Chapter 12: A Head
"Nice gun."
Looking at the gun in Peyton's hand, Deadpool praised.
"Huh?"
Peyton was confused: "You mean Jill's gun, right? Mine's just a regular Beretta 92F pistol, military-issue M9. Very common model."
"No, I mean its color matches you perfectly. You'd both be perfectly invisible in the dark."
Peyton: ...
"Shame it uses 9mm rounds. Too weak."
"Buddy, we're shooting zombies, not comparing destructive power. No matter how big the caliber, one shot still equals one zombie."
"Not necessarily."
Eyes narrowing slightly, Deadpool lifted his head from Peyton's shoulder, stood straight, and drew his twin pistols from his waist.
BANG BANG BANG!
In an instant, gunfire erupted like firecrackers in rapid succession. Peyton stopped shooting, his mouth gradually dropping open, revealing a set of clean white teeth.
Because he was watching with his own eyes as the zombies rushing toward them decreased at a visible rate.
The reduction speed was more than twice as fast as what he and Jill could manage combined.
With .50 caliber Desert Eagles and Deadpool's precise calculations, every bullet penetrated the skulls of at least two zombies. Peyton even clearly saw one shot pierce through four zombies consecutively.
For a brief period, the rate at which zombies emerged couldn't keep up with Deadpool's killing speed.
After changing magazines once and firing 14 rounds, the zombies before them were basically cleared. Deadpool holstered his guns, looking at the smoking barrels. He couldn't help but lean in for a sniff, his eyes glazing over with pleasure.
He really loved this world.
He turned to Peyton, showing off: ".50 caliber Desert Eagles. Two of them."
Only then did Peyton snap out of it, manually closing his dropped jaw: "Buddy, I'm starting to believe you're a superhero."
"You have excellent taste!"
Deadpool gave a thumbs up: "But stop watching Green Lantern from now on. A person with taste shouldn't watch that green-clad garbage."
Jill holstered her pistol, looking at the Desert Eagles in Deadpool's hands, somewhat unconvinced: "If you gave me those guns, I could do it too."
"I believe it."
Peyton nodded in agreement.
Jill's marksmanship was absolutely top-tier within STARS.
"Don't worry, there are things you can't do."
Deadpool was unconcerned.
Could Jill slice an incoming bullet in half with a sword, then have the fragments precisely pierce through her left and right lungs?
He could!
Just then, another large wave of zombies surged from the street alley. Everyone's expressions changed. The briefly relaxed atmosphere instantly tensed up again.
Three people, four handguns, no automatic weapons. Even with Deadpool the walking cheat code, their clearing speed was starting to fall behind the zombie spawn rate.
"We can't keep this up. We don't have enough ammunition."
After loading another magazine, Peyton glanced at his tactical belt with an ugly expression.
"I know there's a church nearby. We can fall back there."
Jill said.
Deadpool: ...
So what the hell had he left for? Wouldn't it have been better to wait in the church like a spider in its web?
And he got shot for nothing.
"Just run!"
Peyton pulled a grenade from his belt, yanked the pin, and threw it. Then supporting Deadpool while Jill led the way, the group ran desperately toward the church.
BOOM!
Flames shot skyward, briefly blocking the zombies' advance. Of course, this came with a price—the sound would attract even more zombies.
Finally, the group reached the church and shut the heavy doors.
With their backs against the door, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"How did you know their weak point is the head?"
After catching her breath, Terri asked curiously.
Hearing this question, Peyton also turned to look.
If Jill hadn't reminded them earlier, he'd have wasted a lot more bullets.
After all, hitting the torso was much easier than hitting the head.
"Because I've encountered them before."
Jill glanced coolly at them both: "In the Arklay Mountains."
Peyton blurted out: "That's the mission that got you suspended?"
"Yes."
Jill sat down wearily in the nearest chair.
"Don't move!"
Just then, a voice suddenly came from the shadows in the corner. A man in a blue shirt emerged from the darkness, gripping a handgun with both trembling hands pointed at Jill.
Peyton instinctively drew his gun on the man. Jill also immediately stood, her beautiful eyes lifting to the shirt guy: "Put the gun down!"
The shirt guy's voice trembled, his bravado clearly hollow: "You should be the ones putting your guns down!"
"Peyton, let him keep it up if he wants."
Easily seeing through the shirt guy's cowardly nature, Jill shook her head, lit a cigarette, crossed her legs, and sat back down.
Damn it!
Too fast—Deadpool with his Doraemon pocket hadn't seen anything.
Hearing this, Peyton holstered his weapon and sat across from Jill.
Deadpool sat in the row next to Peyton, patted his shoulder, pointed at the shirt guy and laughed: "See that, buddy? You should learn from him. With your racial talent, you could hide in there for a year and we still wouldn't find you."
Peyton shot Deadpool a look and didn't bother responding.
Terri fiddled with her DV camera, saying nothing. The shirt guy, seeing no one paying attention to him, sheepishly lowered his gun and found a random seat.
Actually, he wasn't a bad guy. Well, he didn't really have the capacity to be a bad guy anyway.
He was just afraid of running into bad guys.
Seeing Peyton ignore him, Deadpool looked down at his foot, falling into thought.
A gunshot wound was nothing to him—it had healed long before they'd even left the bridge. As for why he didn't tell the others in the team and insisted on being supported, that was naturally because he craved Jill's fragrant sh—
*Ahem.* That was naturally because it would be hard to explain.
After all, everyone had witnessed him getting shot. If he casually revealed his superpower, how could he bond properly with his little teammates?
What had him thinking now was another problem. Since earlier, he'd felt something off with his body—like wriggling earthworms crawling up from his foot.
He didn't even need to take off his pants to guess that his calf must look pretty gnarly right now.
Oh wait, with tenth-degree burns it never looked good anyway. Never mind then.
No, that's not the point.
He was infected with the T-virus!
Deadpool was certain he'd been infected with the T-virus.
Logically, with his body, viruses would be rapidly expelled. Even large doses of deadly poison—just die a few times and it's fine.
But the T-virus didn't play by the rules.
After all, if it played by the rules, it wouldn't have created the highly illogical existence known as zombies.
So the question was: what would he become after being infected with the T-virus?
It couldn't be shambling around the streets all day, moaning "Brains, brains, I want brains," right?
Deadpool suddenly thought of someone. No wait, a head.