Toad Away

  “Stop,” said a loud voice. “Stop, for swamp's sake.”

  It wasn't the butterfly.

  Limpy spun round and got such a shock his mucus started wobbling even though the sun had dried it almost solid.

  Cane toads.

  A large group of them, hurrying toward him, alarmed expressions on their faces.

  Stack me, thought Limpy. Amazon rellies.

  The one at the front, who was even bigger than Goliath and a lot more noble-looking, hopped over to the pumping station and peed onto the smoking oil.

  “Hey,” said Limpy angrily. “It took us ages to get that started.”

  “That's right,” said the butterfly, wincing as it straightened out its wings. “I may never feature in a television nature documentary again.”

  Limpy wished Goliath was here instead of in the forest teaching stink beetles how to march. He'd put these dumb rellies in their place.

  The big cane toad looked down at Limpy with a stern expression.

  “Do you have any idea what would have happened if you'd set that oil alight?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Limpy. “I do.”

  “You want war with the humans?” said the cane toad, glancing at the other cane toads in disbelief.

  “Yes,” said Limpy. “I do.”

  “Well, we don't,” said the cane toad. “We've got enough enemies in the forest as it is. Every second living thing around here wants to either eat us, drown us, grow fungus on us, use us as flooring material in a nest, or take our brains out and let their kids play in our skulls. The last thing we want is humans after us as well.”

  For a fleeting moment Limpy was tempted to ask the rellies what their secret was for keeping humans off their backs.

  Then he remembered he didn't care anymore.

  All he cared about was avenging Charm.

  “The mongrel humans killed my sister,” said Limpy.

  The big cane toad looked at Limpy, his face softening.

  “I see,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

  The other cane toads looked pretty sympathetic too. For a moment Limpy thought they were going to leave him alone so he could get back to blowing up humans.

  No such luck.

  “These tragedies happen,” said the big cane toad.

  “Some of us have lost loved ones too. Just a few, fortunately. It's a big forest. We stay away from the humans and hope they stay away from us.”

  Is that it? thought Limpy bitterly. Is that the ancient wisdom Charm gave her life for? That's pathetic. We could have stayed at home and worked that out for ourselves. Even Goliath could.

  “Are you from the other side of the river?” asked the cane toad.

  “Australia,” muttered Limpy.

  The other cane toads looked puzzled.

  “I've heard of Australia,” said the big cane toad.“A bird told me about it. Incredible place. The only things that kill toads there are humans, right?”

  Limpy nodded, wishing the whole crowd of them would hop off and squirt bugs or something.

  The big cane toad put his arm round Limpy's shoulders.

  “I'm Raoul,” he said. “I'd like to hear more about Australia, and you look like you could do with a drink and some moisturizer on those warts. Come back to our swamp. Be our guest.”

  It was a kind offer, but Limpy wasn't interested.

  As Raoul steered him away from the pipeline toward the forest, Limpy came up with a desperate plan.

  Push Raoul over, elbow the other cane toads out of the way, hop back to the pipeline, grab another see-through butterfly, and get the oil alight before they caught up with him.

  Limpy took a deep breath, then flung himself at Raoul.

  He'd tried to push Goliath over a few times, so he knew it wasn't going to be easy. But Goliath was a floppy sack of wombat guts compared to Raoul, whose muscles felt like steel bridge cables as Limpy bounced off them.

  Caught by surprise, Raoul staggered backward.

  Limpy turned and started hopping as fast as he could, praying his crook leg wouldn't send him on a curve into the river.

  He needn't have worried.

  Before he'd done two hops, Limpy felt Raoul's powerful hand on his shoulder. His legs, even his good one, weren't nearly strong enough to propel him out of Raoul's firm but gentle grip.

  “I'm sorry,” said Raoul. “I know how you feel. But I have to insist you be our guest.”

  Limpy didn't bother struggling.

  Pretty soon Goliath would be here to rescue him.

  Then, thought Limpy, we'll ditch these wimps and get back to our war.

  Come on, Goliath, thought Limpy. I'm sick of waiting. Come and rescue me.

  Limpy lifted his head from the pillow of leaves and peered through the forest gloom.

  No sign of Goliath.

  In the distance Limpy could just make out Raoul and the other cane toads at the edge of their swamp, having a fight with a swarm of giant wasps. The Amazon rellies were obviously crack shots with their poison glands. The wasps were copping it bad.

  Please, Goliath, thought Limpy. This is the perfect time to rescue me. While those wimps are all walloping wasps.

  Still no sign of Goliath.

  For the millionth time, Limpy tried to wriggle out of the creeper knotted around him. No good. Raoul had tied it too tight.

  “Mongrel,” muttered Limpy.

  He was so angry with Raoul he decided not to feel grateful that Raoul had placed little pads of moss wherever the creeper would have cut into his skin.

  Limpy scowled at the distant cane toads.

  He wasn't impressed by the Amazon rellies’ squirting skills either. All he wanted to do was get back to what was really important.

  Blowing up humans.

  If Raoul was a real fighter, thought Limpy grimly, he'd know that commandos don't rest till the war's won. And if he was a real rellie, he'd help me avenge Charm.

  “Pssst.”

  Limpy looked up and saw a familiar face peering at him out of a tangle of leaves some distance away.

  Goliath.

  At last.

  Limpy's warts tingled with relief.

  From the wavy mud streaks on Goliath's face and the way his bottom lip was jutting out, Limpy could tell he was planning a daring rescue.

  Except why wasn't Goliath coming over?

  Perhaps he's got slug juice in his eyes, thought Limpy, and he's not sure if it's me.

  “Goliath,” whispered Limpy. “It's me. Over here.” But Goliath stayed crouched in the undergrowth. He put a finger to his lips and glanced around the forest.

  Then he started doing hand signals. Big complicated ones that went on for ages. At first Limpy thought Goliath was saying he had burrowing worms in his armpits and was planning to try and smoke them out using the sun and see-through butterflies.

  “Later,” whispered Limpy. “After we've set fire to the oil.”

  Goliath shook his head and repeated the hand signal. This time Limpy recognized it. It was the gesture Aunty Pru had given Goliath the time she was teaching philosophy to Charm, and Goliath wanted her to watch how swallowing dragonflies made his tummy ripple.

  “Be patient,” the hand signal said. “I'll be with you in a while.”

  A while? thought Limpy. Why not now?

  “Goliath,” said Limpy. “Untie me now.”

  Goliath tried a new hand signal.

  “You're going for a swim?” exploded Limpy. “You can't go for a swim now.”

  Limpy saw Goliath frown, then give up on the hand signals.

  “Hang on, Limpy,” croaked Goliath. “I'm training a special rescue unit to rescue you. They're coming along well for raw jungle recruits, and as soon as they stop eating each other, in a day or two at the most, we'll be coming to liberate you. Hang on.”

  “Goliath,” hissed Limpy.“Get over here. The Amazon rellies aren't watching. You don't need a special rescue unit.”

  But Goliath had slipped away into the jungle, leaving only a tr
embling leaf and a glob of mucus with half a maggot in it to show he'd ever been there.

  Limpy's warts felt like they were about to explode with frustration.

  He glared back over at the Amazon rellies, still busy blasting wasps.

  Goliath could have used a chain saw to cut the knots and they wouldn't have noticed.

  “Look at that lot,” hissed a voice from somewhere very close. “Are we Amazon toads good squirters, or what?”

  Limpy looked round, startled. It wasn't Goliath's voice.

  A cane toad appeared from behind a clump of reeds.

  Limpy tried not to stare. The cane toad was about the same size as him, and about the same age, and had exactly the same squashed leg.

  Stack me, thought Limpy.

  He'd seen plenty of cane toads with squashed bits, including squashed heads, which this bloke had as well. But he'd never seen anyone with exactly the same squashed leg.

  “Do you agree?” said the cane toad. “That Amazon toads are good fighters?”

  He gave Limpy either a smile or a scowl. Limpy couldn't be sure because the poor bloke's face was almost flat on one side.

  Limpy nodded, partly because it was true and partly because he felt sorry for a person who couldn't even let other people know if he was happy or angry.

  “You're right, we are good fighters,” said the cane toad. “Trouble is, we're fighting the wrong enemy. We should be fighting the slimy murderous black-hearted pimply humans.”

  Limpy stared at him.

  The other cane toad's expression was still hard to work out. Except for his eyes. They were glinting with so much dark hatred they made Limpy shiver.

  With delight.

  “I agree,” said Limpy.

  “I know you do,” said the cane toad. “Wait here. I've got something that will help us do it.”

  Limpy strained hopelessly against the creeper knotted around him.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” he said.

  The very squashed cane toad hopped away into the undergrowth, leaning over a bit so he didn't go into a curve.

  Amazing, thought Limpy. He even hops like me.

  Soon he reappeared.

  Limpy saw he was holding something wet wrapped in a leaf.

  The cane toad looked around furtively, checking that the other cane toads were still busy in the distance, and sidled over to Limpy.

  “My name is Flatface,” he said. “Do you know why?”

  Limpy didn't want to hurt his feelings.

  “Um … because … because you always face the street, like a block of flats?”

  As soon as Limpy said it, he felt like kicking himself in the bum. An Amazon cane toad probably wouldn't even know what a street was. Or a block of flats.

  Flatface didn't seem to have noticed.

  “When I was little, a human bulldozer did this,” he said, pointing to his face and leg. “If I hadn't seen the bulldozer at the last moment, it would have killed me.”

  “Murdering mongrels,” said Limpy.

  “I lay in the mud,” continued Flatface. “Crushed, broken, with insects laughing at me. That's when I vowed revenge on the human species.”

  Limpy felt his throat sac tighten.

  “I've spent my life planning that revenge,” continued Flatface. “And now I'm ready. Except those fools over there won't give me the help I need.”

  Flatface glared across the swamp at the other cane toads, then held the leaf parcel out to Limpy.

  “This is the sap of three different jungle vines,” he said. “Mixed together it makes a powerful poison. A tiny amount will kill many humans.”

  Limpy stared at the parcel. This was it. Precious ancient knowledge. And it was being handed to him on a leaf.

  “It needs one more ingredient,” said Flatface. “Our poison, from our glands. But my glands were crushed. And those idiots won't give me any poison because they're too gutless and wartless to start a war with humans.”

  Limpy felt his own glands tingling.

  Flatface was staring at him, dark eyes big with hatred.

  “You and I,” said Flatface, “working together, can kill many, many humans.”

  He started undoing the knots that were holding Limpy.

  “Do you like that idea?” he asked softly.

  Limpy thought of poor Charm lying under a human bulldozer. Maybe even suffering insect jeers before she died.

  He nodded.

  He did like that idea.

  He liked it very much.

  Despite his crook leg, Flatface was a fast hopper. By the time they arrived at the ditch, Limpy was out of breath. So when Flatface pointed out the first lot of humans they were going to kill, Limpy knew why he wasn't feeling quite as joyful about it as he should.

  It's because I'm pooped, thought Limpy.

  He gasped in some more air through his pores. Then he peered over the edge of the ditch again at the humans in the village.

  No, he still wasn't tingling with delight and revenge. In fact, he was starting to have a bad feeling.

  Limpy looked at Flatface, wondering how he was going to break the news.

  “They're the wrong ones,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” said Flatface.

  “The wrong humans,” said Limpy.

  “No, they're not,” said Flatface. “We're here to kill humans and these are humans. Look, two legs, horrible smooth skin, runny noses most of them. But not for long. When we add our little surprise to their drinking water, they won't be doing any more running, not them or their noses.”

  “There's been a misunderstanding,” said Limpy.

  “This isn't what I was expecting.”

  These humans weren't on bulldozers. There wasn't a single one wearing a hard hat or overalls. Most of them weren't wearing anything at all. They were strolling around the village chatting, or sitting playing with children.

  Limpy stared at a mum and dad dangling their little kid upside down by his feet.

  Mum and Dad used to do that to me, thought Limpy. When I swallowed a snail without peeling it first.

  Deep in his guts the bad feeling got bigger.

  It wasn't an unpeeled snail, it was something else.

  “What were you expecting?” said Flatface. “Oh, I get it. Larger numbers, right? Look, don't worry, we're starting small to test the dosage, but then we'll move on to bigger groups.”

  Limpy tried to nod. He wanted to agree, for Charm's sake, but something inside him was saying no.

  “Look at them,” said Flatface, scowling at the humans. “Innocent laughing faces. You wouldn't guess how murderous their brains are, would you? Nature can be very dishonest sometimes.”

  Limpy tried to imagine each one of these humans on a bulldozer, ruthlessly destroying trees, making sandwich-spread out of the forest, driving over Charm.

  He couldn't.

  “Come on,” said Flatface, unwrapping the leaf parcel. “Let's have a squirt of your pus in here and we're in business.”

  Limpy stared at the houses around the edge of the village. They were made from twigs and dried leaves and looked small and friendly compared to the human houses back home. Limpy tried to persuade himself that inside each one was a bulldozer or a truck or a pile of really sharp pie crusts.

  He couldn't.

  “I can't,” he said.

  Before Flatface could stop him, Limpy flung himself out of the ditch and hopped back into the forest as fast as he could.

  He just wanted to be on his own, to think about Charm and trucks and bulldozers, to smash through the undergrowth like this with thorny vines slashing his face.

  To feel angry again.

  It didn't happen.

  Flatface grabbed him from behind.

  “That's not fair!” yelled Limpy as he struggled in Flatface's grasp. “Your leg is just as crook as mine. How come you can hop faster? How come you're stronger?”

  “Ancient Amazon health diet,” said a nearby scorpion. “And he broods a lot.”

 
Then something even more unfair happened.

  Flatface dragged Limpy over to a large pit dug deep into the forest floor and pushed him in.

  Luckily the damp leaves on the bottom were soft, and as Limpy thudded into them his warts were only dented rather than completely flattened.

  When Limpy's head stopped thumping, he squinted up. Flatface was glaring down at him over the edge of the pit. He looked pretty small, and Limpy knew that meant one of two things.

  Either Flatface had shrunk, or the mouth of the pit was a long way up.

  Limpy wished he'd paid a bit more attention in the math lessons Dad had tried to give him, instead of spending most of the time gazing longingly at the mud slide. He had a horrible feeling the correct answer was the second one.

  “Gone shy about squirting pus, eh?” said Flatface.“I think you'll change your mind when you meet your new friends down there. I'll be back later to collect it. Bye.”

  He disappeared.

  I wonder what he means by new friends, thought Limpy. Probably not cane toads who like mud slides.

  The answer came from the other end of the pit. It started with some loud hissing, followed by quite a lot of slithering and the sudden appearance of several pairs of red and yellow eyes staring at Limpy.

  “G'day,” said Limpy. “Um, are you those giant caterpillars Raoul was telling me about? The ones that can inflate your bodies to look like big snakes?”

  “No,” said a grumpy voice. “We're snakes who can fluff our scales out to look like very poisonous giant caterpillars. That's why humans dig pits to catch us. They like to watch us do it.”

  “Oh,” said Limpy. “I see. And er, do you, um, eat cane toads?”

  “No,” said the grumpy voice. “Not eat. Any more questions before we suck your insides out and use your skin for bedding?”

  “Not really,” said Limpy.

  The question he wanted to ask someone was whether he should spray the snakes to defend himself and risk some of his poison pus falling into the hands of Flatface.

  It probably wasn't worth asking the snakes that.

  To make conversation, Limpy was about to ask the snakes if by any chance they fancied joining him in a war against humans on bulldozers, when something prodded him in the back.