Toad Heaven (2 page)

Goliath blushed modestly.

Then the happy group hurried toward the swamp to tell everyone else the good news and share the flying insects with them.

Limpy glowed with pleasure. Right up until a sudden violent noise made him spin round.

He froze in stunned disbelief, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing.

He'd never seen anything like it, not once in his whole life.

He heard Goliath and the others croak with amazed fear as they saw it too.

A vehicle, headlights blazing and motor revving, had driven off the highway and was crashing through the undergrowth, coming straight at them.

“H
ide!” yelled Limpy.

He grabbed Goliath and dragged him into a bog hole.

The vehicle thundered toward them.

Limpy could feel Goliath's big warts trembling as they crouched in the mud.

I don't believe it, thought Limpy, trembling too. A vehicle driving through the bush. Away from the highway.

It wasn't natural.

“It isn't possible,” croaked Goliath. “It can't be happening.”

But it was.

Limpy gave Goliath's arm a reassuring squeeze, then peered out of the hole to make sure the others were safely hidden. They were. All around him in the moonlight Limpy could see legs and bottoms wriggling
into hollow logs and clumps of weed. Out of the darkness came the sounds of other animals panicking.

“Look out!” croaked Goliath.

The vehicle roared past Limpy's face. It was so close Limpy felt his lips pulled out of shape by the slipstream and his mucus seared by diesel fumes.

He was still sneezing long after the vehicle had disappeared into the dark bush and its distant engine could be heard no more.

Limpy could still see it, though. The horrible image of its rear end bumping over rocks and logs was burned into his brain.

It was a four-wheel drive.

Limpy's mucus was dry with fear as well as diesel. He'd heard the rumors about four-wheel drives. How four-wheel drives didn't need roads. How four-wheel drives could go anywhere. But he'd thought they were just scary stories. “Eat your mashed leeches,” he'd heard a mum say to some little cane toads once, “or a four-wheel drive will come and get you.”

Now he knew it was true.

“Three croaks for Uncle Nick!” said Aunty Ellen.

She scraped a handful of flying insects off Uncle Nick and held them up.

“And,” she added, “three even bigger croaks for Limpy and Goliath!”

The uncles and aunts and cousins and neighbors that were crowded around the edge of the swamp in the moonlight gave three hearty croaks. And a couple of burps for good luck.

Limpy tried to look pleased. He tried not to show the others how anxious he was feeling. He tried to stop straining his ears for the sound of the four-wheel drive coming back.

He looked around at his loving relatives and tried to convince himself that they were right. That the driver of the four-wheel drive wasn't a murderous cane toad hunter. That he or she had just fallen asleep and veered off the highway accidentally and had been woken up by the sound of hysterical wombats and was already back on the highway and gone forever.

Think positive, he told himself. This is a celebration. Look happy.

“Limpy got the Uncle Nick idea from watching an echidna,” Goliath was telling the rellies. “You know how anteaters have sticky tongues? So the ants stick to them?”

Limpy realized the rellies were nodding and looking admiringly at him. They were waiting for him to say something.

“Goliath helped me develop the idea,” said Limpy.

He decided for Goliath's sake not to go into detail. Goliath did it instead.

“Before Limpy thought of using Uncle Nick,” said Goliath proudly, “I put sticky sap on my tongue.”

Now the rellies were looking at Goliath admiringly.

“My tongue was even stickier than an anteater's,” continued Goliath. “Actually, it was a bit too sticky. I spent last night up one of the railway-crossing light poles with my tongue stuck to the wood. Took three cousins hanging off each leg to rip me down.”

Goliath poked his tongue out so everyone could see the splinters of wood.

The rellies weren't looking quite so admiring now. Some of them looked a bit ill.

Poor Goliath, thought Limpy. He was only trying his best.

“Uncle Nick and I couldn't have done it without Goliath,” said Limpy. “Three croaks for Goliath!”

The rellies who weren't feeling queasy gave three more croaks.

Limpy felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Well done, son. We're proud of you.”

Limpy turned, and Dad gave him a hug.

“I always knew you'd be a leader,” said Dad. “When you were a tadpole and that flood washed away most of your brothers and sisters and you got wedged in that rock, I knew you were destined for great things.”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Limpy, throat sac trembling
with pride. “But I don't want to be a leader, I just want to keep us safe.”

He saw Mum had hopped over too. She was standing there, looking down at Uncle Nick with a sad expression on her face.

Limpy realized all the flying insects had been picked off Uncle Nick and eaten. He was just about to offer to get Mum some more when she spoke first.

“Poor Uncle Nick,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a moth.

Limpy felt a pang in his guts. Was Mum upset about him and Goliath chucking one of her brothers around?

“Your Uncle Nick was a dreamer,” continued Mum. “He used to spend hours gazing up at birds and planes, wishing he could fly. And now, thanks to you, Limpy, he can.”

She gave Limpy a tearful kiss and hug.

“We're so lucky,” she said. “Having you to keep us safe. We're the luckiest cane toads in the whole wide swamp.”

Limpy enjoyed the hug for a few moments, but then found himself thinking about the four-wheel drive again.

What if it came back?

How safe would Mum and Dad and the others be then?

Standing there, watching Mum and Dad lick the last insect legs off Uncle Nick, Limpy felt his warts tingle. Suddenly he had a new plan. A plan so big and scary it made his glands ache.

He tried to pull himself together.

Stop being a jelly bug's wobbly bits, he said to himself sternly. This is urgent. You've got to tell this plan to the others now, straightaway, tonight.

Most important, you've got to tell it to Ancient Eric.

Limpy felt faint at the thought.

Ancient Eric was very scary.

Maybe not tonight, he said to himself. Tomorrow. Or next week.

He decided to have another hug with Mum. Before he could, there was a buzz of excited whispering among the relatives. The crowd parted to let someone through.

Limpy looked up.

Aunty Ellen was coming toward him. She was leading someone carefully by the hand. The relatives were all gazing in awe, even the queasy ones. Limpy saw who it was and gulped.

Ancient Eric.

L
impy could hardly believe it.

Ancient Eric never came out of his cave under the big rock. The rumor was that even moonlight was too strong for his ancient skin, which had gone completely smooth and white with age. Ancient Eric didn't like visitors either, though that wasn't so much to do with his skin as his really bad temper.

I've got to risk it, thought Limpy. I've got to tell him my plan.

As Ancient Eric got closer, Limpy opened his mouth.

But no croaks came out.

“Let's get it over with,” snapped Ancient Eric to Aunty Ellen.“I've got a snake stew waiting for me, and I want to get back before the snakes escape.”

Aunty Ellen cleared her throat.

“Limpy and Goliath,” she said. “Ancient Eric would like to say a few words.”

The swamp fell silent.

Ancient Eric looked at Limpy and Goliath, then at Uncle Nick, then back at Limpy and Goliath.

Limpy could feel Goliath trembling next to him. He hoped Goliath didn't wet himself. It wasn't a good thing, doing a wee in front of someone as important as Ancient Eric.

“Well done, boys,” boomed Ancient Eric. “Thanks to your ingenuity and imagination, cane toads will be able to gather flying insects in safety and live in peace, harmony, and security forever. Now where's my dinner?”

Ancient Eric started heading back toward his cave. The relatives gave three more croaks even louder than before.

Limpy took a deep breath and shouted above the din, “No, they won't!”

The swamp fell silent again. Blood drained from warty faces. Limpy heard Mum gasp. Goliath crossed his legs.

Ancient Eric turned and glared at Limpy.

“What do you mean?” he growled.

Limpy felt his throat sac go tight with stress. He opened all his skin pores to let some relaxing air in. Everyone was looking at him.

“We're not living in peace and security here,” said Limpy, trying to keep his voice steady. “Humans
around here hate us. That four-wheel drive earlier tonight was probably looking for cane toads to kill. It could be back tomorrow with loads of other vehicles.”

Limpy heard the rellies murmuring to one another. Nobody told Ancient Eric he was wrong. Not ever.

Limpy took another deep breath. Now for the hard bit.

“I reckon,” he said, “we should find a place where humans will leave us alone. And all move there.”

Everyone stared at him, dumbstruck.

“It's all the excitement,” said Dad apologetically to Ancient Eric. “It's overheated his brain.”

Ancient Eric's eyelids drooped lower over his tired pink eyes.

“When you've lived as long as I have,” he rumbled at Limpy, “you'll know that humans don't drive off the highway looking for cane toads. That human tonight was either lost or asleep or taking a shortcut.”

The rellies croaked their agreement.

“On the highway's a different matter,” continued Ancient Eric.“Humans will always try to kill cane toads on the highway. Always have done, always will do.”

“That's right, your worship,” said Goliath nervously. “That's why we have to fight back. Is it okay if I go to the highway and chuck sticks at trucks?”

Ancient Eric nodded. Goliath hopped gratefully away.

Limpy was about to warn Goliath to stay off the highway, but Ancient Eric was speaking again.

“Humans will always hate cane toads,” he rumbled. “Before you were born, young Limpy, a group of human bushwalkers came through here and killed six of us with a folding chair.”

Some of the older rellies shuddered.

“Humans have always hated cane toads,” repeated Ancient Eric, “and they always will. There is no place where we can be completely safe from them.”

Limpy took another deep breath.

“What about national parks?” he said.

The other cane toads looked at one another, puzzled.

“National parks?” they murmured.

“What do you know about national parks?” growled Ancient Eric.

“A butterfly told me,” said Limpy.“My sister Charm was there too. She …”

Limpy broke off, a sudden thought churning his guts.

He hadn't seen Charm all night. She'd promised to help with Uncle Nick, but she hadn't turned up.

Where was she?

“Go on,” snapped Ancient Eric.

Limpy struggled to push the worried thought away.

“The butterfly told us,” he continued, “that national
parks are places where every living thing is protected. Where no living thing is ever shot, trapped, poisoned, stabbed, run over, blown up with bike pumps, or bashed over the head with cricket bats. Or folding chairs. I reckon we should all go and live in one.”

Limpy stopped, out of breath, heart going like a dung beetle's back legs.

Nobody made a sound. Limpy glanced at the rellies. They were all staring at him, frowning doubtfully like they had when Goliath told them he could fit ninety beetles in his mouth at once and still have room for a slug.

“A fine romantic yarn,” said Ancient Eric. “Butterflies are always spinning romantic yarns, trying to impress ticks. Where is this dopey insect?”

Limpy's throat sac drooped.

“Goliath ate it,” he said quietly.

“I see,” rumbled Ancient Eric. “Okay, son, you've wasted enough of my time. There aren't any national parks. National parks are a myth. A fantasy for feeble minds. Think about it. If national parks existed, don't you think we'd already be living in one? Nature's given you a great gift, young man. A brain bigger than a leech's entire digestive system. Start using it.”