Chapter 133: Smash
The automatic rifle spat a tongue of fire, continuously shooting bullets.
The bullets were like sharp swords, stabbing fiercely out, instantly knocking away a walker along with the walker behind it. The flesh on the walker's body was also penetrated. Blood exploded into blood mist.
Merle pressed down the recoil, keeping the gun barrel positioned aiming at the walkers' chests, his body twisting sideways.
The gun muzzle rotated. The line of bullets swept across. Walkers fell in rows.
Both the walkers and the walls behind them were left with terrifying wounds. Walkers were almost severed in half, or directly lost control of their bodies—could only move their heads.
This was the might of hot weapons. In an instant, all walkers were eliminated, no longer possessing attack power.
Merle stopped shooting, secretly estimating the remaining bullet count.
Hopefully Caesar could arrive before the bullets were exhausted—otherwise his dear little brother would only see his corpse.
"Uncle is amazing." The little girl jogged two steps, her innocent appearance very obedient.
Merle extended his hand wanting to touch the little girl's head, but his hand stopped mid-air—it was all covered in walker blood.
Unexpectedly, the little girl stepped forward two steps, blinking as she pressed her cheek against Merle's palm.
Merle froze for a moment, then pinched Ada's cheek.
A child's face is really soft.
...
Walkers entered the basement time after time. Thanks to the entrance's size, the number of walkers entering at once was limited to a certain amount.
However, walkers could continuously surge forward to attack.
In the basement, walker corpses were stacked like sandbag fortifications, blocking between newly appearing walkers and Merle.
Even walkers falling down landed on the soft bodies of their fallen companions, unable to even stand—could only crawl forward.
Merle pulled the bolt, switched the lever to single-fire mode, breathed steadily, and fired shots at the walkers.
Bang, bang, bang—
Walkers died again. Merle looked at the basement filled with walker corpses, as if seeing victory's dawn.
But Merle's heart was clear—there were few rifle bullets left. Relying on the handgun's suppression, walkers would most likely close in again.
And himself now—physical strength nearly completely exhausted.
The walkers' hoarse roars sounded.
Coming!
Merle raised his gun, aimed at the walkers' heads—one shot, one kill. One shot, one kill.
Not a single bullet was wasted.
But bullets were ultimately finite.
The next second, the rifle produced a click. Merle's eyes widened—no more bullets.
The walkers' advance speed didn't change. Stumbling, they climbed out from the area below the entrance, entered the basement, pushed aside the piled companion corpses, waving claws forward.
Merle casually dropped the rifle—a smooth draw, pushed the gun, and fired.
In just two short seconds, shooting.
The advancing walkers blocked the forward path. Somehow, after Merle cleared these walkers, the walkers behind still appeared without the slightest pause.
The number of walkers suddenly increased.
Merle grinned, withstanding the pressure, ensuring every bullet found a walker's skull.
Bang, bang, bang—
While shooting, Merle moved toward the direction on the other side from the mother and daughter.
The handgun wasn't quiet. All walkers attacked toward Merle.
The handgun suppressed the walkers. The closer they got to Merle, the faster they died—every shot a headshot.
Click—
The familiar empty gun sound came. Merle smoothly smashed out the handgun, hitting squarely the walker before him.
This time the bullets ran out, much more dangerous than the previous time—walkers had reached close quarters.
Merle drew the machete, smoothly chopped down a walker, twisted his body and swung the blade, chopping down again.
His body swayed. Merle's strength was insufficient. His body wobbled several times—couldn't stabilize himself.
A walker came from behind, opening its mouth to bite toward Merle's back neck.
Merle keenly sensed it, turned around using his arm to block, about to chop down the walker before him.
A walker bit from the right side. Merle's right hand was also restricted.
"Fuck off!"
Merle roared, his right foot kicked out, kicking away that walker.
His right hand fiercely chopped down the blocking walker.
Before he could be happy, walkers suddenly surged forward, squeezing against Merle.
Merle raised his right hand high, wanting to chop out a path to life, but when he chopped down, the originally sharp machete got stuck in a walker's neck.
Merle froze slightly, then discovered the machete no longer possessed its previous sharpness—the blade showed curling.
Looks like this time... really going to die.
His body was knocked around by walkers. Merle was like all his bones had been pulled out—lost his strength.
Merle looked toward Ada wailing and crying not far away. In his eyes floated images of Daryl, Caesar, and others. These figures ultimately all transformed into his father.
That shameful man.
That person he wanted to kill, but in the end he'd let him go.
"Heh—"
Merle smiled bitterly, looking at the vicious walker before him, swinging his fist to strike. "Want to kill me?"
"Come on!"
Merle's body—he didn't know where this strength came from—forcefully supported him swinging punches. Even if he couldn't survive, he would die in battle.
"Come on!"
"Kill me!"
BOOM—
BANG—
Through the basement's entrance charged a tall figure in black armor. Jumping forward, letting gravity pull him down.
Heavily smashing on walker bones. Those fragile flesh bodies produced waves of bone-breaking sounds.
The black armor raised its head. Below blood-red pupils, killing intent surged.
Caesar's left arm blocked before him. His entire body's muscles exerted force, charging fiercely forward like a bulldozer, knocking away every walker blocking before him.
Bursting into the basement, Caesar's eyes swept once, quickly locking onto that mother and daughter.
His body turned, reversing direction to crash over.
Walkers were no match. In the blink of an eye, Caesar appeared before the mother and daughter.
Caesar gripped a walker's head with one hand, his right arm exerted force—the walker's head smashed to pieces on the wall.
"You're not injured, right?"
Both mother and daughter were stunned. Power, ferocity, bloodshed rushed at them.
That mother mechanically shook her head, glanced at Merle trapped in the walker horde, then looked at Caesar before her.
Clearly the same protective armor—why was the difference so huge when worn?
Caesar nodded, turned to walk toward Merle.
A row of walkers on the walker horde's outside turned their heads. Caesar swung out an axe flower, slashing from left to right.
Cold light flashed. The walkers' heads flew in a row, rolling to the ground.
Caesar walked forward, crushing walker heads.
"Merle, you've slackened. When you return to Yellowstone, you need to strengthen your training."
Merle struggled twice, his face flushed red, opened his mouth but couldn't speak.
He wanted to say not everyone was a freak like Caesar. Physical strength wasn't something ordinary people could match. Could be said—Caesar was the strongest person he'd ever seen.
He suspected even pre-apocalypse boxing champion Tyson couldn't withstand one of Caesar's punches.
In fact, Merle wasn't wrong. Caesar's physical strength truly far exceeded ordinary humans.
Even this strength continued strengthening as time passed, just the growth speed was much slower than at the beginning.