windows of the shop, to land somewhere in the parking lot outside. This event produced a sudden yell of pure panic from the younger man out there, “RUN! He threw a grenade!”
Still lying on his back in the souvenir shop, Xander’s features contorted into absolute disbelief at hearing that truly ridiculous statement, only for his face to then change into a delighted smirk at the next sounds of an ecstatic shriek coming from someone who clearly recognized that tossed object for what it really was, the sudden clang of an automatic rifle being dropped onto the ground, the clattering footsteps in cowboy boots coming nearer at a dead run, then the soft thud of a body hurled forward to land curled around a precious offering, the frantic ripping off of a protective wrapping, and finally, the slobbering, greedily-devoured consumption of a totally craved Twinkie.
Xander’s proud smile as he folded his arms across his chest while listening to a fellow worshipper of Hostess products abruptly changed into wariness, as he now heard the sphincter-tightening sounds of several guns being cocked and held ready, all of them surely pointed in his direction and very close, to boot. About, say, in the shop parking lot, right next to where the obscene sounds were coming from someone slurping the last speck of the food of the gods with their tongue from the Twinkie wrapper.
“All right, whoever’s in there, you better come out and don’t make any funny moves while you’re at it,” was steadily spoken in a very cold woman’s voice.
Xander swallowed, once. Even after high school on of being around members of the feminine species who could effortlessly kick his ass, that lady out there was evidently not somebody to be messed around with. But then, of the quartet of survivors that were living in a world filled with zombies looking to gobble up the last remaining humans, the lady known as Wichita was surely the toughest one of them all. The envoy from the New Council, having come to this dimension to recruit people to work for his organization fighting the vampires, demons, and other creatures of the dark, now carefully considered his next words, to then finally call out, “Okay, okay! Just be careful, will you? I don’t want to be shot like Bill Murray!”
There were a few moments of shocked silence outside the souvenir shop. Even the crinkling of the Twinkie wrapper being licked clean stopped, until a very stunned younger man choked out, “That wasn’t my fault--! Who the hell are you anyway?!”
Rolling over onto his front in preparation for carefully getting up on his feet, Xander now responded, “I’m Xan--” only to pause, both in his answer and in his movements. In this place, people like those outside, who were known as Tallahassee (Mr. Gun-Happy), Wichita (the college-age woman), Little Rock (her younger sister), and Columbus (the other guy) used those place names instead of real first names to keep a mental distance away from others who might die at any second in their violent world. Shrugging as he decided to go along with this, and also without really thinking it through, Xander now got up to his feet, and while facing the suspicious, heavily-armed group in the parking lot outside, he declared, “You can call me Sunnydale.”
In the next few minutes, as Xander glumly listened to four people laughing at the tops of their lungs, who were definitely gonna bust his chops about this for the rest of their lives together back in his home dimension, that doleful man had to admit to himself, even if it had been the most dangerous Hellmouth in centuries, the name of his hometown wasn’t all that
impressive. In fact, it sounded kinda….sissy.
Author’s Note: I have to admit, I was a little surprised at evidently being the first to do a Zombieland crossover here on Twisting the Hellmouth, but even after searching this site using that specific title word, I can’t find any other author who wrote a story about that movie. Yay me!