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Hey, fellow raiders (that’s what I’m calling the fans of this saga 😉)! Sorry for the wait; between my recent book launch and blogiversary, I haven’t had much time to write. 😅😂 But never fear, I won’t leave you hanging!

So here’s RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARC II: LEGEND OF THE FORBIDDEN BURIAL GROUNDS PART 4!!!

For those of you who have missed portions of this story, you can click here for the first installment, here for the second, and here for the third.

@jessi-rae @daeus-lamb @j-a-penrose @supermonkey42 @karthmin @savannahgrace @maddiejay @catwing @brandon-miller @josiah @anne-of-lothlorien @scribbles

A brave with cat feathers in her headdress ran up to the chief with a handful of raspberries. Chief Shortbeard took one, spitting the seeds on the ground one by one. After chewing all the berries, he raised his staff and yelled an unintelligible noise that sounded like “baa.”

Indians charged for the ridge, shooting pencil arrows and slinging raspberry seeds at them.

“Oh no! We’re running out of bullet points!” Pennsylvania loaded the last points into his gun and shot the cat-feathered Indian in her writing arm. “Can’t that pigurriel thing of yours summon a tornado?” Pennsylvania peered at Storm, who stood frozen.

“Oh no—what’s wrong?”

Storm sniffled. Edna lay on the ground, an arrow sticking out of her side. Pennsylvania and the others bent over her, stroking her tail. Edna’s nose twitched—she didn’t even have the strength to glare at them for their inconsideracy in touching an introverted piguirrel.

“We have to get her to a veterinarian,” Storm whimpered. “But how?”

Everyone looked at Pennsylvania because he was the only person who knew what to do besides Storm. “Nebraska, help me with this rock!”

They pushed and pushed while the Indians came closer and closer. If the rock didn’t loosen soon, they’d be worse off than an author trying to build a platform with zero followers.

Boom!

The boulder crashed below, hitting the Indians with the heaviest case of writer’s block this side of the Rockies. Pennsylvania brushed off his hands. “There. That should keep them not thinking for a while.”

Everyone hopped on their horses and stampeded off into the heart of what was known as the introverted desert, where writers could go to get some peace and quiet. Once the Indians were out of sight, Storm slowed down.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Gracie the Kid reared up her horse, staring at Edna.

“I hope so.” Storm wrapped Edna in a purple blanket and tucked her under her arm, then turned toward Snark Valley.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hopeless crossed her arms. “What about the arc?”

“We have to save Edna!” They all chorused, knowing full well how much they couldn’t survive without her adorableness and glares.

“We get the arc first.” Hopeless held her gun to Storm’s head. “Inkless, grab their horses.”

“Oh no! What are you doing? Where are you taking us?” Pennsylvania clung to his trusty steed, which wasn’t so trusty since it happily trotted over to Inkless.

“We aren’t taking you nowhere.” Hopeless pulled Storm back. “We don’t need the rest of y’all. Storm’s the only one who knows where anything is.”

“I ain’t leaving without Edna!” Storm screamed, kicking Hopeless in the shins.

Cinders leaned over to Nebraska. “She’s got to be desperate to be using bad grammar.”

“Oh, alright! Gracie, grab that pig and get out of here.” Hopeless frowned while Edna gathered up all her remaining strength to glare at Hopeless for insultingness.

Gracie gently lifted Edna. Nebraska reached for her hand. “Please, Gracie. Don’t go with them. You desire better than this. If you join up with us, you won’t have to steal books anymore. We’ll help you write them.”

Gracie looked away, freeing her hand, and walked off. “Sorry, guys…I can’t.”

She mounted her horse.

“No! Please! You can’t leave us out here without any horses or water!” Pennsylvania pleaded, grabbing the reins of Hopeless’s horse.

Hopeless pointed her gun at Pennsylvania’s head. “Who says?”

“I do.” Nebraska stepped forward, his hand on his holster.

“You want to have a showdown, huh? Okay, then prepare to draw!” Hopeless signaled for Inkless to come forward.

“But he doesn’t have any paper!” Martin pleaded for him.

“Here. Use mine.” Hopeless tossed him a notepad, and he scribbled away, but Inkless was too fast for him and sketched something before he could even draw a balloon.

“They don’t call me QuickDraw for nothin’.” Inkless blew the dust off her markers and stuck them back in her holster. The outlaws rode off, leaving them horseless in the middle of nowhere.

***

“My feet are killing me. Now I know how my characters feel.” Grabber slipped her boot back on her swollen foot.

“Now, if I remember correctly, the arc was that way.” Pennsylvania tapped his chin. The rest groaned; they’d die before they found the arc if it was left up to Pennsylvania’s memory.

“Let’s face it, boss, we ain’t never gonna find that arc or Storm afoot.” Morrow slumped on a stump and the rest followed her laziness.

“Yeah, it’s toe hard.” Martin shook the rocks out of his boot.

Pennsylvania sighed, resting beside them. He’d travel across mountains, swim across oceans, and walk across the desert barefooted, if he could only remember where the arc was.

Cinders straightened up, squinting. “Where’s Nebraska?”

Martin glanced behind him. “I dunno—he was just here a minute ago, moaning that he was going to be fired because he was moaning about getting fired.”

“Maybe he deserted us and become an introvert,” Savannah suggested.

“Nah, he wouldn’t have left his balloons here otherwise.” Maddie dumped them out of his saddle bag.

“Yeah, all five hundred and sixteen of them,” Martin counted.

“Guys!” Nebraska burst out from a bush, jumping up and down and proving to them that he had not turned into an introvert. “I did it!”

“Oh, you quit?” Martin smiled.

“I don’t quit unless I’m fired,” Nebraska retorted, crossing his arms.

Pennsylvania stepped up. “You will be quitting soon if you don’t tell us what you did.”

“Don’t worry, boss, after this, you won’t never want to fire me again!” Nebraska leaped back into the bushes.

“I never wanted to fire you in the first place…” Pennsylvania mumbled as they waited for Nebraska to return.

“I saw a group of Mexican travelers passing by.” Nebraska popped out of the bush with a rope. “And, thanks to my irresistible charm and wit, I finagled them into letting me have these!” Nebraska pulled on the rope. “Everybody, I’d like you to meet our new traveling companions!”

They gasped. “llamas?!”

“Well, I was hoping to get penguins, but this was the next best thing.” Nebraska stroked one of the llama’s ears affectionately.

“Nebraska! This isn’t a Disney movie!” Pennsylvania croaked.

“But I like Disney movies!” Nebraska frowned.

“Ugh,” Pennsylvania groaned. “You’re my worst nightmare. If you weren’t so annoying, I might actually fire you.”

“What are their names?” Savannah walked up and petted one.

“The one with the pierced ear is Crazy, the one with the knit cap is Kooky, and the one that doesn’t have anything is Cranky.”

“How appropriate.” Morrow snorted, hopping on Crazy along with Savannah. Cinders and Grabber hurried and jumped on Kooky so that the three men were left with Cranky.

“Nice,” Pennsylvania groaned, getting on anyway. The llama caravan traveled along the desert until they came to an ancient Indian burial ground just as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

Skeletons of murdered characters guarded the entry with notes in their hands that threatened to take vengeance on the writers who killed them. Beside them, rocks with engravings of clowns and horror movies towered over them, warning incomers of the fate that would overtake them dare they enter.

Pennsylvania gulped. “The arc is in there.”

TO BE CONTINUED…