Welcome to the Jungle Read Free

agent, had barely looked at her daughter since Vesuvia’s incarceration.
    Diana’s lungs seized up whenever she thought about her mother’s diamond-hard glare. That judgmental shake of her head. Diana didn’t want to give her mom or anyone else reason to suspect she was still on Vesuvia’s side.
    As they reached the end of a long corridor, Diana’s mother opened a set of heavy steel doors and the two Maple women stepped through. The room beyond was vast and rectangular with a high arched roof. Every surface—walls, ceiling, and floor—was covered with blocks of icy-blue metal. In the center of the room was a desk made of deep blue stone, and on it was an enormous flatscreen monitor, which displayed the bald head of an older gentleman. But the face wasn’t a video as much a representation, lines of code that bent and danced as the visage moved. This indirect and unsettling method of communication was the Director of Winterpole’s preferred way of dictating instructions to his employees. Diana had never seen the Director in person, and neither had any of the other junior agents.
    Both side walls of the Director’s office were lined with risers, formed of smooth-cut blocks of honest-to-goodness ice. “Sit,” Diana’s mother hissed, pulling her to a spot where they had a good view of the Director.
    Diana winced as she sat down. The icy seat chilled her to the marrow.
    Before the desk stood a man wearing the standard three-piece suit of a Winterpole agent. He had trim hair, dark except for streaks of white on both sideburns, and was in the middle of a presentation to the Director and the assembled audience. Diana knew him to be one of Winterpole’s top operatives—and also the man who had made it his mission to arrest George Lane.
    Mister Snow cleared his throat and continued speaking.
    â€œApproximately two hours ago, at oh-six-hundred Greenwich mean time, our aerial scanners detected an intercontinental collision. A pink UPO, or unidentified plummeting object, made impact on the surface of the landmass dubbed by the outlaw George Lane as ‘the eighth continent.’ This collision knocked the former garbage patch into a southern-trending ocean current, and now the continent is on a doomsday course for Australia. Estimated time of impact is in just under forty-six hours. We must intercept the eighth continent and arrest George Lane before it’s too late.”
    When the Director replied, his voice was a dark and menacing mix of static and subwoofer. “Winterpole lacks jurisdiction beyond the seven continents. You know that, Snow. Every good agent knows that. Why would you bring me this information?”
    â€œYes, Director,” Mister Snow bowed his head, “but do not forget Statute 76A-501—”
    â€œI never forget a statute!” the Director snapped. “76A-501: when one landmass threatens another, Winterpole may intervene, regardless of jurisdiction. Agents! Activate the Winterpole Crisis Clause.”
    A high-pitched honking noise filled the air. Diana and some of the other junior agents covered their ears. Panels opened along the walls, and a gaggle of white geese spilled out like rats escaping a flooded subway tunnel. “HONK! HONK! HOOOOOOONK!” they screeched. The stampede of geese flooded into the halls, filling all of Winterpole Headquarters with noise.
    Wincing, Diana looked at her mother. “Couldn’t we come up with a more efficient alarm system?”
    Diana’s mother hushed her impatiently.
    Straightening to his full height, Mister Snow smiled like he’d just won the world’s creepiest lottery. “Mister Director, agents of Winterpole, now that the Crisis Clause has been activated, I must report a disturbing fact. George Lane has threatened the sovereign continent of Australia. We must intervene and legislate his illegal continent. George Lane must be taken into custody. He must be brought