Free Dead Legends (Book 1): R.I.P. Van Winkle by Joseph Coley

unable to protect themselves, but the intangibles were not looking good. The fact that he was sitting in front of him drunk, belligerent, and incapable of normal conversation was a good indicator of how he was going to act. Rip was far too hardheaded to wrap his mind around giving up his own life in exchange for the safety of others, despite his loyalty to the Army. The oath of a soldier was to keep safe those who were unable to keep themselves safe against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
    Or maybe living and undead.
    “Fine, Rip. I might not be able to convince you how serious this is, but rest assured, you will see something that will change your mind. Life has a way of taking things away from you when you least want or expect it. I’m done preaching to you. Either you are going to help, or you can just sit back and watch the world destroy itself. I’m dead, anyway; what do I care?”
    “Yeah, you are, Crayon. So why don’t you just fuck off for a while and let me be; I got nothing else to say to you, anyway.”
    Crayon took a few steps back and turned around. He hated turning his back on Rip, quite literally, but there was no talking to him right now. He gave his friend some parting words—words that were not meant to hurt him, but meant to get him in the right frame of mind. As the words floated along, Rip could hear them echo and vanish slowly, as Crayon did.
    Just remember, Rip. No matter what you do, you can’t save yourself.
    And with that, he was gone again.
    Rip sat back, the whiskey bottle still in his hand. Once again, too much to try to absorb, and once more, he was alone with no idea what he was doing. He threw the bottle out into the street. It shattered into a thousand pieces as it hit, mimicking Rip’s emotional state—broken and useless.

CHAPTER 8
     
    Rip passed out in a dreamless state for what seemed like ten minutes. The world had slowly receded away after Crayon disappeared into the darkness. He didn’t remember passing out but was certain that he had for some time; the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was starting to come up. It looked to be another beautiful day in upstate New York, much like his first day in the post-apocalyptic world. It was amazing how much the scenery and the weather played a part in keeping what little sanity Rip had left in check. Had it been like the last day he remembered before yesterday, things might have transpired differently. Not that life was doing him any favors at the moment; apparently, he was to be the savior of all mankind by defeating the headless reincarnation of his dead, cursed friend.
    Shit was getting out of hand real quick.
    Rip had felt this way before. Not the savior of humanity feeling, but one of a throbbing hangover. He moved purposely slow, opening his eyes just enough to see where he was going without letting the abundant sunshine in. It was far too early for that. He planted his hand on terra firma, just to make sure that when he rose, there would be something to fall back on if necessary. He wasn’t entirely sure how he would feel after his first drinking binge since waking up, and quite honestly, it was exactly how he remembered them.
    Shitty.
    Shielding his eyes from the rays of the sun with his free hand, he slowly got to his feet. The rest of the men of the Knights weren’t fully aware of the world just yet, either. Two of the men were standing on the wooden porch outside the bar, rifles at low ready. It wasn’t until that moment that Rip realized that he was still outside and slowly recalled the events of the night before. Crayon had appeared to him again… something about him being the Horseman, and something about killing him to set his soul free. Oh, that’s right, he wants me to kill him so I end the zombie plague and set his soul free, Rip thought. Only I get to die in the process. Ain’t that just fuckin’ peachy?
    Remember, Rip. No matter what you do, you can’t save yourself. Those words rang very clearly from