Toad Heaven (7 page)

Too late. The eyes were all looking at him.

“Hmmm,” said a voice. “We seem to have a traveling companion.”

I'm done for, thought Limpy. It's a packed tourist train. There's nothing humans on holiday like more than practicing their golf or tennis on a cane toad.

He waited for the swish of a club or a racquet, or a trail bike if the human was into motorcross.

It didn't come.

The only thing that struck Limpy was a thought.

Wait a minute! he said to himself. I understood the voice, so these can't be humans.

At that moment the train swung round a curve and moonlight spilled into the carriage.

Limpy looked around nervously.

Staring down at him were a large number of sheep.

“G'day,” said Limpy, desperately trying to remember if he'd ever heard stories of sheep savaging cane toads.

He didn't think he had. Not unless some of the four-wheel drives on the highway with dark tinted windows had sheep driving them.

“Evening,” said the nearest sheep. “Going far?”

“To the national park,” said Limpy. “If I can find it. I know it's in this direction.”

The sheep turned to the other sheep. “Any of you know where the national park is?”

The other sheep shook their heads.

“Sorry we can't be more help,” said the sheep to Limpy. “Hope you find it.”

“Thanks,” said Limpy. “What about you? Are you on holiday?”

“Not really,” said the sheep. “We're on our way to the slaughterhouse. To be killed and eaten by humans.”

Limpy stared.

That was awful.

“Come with me,” he said. “To the national park. All living things are protected there. Nobody will be able to eat you there, not if you don't want them to.”

“Thanks,” said the sheep. “But it wouldn't work. This is a locked carriage. At the other end we're put
into a locked truck. And taken to a locked slaughterhouse. Anyway, we've always known this is what would happen. We're, I dunno, sort of used to the idea.”

Limpy looked around at their placid faces with only a hint of sadness in their big soft eyes.

Stack me! he thought angrily.

As the train raced through the night, Limpy tried to persuade the sheep to let him rescue them and take them to a life of freedom and frolic in the national park.

It was no good. They were polite but firm.

Finally, sadly, Limpy gave up.

The conversation sort of petered out after that. Limpy didn't think it was fair to keep on about the wonders of life in the national park, the brilliant mud slides and the stunning views and the fragrant bogs, not to traveling companions who'd soon be chops and sausages.

T
he train had been slowing down for some time, and now it jolted to a stop.

Limpy peered through a crack in the carriage wall.

When his eyes got used to the sunlight, he saw a concrete platform with rows of metal fences.

“End of the line,” said one of the sheep. “Good luck. Hope you find the national park.”

Limpy looked around sadly at their kind faces.

He didn't know what to say. What could you say to traveling companions who'd be ending up as roast dinners?

Hope the gravy's not too hot?

It didn't seem right, so he just gave them a grateful smile and said “Thanks.”

As he squeezed through the crack in the carriage floor, he remembered something.

The virus germs.

Oh no, he thought. What if I've infected the sheep?

That wouldn't be fair, his new friends having to spend their last precious hours worrying about their health.

Then Limpy realized he was being an idiot. Humans wouldn't want to spread germs to every living animal, because if they did, they wouldn't have anything left to eat for lunch. The virus germs must just affect cane toads.

That's a relief, thought Limpy, though it wasn't much of one.

Limpy dropped onto the rusty beam under the train and looked around.

His warts prickled with fear.

Human feet in big work boots were clomping along the platform. Human feet he'd have to get past to find the national park.

Limpy looked around some more.

What he really wanted was a tunnel that led under the platform and under all the other scary human places outside and came up right in the middle of the national park, wherever it was—preferably next to a swamp.

He couldn't see one.

Which meant he'd have to go across the platform.

Limpy took a deep breath. He waited till none of the human feet were directly in front of him, made
sure he had plenty of mucus so his lips wouldn't dry out when he was hopping for his life, and hopped for his life.

The bright morning sun hurt his eyes. He couldn't see if any boots were aiming for him. All he could do was head toward the patch of shade on the other side of the platform.

Not too fast, he reminded himself. If you start going in a curve you'll end up somewhere fatal, like the ladies’ toilets.

Limpy felt his mucus drying up with the effort and the stress. He dreaded hearing that horrible cry humans give when they see a cane toad. The one that sounds like they've got a bog worm stuck in their throat and they don't like the taste.

The cry didn't come.

Limpy threw himself into the shade, gasping gratefully.

And saw to his relief that he was on a concrete ramp that led down into darkness. Could this be the tunnel he'd hoped for?

An ant was trotting toward him up the ramp. Followed, Limpy saw, by a swarm of other ants.

“Excuse me,” Limpy said to the first ant. “Is this the way to the national park?”

“Rack off, wart-head,” scowled the ant as he hurried past. “We've got a train to catch.”

Limpy was tempted to have breakfast, but the ants’ red bodies and red faces and red angry eyes didn't look that appetizing.

“Thanks for your help,” muttered Limpy. “Have a nice day.”

He turned away and headed toward the mouth of the tunnel. Before he reached it, he heard a loud cry behind him. Not, Limpy saw with relief as he spun round, from a human. From a sheep.

The sheep were being herded by the humans out of the train carriages and down wooden chutes. The first few sheep had frozen in horror and were staring at the approaching ants.

“Arghh!” screamed one of them. “Fire ants!”

Limpy watched, stunned, as the sheep tried to scramble back up the chutes in panic. Then they bolted. The humans were knocked sideways as a tide of frenzied sheep thundered across the platform. Toward, Limpy saw, his own panic rising, him.

Limpy spun back round desperately. He was trapped. Concrete walls rose up on both sides, too high to climb. Ahead was the tunnel, but soon it would be full of a frenzied stampeding mob.

Stack me, thought Limpy, weak with terror. I'm going to be trampled to death by sheep.

Then a voice rang out above him.

“Limpy. Grab my arm.”

A familiar voice.

Limpy looked up. And even though the pounding sheep feet were only meters away, he froze in amazement.

“Goliath!” he yelled, weak now for different reasons. Relief and quite a bit of delight.

“Grab my arm!” shouted Goliath, hanging off the concrete wall and reaching down toward Limpy.

“Yes!” yelled Limpy. “I'm grabbing, I'm grabbing. Stack me, am I glad to see you!”

He lunged up toward Goliath's arm.

Then, delight turning to anguish, Limpy remembered something.

The virus germs.

He pulled his arm away from Goliath's.

“No!” yelled Limpy above the thunder of the sheep. “Go away!”

G
oliath didn't go away.

Limpy felt muscular fingers grab the loose skin at the back of his neck. Suddenly he was dragged up the wall. Dust and wool and sheep saliva tickled his feet as the mob charged under him into the tunnel.

“Please,” Limpy begged Goliath. “You mustn't touch me.”

Goliath didn't seem to hear. He heaved Limpy onto the top of the wall, put his arm round him, and jumped with him down behind some wooden crates.

“We'll be safe here till the panic's over,” said Goliath.

No you won't, thought Limpy miserably, pulling away. You'll never be safe again. I've probably just infected you with virus germs.

Limpy could hear the sheep bursting noisily out of
the other end of the tunnel and milling around, with humans shouting at them.

I should be down there, he said to himself, glands aching with anguish. Flattened to a pulp by hundreds of sheep feet. At least I wouldn't have done this to poor Goliath.

Goliath was grinning at him.

“Stack me, you look pale,” said Goliath. “Must be the shock of seeing me. I'm pretty amazed I made it here myself.”

“Goliath …,”croaked Limpy.

The sooner Goliath knew, the better. Perhaps if Goliath lay down and put his feet up, the germs wouldn't affect him so badly.

Wouldn't kill him so quickly.

“There's something I have to tell you,” whispered Limpy.

Goliath wasn't listening.

“Talk about good luck,” he was saying. “You know those flying beetles you sent over to me yesterday? I mustn't have chewed one of them properly, 'cause it crawled back up my throat and gave me your message. About you saying you were dead when you weren't really. Stack me, I thought. If Limpy's saying that, he must still be alive. So I went looking for you. Couple of snakes with herbs on them told me where
you'd gone. When I heard you were definitely still alive, I was delirious. Nearly choked on the snakes. Got to the train just as you were jumping on and hopped on the back myself.”

“Goliath …,” said Limpy.

Goliath threw his arms round Limpy again. “You don't have to say it,” he said. “I know you're tickled pink, and I am too. Tickled pink you're still alive and tickled even pinker I can go on a quest with you instead of that oversized wartbag Malcolm.”

Limpy couldn't get a word out, partly because Goliath was hugging him so hard and partly because he felt so sad.

I've got the most loving cousin in the universe, thought Limpy, and I may have just killed him.

Limpy wanted to cry and never stop.

Instead, he pulled himself together.

It could be worse, he thought. I could have infected Charm as well.

Limpy struggled out of Goliath's arms and was about to break the awful news when he saw what was on Goliath's back.

A shiny pink plastic backpack.

Limpy recognized it. He remembered the day a child having a tantrum in a passing car had pulled the backpack off her doll and chucked it out onto the highway. Limpy had waited for the car to turn round and come
back, and when it didn't, he'd added the backpack to his drink can and chicken bone collection.

Now he stared at it in amazement.

Partly because Goliath had managed to squeeze it over his broad shoulders and partly because it was moving.

Something inside it was wriggling and kicking and grunting.

Stack me, thought Limpy. He's brought a bag full of bog worms to eat on the trip.

He saw that Goliath was glancing nervously over his shoulder at the bag.

“I was gunna explain about this,” said Goliath, pulling the bag off his back. He put it gently down and undid the flap. “What happened was …”

He was interrupted by a roar of fury from inside the bag. The flap flew open and an irate face appeared, glaring at Goliath.

Limpy stared in stunned horror.

“Charm,” he croaked, backing away. “No.”

“Mongrel!” yelled Charm at Goliath. “Kidnapper!”

She clambered out of the bag and advanced furiously toward Goliath. Then she caught sight of Limpy and screamed with delight.

“Limpy!”

She started coming toward him, an amazed grin on her little face.

Limpy backed away.

“Incredible,” said Charm. “You're alive! Goliath was telling the truth. I thought he abducted me 'cause he was jealous of my feelings for Malcolm.”

Limpy was desperately trying to get further away from Charm, for her sake, but the wooden crate at his back was stopping him.

“Of course I was telling the truth,” said Goliath indignantly. “When I worked out that Limpy was still alive, I knew he'd need our help. So I had to get you away from Mr. Handsome. Who I don't reckon is so perfect, if you want to know. I reckon some of those warts are fake. Dried dung beetles with the legs pulled off.”