Welcome to the Jungle (9 page)

Evie leaned against 2-Tor, feeling dejected. They'd
had
a way to root the eighth continent, but she had lost it.

Rick prattled on. “This time tomorrow, the collision will have already happened. Australia is in danger. Preventing its destruction has to be our number-one priority.”

“I reckon I know a way to solve this here predicament,” Sprout said. 2-Tor tilted his head curiously at the young boy. The big crow clearly appreciated the assistance Sprout had provided in the rescue operation. Sprout took a deep breath. “What if we look for a replacement root?”

“But I thought you said that Professor Doran didn't have any more roots?” Evie asked, her pulse rising. Sprout's last suggestion sounded too good to be true.

“I said that
Professor Doran
didn't have any more. But, remember, the old prof didn't invent the Amazonian Super Root; he just collected one. He told me that he found it in a rainforest in northern Brazil.”

“Does that mean that we could really locate another?” Rick sounded as shocked as Evie felt.

Sprout smiled. “I'll need the
Roost
's GPS to pinpoint the exact area, but it shouldn't be too much trouble.”

Evie felt her hopes rise. Another scavenger hunt was about to begin—this time for a reclusive root.

THE NEXT MORNING, THE
ROOST
WAS ON ITS WAY TO THE AMAZON RAINFOREST BEFORE RICK HAD
time to pick the sleep gunk out of his eyes. He hunched over the hovership's controls, struggling to stay awake. Normally, 2-Tor would have been piloting, but the bird's new organic wings lacked the mechanical dexterity of his old robot body, so he couldn't grip the flight wheel. Meanwhile Sprout, Evie, and 2-Tor analyzed data from the
Roost'
s scanners and orbital satellites to find the exact location of the super root.

Suddenly, the big blue blur of rushing water below them became the big green blur of rushing treetops. They reduced speed so Sprout could check the satellite data they had collected and compare it to the rainforest underneath them.

“Hoo-wee!” the little cowboy shouted, startling the others. “I see the grove right down there!”

Rick felt a warm rush of excitement. He didn't know where they'd be without Sprout. He knew so much about the super root and other plants, not to mention he was pretty good in a rescue operation. Rick hoped Sprout liked him as much as he liked Sprout.

Ahead, there was a round hole in the tree cover about the size of a football stadium. They flew over the hole, soaring past thick tangled vines.

“The
Roost
's scanners indicate we have arrived at the correct destination,” 2-Tor observed.

Shaking Rick's shoulder to get his attention, Evie said, “So let's go! Bring the
Roost
in for a landing.”

“Come on, Evie, I can't! If I try to land the
Roost
in the glade the hover engines might burn up every super root down there.”

“Rick's right,” Sprout agreed. “I reckon we should find another place to land and approach the grove on foot.”

“Sheesh!” Evie threw up her hands in frustration. “Nobody ever sides with me.”

They found a small gap in the tree canopy a couple miles south of the grove, taking advantage of natural camouflage provided by the local flora. The leaves and bark of the
Roost
were different colors from those of the surrounding trees, but a person would have to be highly observant to notice anything amiss.

“Stay focused,” Rick urged them as they packed canteens, backpacks, and other standard adventuring provisions. “If we don't find the super root and anchor the eighth continent by sunset, it will be too late.”

“Thanks for the words of comfort, Rick,” Evie said sarcastically.

Rick ignored her jab, and the four travelers left the
Roost
behind. Sprout led the way, hacking through the dense undergrowth.

A stentorian roar filled Rick's ears—the sound of billions of insects singing their songs. The trees were titans, and their leaves applauded each gust of wind. The howls and screeches of countless animals came from all around him. “Are we safe walking around like this?” he asked.

Sprout slashed through a clump of knotted branches, opening a path. “Sure! Why, any animals out here are more scared of us than we are of them. You just gotta watch out for snakes.”

Rick nodded. “Keep your eyes on the ground. Got it.”

“Naw, they hang out in the trees up there. Once in a while they'll drop right on your head!”

Rick ducked reflexively. Evie giggled.

2-Tor raised a feathery finger in the air. “If I recall correctly, the most dangerous animal in the Amazon is the mosquito.”

Rubbing his arms worriedly, Rick thought,
Don't eat me, Mister Mosquito. I taste terrible. I swear.

Sprout hacked away at a dense thicket. Evie helped pull away the fallen vines. The boy said, “Here's an interesting riddle. What animal has destroyed more lives in the Amazon than any other?”

“Hmm . . .” Evie rubbed her chin. “Flesh-eating piranhas?”

Rick said, “I'm going to go with 2-Tor and say mosquitoes.”

“Wrong!” Sprout sliced through the wall of roots, exposing a clearing. “The answer is—”

“Fore!”

A high-speed white projectile flew past them, nearly knocking Sprout's head off. The golf ball bounced across the ground and rolled into a sand trap.

Golf ball? Sand trap?
Rick slapped his cheek a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Pristine buzz-cut grass stretched before them. To their left was a golf green, complete with a skinny flag sticking out of the hole. In the distance, beyond the golf course, there was an expanse of pastel buildings, pinks and turquoises and yellows, tall hotels and condominiums. At the center of it all was a gray spire, like the tower of a medieval castle. The whole area, castle included, was surrounded by the forested wall of the Amazon jungle.

Rick was about to ask,
What is this place?
when he heard: “Dagnabbit! Them kids got in the way of my shot! I'm taking a mulligan.”

“You already took three mulligans, Scotty. You can't take another one.”

“Hah? Herb, if those kids blocked your shot, you'd make us go back to the front nine and give me a five-stroke penalty.”

Rick, Evie, and Sprout watched as two old men marched up the fairway to the green. The first was a short bald man in a flannel shirt and navy suspenders who fanned himself with a scottish flat cap, which seemed much too hot to wear in the sweltering jungle. The other was a big man with an enormous gut, a shock of white hair, and a nose like a stoplight. His trousers were so brightly colored that they hurt Rick's eyes. Following behind the two men were two bags of golf clubs on robotic plastic pink chicken legs. The robo-bags walked close behind their owners.

“Hey, Scotty, you know I think these kids might've come out of the jungle!”

“The jungle? That's crazy. Hey, you kids, did you come out of the jungle?”

The Lane siblings stared stupidly at the two old men. Sprout grinned, looking like he was getting a kick out of the whole thing.

Herb shook his golf club at them. “Hey, you kids! Do I have to bop you with my five-iron? Wake up!”

“Wha . . . what is this place?” Rick asked.

“This place? Are you kidding?” Herb snorted in offense. “Why, this is New Boca!”

Evie raised an eyebrow. “New . . . Boca?”

“Yeah. You know. Like
Boca Raton
. What are you, deaf?”

“Hah?” Scotty put a hand to the side of his head.

Herb shouted in Scotty's ear. “I said they're deaf, Scotty. The kids are deaf.”

Scotty adjusted his hearing aid. “The kid's a chef? Good, the food here is terrible.”

The white-haired man started to grimace but then his robo-bag nudged him. He pulled out a putter and stepped onto the green. He pointed with his club at the town beyond the golf course. “You gotta be over sixty-five to live in New Boca, but I'm sure you can find water and supplies down in the shopping district. Now shoo, rug rats. We gotta finish our game or I'll miss the early-bird special.”

“Hah? The dirty nerd vessel?”

“Scotty, that doesn't even make any sense. Meanwhile your golf bag looks like it's about to lay an egg. Grab your sand wedge and take your shot.”

“The chef kid's making a sandwich? Good, I'm hungry.”

“Uh, I think we're going to get going,” Rick said. But the two men just continued bickering and so the bird, the cowboy, and the brother and sister tiptoed away from the putting green and into New Boca.

The streets smelled of fresh asphalt and the buildings looked brand new, as if the whole thing had sprung up overnight. Highly chlorinated fountains stood smack in the middle of each intersection, shooting water into the air. Old ladies roamed in packs, power-walking in nylon tracksuits that matched the pastel buildings around them.

A group of serving-bots rolled past pushing food carts. Rick thought about snatching some food off the carts. He was starving. But one look at the food—tuna noodle casserole, Metamucil, and big glass candy dishes filled with a variety of prescription medications—changed his mind.

The storefronts they passed were similarly themed. Here was the yarn store. There was the pet store (all it sold was cat food and kitty litter). At the end of the road was a store where you could rent black-and-white movies on video cassette.

“This place is weird,” Sprout observed.

“Yeah, I know,” Rick replied. “It's almost like it fell from the sky.”

“Look!” Evie yelled, pointing as she ran over to a big wooden sign. Letters had been carved and then painted pink and gold. It read: “Welcome to NEW BOCA . . . A development of the Condo Corporation.”

“Condo Corp? Oh man!” Rick adjusted his glasses in irritation. “What is up with those people? And why are they so obsessed with Florida?”

“I can't even reckon how many trees they must have chopped down to build this place.” Sprout kicked the sidewalk.

2-Tor squawked. “According to my calculations, more than sixty thousand flowering plants and trees were cut down to make room for this community.”

Rick took out his pocket tablet and examined the digital map. “The data I've gathered here says the glade with the super root is on the other side of New Boca.”

Evie stomped her foot. “If Condo Corp messed with the super root, I am gonna mess with them.
Wha-bam!
”

“Vesuvia is in prison,” Rick said. “So who is running Condo Corp now?”

“I dunno,” Evie replied, “but first things first: How do we get to the super root?”

“We could try to skirt around the perimeter of the town,” Rick suggested. “Stick to less-densely populated areas.”

A deep, harsh growl from behind them interrupted this line of thought. Rick turned to see a nine-foot-tall pink plastic gorilla looming. He wore a rather snazzy tuxedo, custom-fitted to his Buick-sized frame, and carried a dainty plate piled high with half-sour pickles.

“Oh!” Evie yelped, startled by his arrival. “Hello. Nice monkey.”

The robot gorilla roared. He dropped the pickles and raised his hands, which morphed into whirling circular saws before their eyes. The blades screamed like anguished goats.

“Not nice monkey! Not nice monkey!” Evie took off down the street.

Rick thought this was the best idea she'd had in a while. He ran after her. A group of old ladies saw the stampeding robo-gorilla and power-walked for cover.

At the end of the road Rick, Evie, Sprout, and 2-Tor darted into a corner boutique. Jeweled necklaces were mounted on the walls. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. And little crystal animals stood proudly in display cases, their gem eyes sparkling.

The robo-gorilla sliced the door in half and forced his way inside, his broad shoulders knocking out big chunks of the doorframe and wall.

“You know, I know the head of Condo Corp, and she's not gonna be too happy to find out that you ruined one of her precious developments,” Evie taunted, clearly hoping that the gorilla would be able to see reason.

He didn't.

Instead, he smashed the figurines into glitter, sent the necklaces flying off the walls, and tore a chandelier free of its mounting.

“Guess he hasn't met Vesuvia, huh?” Evie mused.

Rick didn't have a chance to mention that he wondered if perhaps Vesuvia had been the one to send the gorilla in the first place—it was pink after all—because before he knew it, the three of them burst through the exit door at the back of the store and stopped short.

A woman stood before them. She was young but hard-featured. Over her Kevlar bulletproof vest and black commando pants she wore a wrinkly gray cloak, which on closer inspection Rick realized was made out of the hide of an elephant. She was holding a bowzooka, a dangerous weapon that was a mix between a crossbow and a shotgun.

Rick had seen people like this before. A poacher. A kind of hunter who shot and collected rare animals illegally. But behind them, the gorilla was sawing through the exit door. This poacher was their only hope.

“Please, Miss,” Rick begged the silent woman. “You've gotta help us. This robot's after us. It's trying to chop us up.”

She looked at the three children before her. The robot behind them was more than halfway through the door. Her gaze shifted to the tall black crow standing upright before them.

Without a word, she fired her bowzooka.

Dozens of tranquilizer darts flew from the bow in a spray, each needle taking the shape of a mosquito. Several caught 2-Tor in the breast and side as he instinctively shielded Evie with his wing. Sprout dropped to the ground. Evie cried, “Hey, don't shyaaarrrgh . . .” as another blast caught her with a couple darts. She and 2-Tor fell to the floor and were still.

Something pinched Rick's arm. He looked down and saw one of the darts embedded in his shoulder. He pulled it out and stared at it. A second later it became clear that while the dart was staying the same distance away, fresh black asphalt was getting closer. He landed hard on his face.

Rick rolled over to see Sprout leap from the ground like a tiger from the brush. He knocked the bowzooka up, sending a blast of darts into the air. The woman growled and Sprout ripped the bowzooka from her hands. He swung it, attempting to hit her in the face, but she was too quick. She leaned back, let the butt of the weapon swish by, and then lunged at Sprout, catching him with an elbow to the jaw.