“I won't take up much of your time, Mr. Eric,” said Limpy. “I just want to ask your advice.”
Ancient Eric gulped the snake down a bit further.
“What advice?” he said.
“Well,” said Limpy, “I was wondering if you knew where I could find some humans.”
For a moment Limpy thought Ancient Eric was going to choke.
“What do you want with humans?” demanded Ancient Eric when he'd recovered and swallowed the snake.
“I want to try and find out why they hate us so much,” said Limpy. “So I can try and do something about it.”
Ancient Eric thought about this for a long while. Then he spoke.
“I'll tell you why humans hate us,” he said in a low voice.
Limpy moved closer.
“Humans hate us,” whispered Ancient Eric, “because they've always hated us. It's the way things are. We have to accept it, just like we have to accept that flying insects are attracted to highway lights and crawling insects are attracted to wombat poo. It's a fact of life.”
Limpy sighed. He remembered that Dad had been one of Ancient Eric's students.
The snake stuck its head out of Ancient Eric's mouth and rolled its eyes.
“You're not listening to him, wart-brain,” it said to Ancient Eric. “The young bloke doesn't want to accept that his loved ones are going to end up as waffles. He wants to go on a quest to discover great truths that will bring peace and security to cane toads for countless generations to come. Got it?”
The snake made scornful noises as if it couldn't believe it was being eaten by such an idiot.
“Do you mind?” snapped Ancient Eric to the snake. “When I want advice from my dinner, I'll ask for it. Get back inside.”
The snake rolled its eyes again and slithered back down Ancient Eric's throat.
“He's right,” said Limpy quietly. “That is what I want to do.”
“See,” said a muffled voice from inside Ancient Eric.
Ancient Eric leaned forward and turned his head so one angry pink eye glared straight at Limpy.
“I know exactly what you want to do, young man,” rumbled Ancient Eric. “I'm just trying to save your scrawny neck.”
Limpy opened his mouth to protest, but Ancient Eric didn't give him a chance.
“What do you think would happen if I told you where you could find humans?” he continued in a voice that sent shivers down Limpy's glands. “If I told you about a place up the highway to the north where humans stop to put gasoline in their cars? A place so far away, even I haven't been there. A place so dangerous, no cane toad has ever returned from it more than two centimeters thick. What do you think would happen if a young squirt like you tried to go there and make contact with humans, eh?”
Limpy shivered, even though the night air was as warm as mouse blood.
“Two words,” said Ancient Eric. “Count them. First word, horrible. Second word, death.”
Limpy's throat sac was quivering so much he thought for a moment his dinner wanted to join in the conversation too.
“Understand?” demanded Ancient Eric.
Limpy nodded.
“Are you sure?”
Limpy nodded again.
“Then go away.”
Limpy couldn't move. He tried to open his skin pores as much as possible to get more oxygen into his body. Mum was always telling him to do that when he was rigid with anxiety.
After a bit his throat sac relaxed just enough for him to speak.
“There is just one more thing, Mr. Eric,” he croaked.
“What?” grunted Ancient Eric.
Trembling, Limpy looked Ancient Eric straight in the eye.
“Which way is north?”
“The gas station?” gasped Charm.
She stared up at him, eyes wide with horror.
“You can't go there, it's too dangerous,” she pleaded. “Goliath reckons there are humans there with fingernails the color of blood, and some of them have got blue hair, and teeth that try and jump out of their mouths.”
“Shhh,” whispered Limpy. “Keep your voice down. I don't want Mum and Dad to hear.”
He took Charm by the hand and led her out of her room and through the thick foliage to the edge of the swamp, where they couldn't be overheard.
“Humans aren't like us,” said Charm desperately. “They sleep at night and go out in the sun. Goliath reckons it's 'cause they've got small brains. What if they make you go out in the sun? You'll burn up.”
Limpy looked down at his sister's dear, anxious face.
“I'll stay in the shade,” he said gently. “I'll get a pair of those black glasses humans wear. Don't worry.”
But he could see that Charm was very worried.
“What if it's too cold for you at night where humans live?” she said frantically. “In our biology class Ancient Eric told us that humans make their own body heat. They plug themselves into electricity or something. Stuff we can't do. What if there's no warm rocks or bitumen for you to sit on? You'll catch a cold and die.”
“I'll find a sleeping human,” said Limpy, “and sit on it.”
He tried not to let Charm see him shudder at the thought.
“You mustn't go,” pleaded Charm, flinging her arms round him. “It's too dangerous.”
“I have to,” said Limpy. “I have to try and stop humans from hating us.”
Gently he explained to her how none of the family would ever be safe until he did.
Charm frowned and nodded.
“Okay then,” she said. “I'm coming too.”
Limpy sighed. This was what he'd dreaded. Now he'd have to say stuff he'd rather not hear.
“You can't,” he said. “Even though I'm going to be very careful not to get sunburned or catch a cold, it still might be a little bit dangerous.”
He paused, wishing there was a less scary way of saying it.
There wasn't.
Limpy watched the faint light of dawn creep through the swamp. He found himself looking at his favorite climbing bush and his favorite mud hole and his favorite patch of slimy moss, hazy in the soft gray light.
The memories that rippled through him were soft too, but they still made his glands ache.
Dad showing him how to eat a freshwater prawn without getting the spikes up his nose.
Mum letting him and Charm make a slippery slide down her back.
Him and Charm making Mum and Dad wet themselves with laughter on family picnics by pretending to be mud worms with ticks in their tummies.
Limpy looked down at Charm's anxious face.
“It wouldn't be fair to Mum and Dad,” he whispered, “if we both went and neither of us came back.”
Charm squeezed him even tighter. He put his arms round her and hugged her and felt like he never wanted to let her go.
“Don't worry,” he said, “I will be coming back. That's what I want you to tell Mum and Dad. But wait till I'm far enough away that they can't try and stop me.”
Charm didn't say anything, and for a moment he thought she was thinking of more reasons why he shouldn't go.
Please, he begged her silently, don't.
She didn't.
Instead she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
“They'll be so proud when I tell them,” she whispered. “You think they don't care about what happens on the highway, but they do. I've seen Mum when she dusts your room. Sometimes she stops and puts her head in her hands.”
Limpy felt his eyes getting hot. He wanted to go to Mum right now and hold her head gently in his hands.
He didn't.
Charm kissed him on the other cheek.
“Bye,” she whispered. “Be careful.”
“I will,” said Limpy, to himself as well as to her.
“You'll never make it,” sneered a blowfly, buzzing past Limpy's head. “The gas station's miles away. You'll get heat exhaustion and wander round in circles till you collapse in a heap and galahs peck your warts off
.”
Limpy ignored the blowfly.
The day was too hot for snacks.
Instead he plodded on, wishing that Queensland highways had big shady leaves next to them instead of straggly grass and sunbaked dirt that half-cooked your feet.
To take his mind off the scorching sun, Limpy tried to remember happy things. Like the top puddle he'd found in a shady ditch earlier on. He'd sat in it for ages, drinking in the delicious muddy water through his thirsty skin.
Now, plodding northward, his mouth felt dryer than a lizard's lounge room.
“Give up, you big handbag,” yelled an ant. “You haven't got a hope.”
Limpy changed his mind about snacks and his tongue shot out.
Ants were small, but they were juicy.
It was easier at night.
Limpy could smell water at night, and several times he found swamps not too far from the road.
Sitting in one, he closed his eyes for a rest and sadness bubbled up inside him like that gas you get from eating dung beetles.
He missed Charm. He'd never been away from her for a whole day and half a night before.
Limpy sighed.
He hoped she'd stay away from Goliath and traffic until he got back.
With a weary groan, Limpy dragged himself out of the swamp and headed north again.
As he trudged, to take his mind off worrying about Charm, he worried about how hot the sun would be the next day.
The next day the sun was hot enough to melt a maggot.
Limpy staggered along the edge of the highway from one tiny patch of shade to the next, desperately wishing he had some of that white liquid humans rubbed on their skins in the sun.
He was so thirsty he'd drink anything.
Cars and trucks roared past, covering him with dust and fumes.
By the middle of the day he was almost a goner.
His head was spinning and he could see things shimmering on the road ahead. Stacks of flat rellies that vanished as you got closer. Pools of cool water that disappeared when you tried to walk through them. A red can with brown liquid dribbling out of it.
Limpy tried to walk through the can and banged his head.
It was real.
So was the liquid.
Limpy let it trickle over his skin and drank it in gratefully.
It left him very sticky, but able to trudge quite fast.
The sun was starting to get a bit lower, but nowhere near as low as Limpy's spirits.
As he plodded on, he stared down at his legs. They were so tired they were numb.
He couldn't feel them.
It was like being a tadpole again.
Limpy wished he was a tadpole again, and that a bird would swoop down and snatch him up and fly to the gas station with him in its beak.
Even in its lower digestive tract.
Anything, so long as he didn't have to stagger any further.
Limpy wondered whether if he lay down and tucked his legs under him, birds would think he was a big tadpole.
He looked up to see if any big birds were flying overhead.
Instead he saw, towering into the sky at last, the big plastic signs of the gas station.
Limpy sat in the gas station parking lot, staring.
Not at the cars or the trucks or the buildings or the litter. At the area of bush fenced off next door.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Inside the enclosure were kangaroos and koalas and emus and possums and parakeets and goannas and turtles and … and …
And humans.
Stack me, thought Limpy.
The humans were patting the kangaroos and stroking the koalas and grinning at the emus and winking at the possums and chatting with the parakeets and taking photos of the goannas and introducing their kids to the turtles.
At no stage was any human trying to run over any animal with any form of vehicle.
Limpy's heart was racing.
He started to hop toward the enclosure.
It was what he'd always dreamed of.
Friendly people.
He saw a group of humans standing next to a caravan at the edge of the parking lot. He changed direction and hopped toward them.
No point competing with kangaroos, koalas, and possums, he thought, when I can have this lot all to myself.
He wondered what they'd do first. Pat him? Stroke him? Introduce him to their kids?
One of the women in the group pointed to him and screamed.
Limpy stopped.
Perhaps she's just pleased and excited to see me, he thought hopefully.
But she didn't look very pleased.
She looked pretty upset.
So Limpy wasn't that surprised when the other humans in the group bent down, picked up rocks, and charged at him.
Limpy hopped frantically in circles as rocks whizzed past him.
The humans were getting closer.
Limpy forced himself to slow down enough to hop straight. He flung himself into the thick undergrowth at the edge of the parking lot.
Trembling, he crouched in the long grass while the people stamped around and shouted things.
He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he was pretty sure they weren't offering to share any ants with him.
After a while the people went back to their caravan.
Limpy stayed in the grass, weak with shock and disappointment.
I don't get it, he thought sadly. Humans can be friendly to possums and koalas, why can't they be friendly to cane toads?
A horrible thought hit him.
Perhaps, a long time ago, just after the dawn of time, a cane toad had done something really nasty to a human. Something so bad that humans had hated cane toads ever since and wanted to squash them at every opportunity.
If I knew what it was, thought Limpy, I could say sorry.
He struggled to think what it could have been.
Perhaps a human had chucked a can out of a car and a cane toad had chucked it back and hit the human on the head.
It didn't seem likely. Cane toads were pretty hopeless throwers.
Perhaps one of Goliath's ancestors had stabbed a car tire with a stick and made the car drive off the highway and crash into a termites' nest.
That didn't seem likely either. If it had happened, humans would be going out of their way to drive over termites as well.
Perhaps humans were just jealous of cane toads because cane toads had much longer tongues, which meant they got to eat all the juiciest insects and humans got left with the scaly centipedes and dust mites.
Limpy frowned.
It didn't seem enough, somehow.
Not for mass murder.
He knew there must be something else, something he hadn't thought of. He thought again till his head hurt, but it was no good, so he stopped worrying about the past.
Instead he worried about the future.
What I need, thought Limpy, is a way to make cane toads more popular with humans.
While he mulled this over, he watched a group of humans in the wildlife enclosure gazing at some big tropical butterflies. The humans had wide eyes and joyful smiles, and the butterflies looked pretty happy too.
Limpy sighed.
I wish I was a butterfly, he thought.
He looked down at his body and wondered if he could pretend to be a butterfly.
No hope. Even if he stretched the saggy skin under his armpits out as far as it would go, it still wouldn't look like wings in a million years.
Plus butterflies didn't have warts.
Limpy sighed again.
Suddenly the ground shook.
Limpy looked up fearfully. A huge truck was rumbling toward him. Limpy was about to turn and run when he saw that the truck was stopping.
He saw something else. Painted on the side of the truck was a large platypus and a large echidna and a large kookaburra.
Lucky things, thought Limpy. Some creatures are so popular with humans, they even get their own
special trucks.
Then Limpy realized the platypus picture wasn't of a real platypus. It was a picture of a platypus costume with a human in it. Limpy could tell it was a human from the way the platypus was standing with its bottom sticking out.
Same for the echidna and the kookaburra.
Limpy stared at the pictures, puzzled.
Why would humans want to disguise themselves as animals and birds?
He didn't get it, but he had to admit they were great disguises. The kookaburra's feathers and the echidna's spikes and the platypus's fur looked so real, they'd even have fooled a kookaburra and an echidna and a platypus.
And, thought Limpy, a human behind a steering wheel.
Then Limpy had an idea that made his warts tingle with excitement.
An idea that made his long journey suddenly seem worth it.
An idea, he thought joyfully, that could keep Charm safe and bring peace and security to cane toads for countless generations to come.
The underpants were just what Limpy was looking for.
They had purple swirls on them and yellow blobs and green ripples and really bright orange around the edges.
Perfect, thought Limpy.
He had to have them.
The only problem was, they were lying on the floor of a parked caravan, just inside the open door.
Not just any caravan.
The rock throwers' caravan.
Limpy hopped closer, warts prickling with fear, desperately hoping that the humans from the van were over in the enclosure, patting possums or chucking rocks at each other.
He hopped onto the caravan step and listened.
Nothing.
He hopped into the van and crept around a pair of furry slippers and sidled toward the underpants.
Suddenly a human voice boomed out.
Limpy went almost as flat as Uncle Roly, just from fear.
Then he saw something flickering in the gloom.
A human face in a box, speaking.
Other humans were lying in front of the box, asleep.
Limpy stared, relief flooding through his glands. He'd heard older family members talking about this box. Without it, they'd said gratefully, heaps more humans would be out at night driving over cane toads.
It was called “telly.”
Limpy was tempted to look at it for longer, but that would have been too dangerous, plus he had more important things to do.