Grave of Robin Hood by Mark Douglas Jr

Author:Mark Douglas, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Children’s folk tales and myths European culture, Children's siblings books travel and exploration, Children's action and adventure detective story, Children's ebook fantasy and supernatural series, Children's historical fantasy ancient civilization, Teen and young adult fairy tale and folklore book, Teen and young adult action and adventure series
Publisher: Sky City Press
Published: 2024-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

And there it was! The answer had been written on Little John’s tombstone.

R.I.P.

Rest in peace. Eleven letters. Bingo!

My fingers scrabbled to set the buttons into the correct sequence. The sheriff stood and grabbed her revolver. “Please, just another second,” I mumbled as I started on the final letter. But right when I was about to slide the E into place—gunshots rang out from inside the warehouse.

Chapter 47

I flinched at the sound of gunshots.

At first, I feared one of my loved ones had been executed, but then more gunfire erupted from the warehouse and I realized the deputies were shooting at something. I whirled around in my chair to peer out the window, but all the lights blacked out. Red emergency lights blinked on. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a green-cloaked archer leaping between shipping containers with a bow and quiver of arrows.

Then the emergency lights flashed and the figure was gone.

“What is all that—” the sheriff began coughing, “—r-r-ruckus?!”

“It’s the Merry Men!” shouted Ponytail from the hall, which was followed by a pop, pop, pop of her pistol. “We’re under attack!”

The Merry Men? I thought, but I didn’t have time to process what Ponytail could’ve meant because the window suddenly shattered as bullets sprayed into the glass. I dove to the ground. The rolling chair I was cuffed to fell over with me. Glass rained down and I covered my head to keep from getting cut.

Click. CLACK! Click. CLACK! The sheriff limped out of the small office faster than I’d seen her move. A second later, her revolver fired—its gun blasting a high-pitched metallic sound. I glanced around and realized in the chaos they’d left me alone.

Now was my chance to escape.

I crawled to the desk, dragging the rolling chair with me as it crunched across broken glass. The golden container was still gripped in my hand. I set it down on the stained carpet, reached into the bottom desk drawer, and rummaged through its contents in search of a handcuff key. I pushed aside clipboards, staplers, a box of bullets, and a bottle of whiskey—but I didn’t find any keys. I moved to the next drawer and searched inside.

More gunfire ripped into the office through the shattered window. Bullets walloped the foam ceiling tiles and shredded them to bits. An arrow soared into the room and thunked into a wall.

I ducked behind the desk. When the gunfire stopped, I continued searching. I found a set of keys attached to a bottle opener. One of the keys was small enough to fit inside a handcuff lock—so I quickly got to work trying to get the cuffs off my wrist.

The handcuffs came loose and fell to the ground.

Yes!

I rubbed my wrist where the metal cuff had chafed me. Then I picked up the golden container and input the last letter of the puzzle to spell out rest in peace. The top twisted open. Inside, there was a pair of rings—one gold, the other silver, both tarnished and worn.

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