Toad Heaven (4 page)

Malcolm straightened up and hopped away on his huge, muscular legs.

Limpy watched him go, speechless with shock, struggling to digest what Malcolm had just said.

Me take over from Ancient Eric? thought Limpy. That's crazy. The idea's never even entered my head. Not even the time Dad was going on about how he reckoned if there was ever a cane toad prime minister of Australia, it would be me.

Charm and Goliath appeared at Limpy's side.

“Don't be too hard on Malcolm,” said Charm. “He does have good ideas.”

“Okay, he gets the odd little thing wrong,” said Goliath. “Like your brain being squashed. I checked your ears after your accident and you didn't have a single bit of brain sticking out of them.”

“Thanks,” said Limpy dully.

“But you can't argue with a couple of million extra food portions,” continued Goliath, running his tongue over Charm's back and scooping up a mouthful of flying insects.

“And you have to admit,” said Charm, “he is pretty nice.”

Limpy sighed miserably as he watched Charm and Goliath hop away and join the other cane toads hurrying after Malcolm.

“Just stay off the highway,” Limpy called after them.

Charm and Goliath were already so far ahead he wasn't sure if they could hear him.

He shouted it again, but this time he knew they couldn't because his voice was drowned out by the roar of a motor.

A motor nearby.

Much closer than the highway.

Limpy spun round.

A big dark familiar shape with lights on the front crashed out of a clump of bushes, heading straight for him.

Limpy's guts turned to jelly.

The four-wheel drive was back.

L
impy did a frantic backward somersault into a tangle of creepers and wriggled down as far as he could into the dark boggy undergrowth.

The four-wheel drive roared closer.

Go back, begged Limpy. Go back to your natural habitat.

The four-wheel drive stopped.

Trembling, Limpy peered out of his hiding place.

The four-wheel drive was standing only about six wombat-lengths away, growling hungrily, its brake lights red and angry, its exhaust a ghostly vapor in the moonlight.

A jolt of terror stabbed through Limpy as a light snapped on at the front of the vehicle, even brighter than the headlights. It was a spotlight on the roof. Limpy saw a human arm reach out of the driver's window and swivel the spotlight slowly from side to side.

A big white circle of light slid across the under-growth.

Startled centipedes and snails froze, little mouths hanging open.

Don't worry, thought Limpy grimly. He's not after you.

Limpy knew what this human was after. This was a human who was prepared to drive his vehicle off the highway and get it all muddy just so he could kill more cane toads.

Limpy shivered.

The spotlight was moving slowly across the area between where he was hidden and the swamp in the distance. So far it hadn't lit up any cane toads, but Limpy knew that Charm and Goliath were out there somewhere. And Mum and Dad. And all the rellies.

If they stayed there, trembling in the undergrowth like him, the spotlight would seek them out sooner or later, and then those big fat tires would hunt them down.

I've got to do something, thought Limpy desperately.

The cool mud against his cheek helped him think clearly, and suddenly he had an idea.

He dragged himself out of the undergrowth, hurried round to the front of the vehicle, and hopped into the dazzle from the spotlight.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Over here!”

Limpy knew the human couldn't understand what he was saying, so he jumped up and down and waved.

The four-wheel drive jolted into gear and started moving toward him.

Limpy turned and hopped toward the swamp.

“Stay hidden!” he yelled to the others. “I'm going to lure him into the deep part of the swamp. Even a four-wheel drive can't go far when it's up to its axles in swampweed and eel slime.”

Limpy could hear the engine roar getting louder and feel the lights on his back getting hotter, and he knew the human was gaining on him.

He hopped faster.

Then the one thing he hoped wouldn't happen happened.

His crook leg gave way. Suddenly he wasn't hopping in a straight line anymore. He was curving round toward the residential end of the swamp. Desperately he tried to straighten up, but it was no good. If he didn't stop, he'd be leading a four-wheel drive through Mum's living room. All their homes would be crushed. So would any rellies hiding under the beds.

Numb with exhaustion and disappointment, Limpy threw himself onto the ground and waited for the human to drive over him.

But even as the huge thumping tires got closer,
Limpy saw a flash of angry red warts out of the corner of his eye and heard a familiar voice yelling.

“Over here, you mongrel!”

Goliath.

“Come on!” roared Goliath, dancing around in a fury and waving a stick at the four-wheel drive. “Catch me if you can, big bum!”

Limpy held his breath as the four-wheel drive swerved, missing him by less than the width of a non-flattened uncle, and thundered after Goliath.

Limpy raised his head and watched with shaky relief as Goliath led the vehicle toward the deep part of the swamp.

He felt like cheering, right up until Goliath tripped on a twig and disappeared headfirst down a wombat hole.

“Oh no,” croaked Limpy, scrambling to his feet.

He could see other cane toads peering from their hiding places, anxious faces gleaming in the spotlight.

“Get back under cover!” yelled Limpy.

“It's okay, everyone,” said another voice loudly. “I'm here now.”

Limpy's mouth fell open as the massive figure of Malcolm sprang into the spotlight. Malcolm paused for a moment, flexed his perfectly formed thighs, then headed for the swamp with huge, muscular hops.

The four-wheel drive charged after him.

I don't believe it, thought Limpy as he tried to keep up. Malcolm's risking his life for us. Perhaps I've been wrong about him. Perhaps underneath all that handsomeness and ambition, he's a decent bloke after all.

Ahead, Malcolm suddenly veered to one side.

Limpy saw that Malcolm wasn't heading for the deep part of the swamp anymore; he was heading for Ancient Eric's cave.

What had happened? Had one of Malcolm's legs gone crook as well?

No, Limpy realized. Malcolm was doing this on purpose.

“Look out!” yelled Limpy, but it was too late.

As Malcolm leaped over Ancient Eric's rock, the human saw it for the first time and hit his brakes. The four-wheel drive went into a skid and slammed into the rock.

The sound of the impact echoed across the swamp.

Then silence, except for the chugging of the engine.

Limpy wondered if the human was dead. He kept on wondering this as he crept warily toward the still vehicle.

Until, slowly, the driver's door started to open.

Limpy looked around in alarm. Rellies and family members were emerging from their hiding places, clearly visible in the moonlight.

I've got to distract the human, thought Limpy. Stop him from seeing all the others.

Limpy flung himself forward.

Then he spotted Malcolm in the shadows near the vehicle.

Perhaps Malcolm was having the same idea.

But it wasn't Malcolm who hopped toward the pair of feet that were emerging from the driver's door.

It was Charm.

Limpy saw Malcolm give her a little push and Charm look up at him adoringly, then turn and hop bravely toward the feet.

Limpy couldn't believe it. The wartbag was sacrificing Charm to save his own skin.

“No!” yelled Limpy.

He lunged forward and somehow managed to get to the feet first, so it was his body the warm human fingers closed around instead of Charm's.

Limpy felt himself being lifted high into the air.

Defiantly he looked at his captor.

And felt his poison glands go wobbly with relief.

The human had a beard and was wearing a khaki shirt and shorts.

It was plumage Limpy recognized. He'd seen photos of similar humans in magazines chucked from passing cars. He'd watched blokes like this one in
action on portable tellies in human campsites. He'd heard koalas whisper dreamily about this wonderful plumage after they'd eaten too many gum leaves.

He's a conservationist, thought Limpy happily. He hasn't come to kill us, he's come to save us.

Even though Limpy was out of breath, he tried to yell that to the others, and kept trying until he saw the big gleaming needle in the human's other hand and felt it jab into his tummy warts and everything went black.

“O
uch,” said Limpy.

Daylight was stinging his eyeballs.

Something else was stinging his back. Worse than stinging, hurting. He hadn't felt pain like it for years, not since the truck had run over his leg.

I don't get it, thought Limpy. Why's my back hurting? The needle went into my tummy, not my back.

A horrible thought hit him. Perhaps it was a fork wound. Perhaps the human had tried to eat him while he was unconscious.

Would a conservationist do that? Limpy hoped not, for all their sakes. But his back was killing him.

What had happened?

Limpy tried to look over his shoulder, but that only made the pain worse.

I need a mirror, he thought.

He looked around, but all he could see was blue
plastic. No puddles, no shiny metal, no spare lizard eyeballs, no reflective surfaces of any kind.

Just smooth curved plastic walls.

Stack me, thought Limpy. I'm in a bucket.

He knew he should be scared, but his back was hurting too much for that.

I know, thought Limpy, grimacing. I'll do a wee and look at my back in that.

Before he did, he glanced up in case the bucket happened to be standing close to a side-view mirror on the four-wheel drive.

It wasn't. The bucket was half under what looked to Limpy like a folding table, the kind humans used for picnics and washing toddlers on after they fell into mud holes.

“Ouch,” said Limpy again. Tilting his head was making his back hurt even more.

But suddenly he didn't care. Above him he saw, hanging over the edge of the picnic table and clearly visible against the sky and the trees, several large sheets of paper covered in squiggly lines and colored patches.

Maps.

Limpy knew what maps were because he'd seen people using them in cars. Maps were what humans used to find places and start arguments.

Places like, for example, national parks.

Limpy's warts tingled with excitement.

Perhaps that's why the conservationist captured me, he thought. Perhaps it's part of a plan to transport all cane toads to the safety of national parks.

Limpy was wondering how he could arrange for Charm and Goliath and Mum and Dad and the other rellies to go to the same national park as him when a drop of something wet plopped onto his head.

Rain?

For a breathless moment, Limpy pictured the bucket filling up with rain and his floating to the top and escaping and rounding up the family so they could all travel together.

Then he tasted the trickle running down his cheek.

It wasn't water, it was saliva.

Limpy looked up.

A face was staring down at him. A big face with floppy ears and sad eyes and a droopy wet mouth.

For a second Limpy thought the conservationist had shaved off his beard during the night.

Then he realized it was a dog.

“Good,” said the dog, without any enthusiasm that Limpy could hear. “You've woken up at last. We thought you'd carked it.”

I still might, thought Limpy grimly, if my back's anything to go by.

“Not much fun, these conservation projects, are they?” said the dog mournfully.

Limpy wondered how much the dog knew about what was going on. Maybe the dog was the conservationist's assistant. Humans would probably prefer dog assistants because they could kill their own fleas whereas human assistants, so Limpy had heard, needed chemical sprays.