Toad Heaven

  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.”

  Ancient Eric turned and headed back toward his cave. “Now perhaps I can have my dinner,” he muttered, “or what's left of it.” He called back over his shoulder, “If anyone sees any snakes with mixed herbs on them, they're mine.”

  The other relatives started to drift away. Limpy saw they were giving him sad, sympathetic looks. He'd seen bog weevils get looks like that, the ones who didn't have a brain because the space was taken up with an extra bottom.

  “How do you know?” Limpy wanted to yell. “How do you know there aren't any national parks?”

  But he didn't, because his head was throbbing with stress and his mouth was dryer than Uncle Nick's.

  “Poor love,” said Mum, stroking his warts. “You're a good boy, but you do have an overactive imagination.”

  Limpy nodded, though he didn't agree.

  “Be content with what you've done,” said Dad. He pointed to Uncle Nick. “Your invention's going to make flat cane toads a thing of the past.”

  Limpy nodded again, though he didn't agree with that either.

  Two seconds later, he was proved right.

  In the distance he heard a familiar sound. He prayed it was just sticks bouncing off trucks.

  But it wasn't.

  It was the unmistakable sound of wheels on the highway thumping over cane toads.

  “Goliath!” croaked Limpy. “Charm!”

  Limpy saw something was terribly wrong even before he got to the highway.

  As he scrambled through the undergrowth, he caught a glimpse of someone high above the road in the white haze of the railway-crossing light.

  A small figure flying through the air.

  A small figure whose every dear little wart he loved like his own.

  “Charm!” he yelled frantically, and flung himself toward the highway.

  What had happened? Had a vehicle smashed into his sister and flung her poor lifeless body into the air?

  Limpy didn't even want to think about the possibility. He wished something would remove the horrible thought from his mind.

  Something did. A large tree behind him, which he crashed into headfirst.

  Limpy lay on his back, dazed and frustrated, wishing that just once he could hop somewhere at top speed without his crook leg making him go round in circles.

  As soon as he was able to stand up again, he hopped a bit less fast to the edge of the highway. And stopped dead, staring in stunned disbelief.

  Charm was flying through the air again.

  But it wasn't a vehicle that had flung her up toward the railway-crossing light, it was Goliath.

  And her body wasn't lifeless, it was kicking gleefully and covered in something that looked to Limpy very much like sticky sap.

  Limpy realized other small sticky cane toads were flying, giggling, through the air as well. Squatting under the light were aunts and uncles, throwing the little cane toads up into the cloud of flying insects and catching them when they came down and throwing them back up again.

  Stack me, thought Limpy desperately. They're on the highway. Don't they realize the danger they're in?

  He was just about to point this out to them loudly and urgently when he noticed something.

  The sticky little cane toads had flying insects stuck all over them.

  A lot more flying insects, Limpy had to admit, than had been stuck to Uncle Nick.

  Then Limpy felt the road start to vibrate and heard a low rumble that got rapidly louder. Headlight beams suddenly punched through the darkness, and a vehicle came speeding round the bend in the highway.

  “Look out!” screamed Limpy. “A car!”

  The adult cane toads, gazing up at the golden cloud of flying insects, took a moment to realize what was happening. And when they did, most of them had to wait even longer for their little airborne assistants to drop back down into their arms.

  Limpy threw himself toward Goliath, hoping to catch Charm on her way down and drag them both to safety. But his crook leg gave way and he found himself hopping half a circle into the ditch.

  The car roared past. Limpy buried his head in his arms, trying not to hear anything.

  But he heard it anyway.

  The horrible squeal of a car swerving to take aim, and the even more horrible thump-thump pop-pop of tires running over cane toads.

  “Charm,” moaned Limpy to himself. “Goliath.”

  When the car had thudded over the railway crossing and accelerated away into the night, Limpy crawl
ed out of the ditch and squinted, trembling, at the road.

  There they were, on the tarmac, just as he'd feared.

  Four damp patches of pressed skin and flat warts.

  Weak with distress, Limpy edged closer, wanting to see if any of them was Charm or Goliath, and yet not wanting to.

  Before he could bring himself to look properly, he felt someone tugging the flap of skin next to his armpit.

  He looked down.

  It was Charm. She was grinning up at him, her dear little face glowing with excitement.

  “Look, Limpy,” she said. “I've collected enough dinner for a week.”

  Her sticky sap-smeared body was covered with so many flying insects it was like she had soft, multi-colored, frantically struggling fur.

  Goliath was squatting proudly behind her.

  “Better than Uncle Nick pizza, eh?” he grinned.

  Limpy was so relieved he wanted to hug them both. He also wanted to strangle them.

  “You could have been killed,” he croaked. He looked weakly at the aunts and uncles, who were brushing car dust off themselves and their flying-insect-covered offspring. “You all could have been killed.”

  Limpy's glands ached as he imagined Charm and Goliath squished onto the highway next to the other four flat rellies. Suddenly his warts burned with anger.

  “Why didn't you stick to my original plan?” he demanded. “I worked out that Frisbee method so you wouldn't have to go onto the highway. So you wouldn't end up flatter than cow poo with your brains baking on the bitumen.”

  Nobody said anything. The aunts and uncles glanced at one another nervously. Limpy realized they'd probably never seen him this angry, but he didn't care.

  “What maniac,” he said, “came up with the idea of doing it this way? Risking everyone's lives like this just to get a few extra flying insects a bit more quickly?”

  Goliath took a hop back. “It wasn't me, honest.”

  Limpy saw that Goliath was looking nervously up at someone or something behind Limpy.

  Then Limpy felt himself being lifted off his feet by the loose skin at the back of his neck.

  The other cane toads all took a respectful step back, and Limpy realized that a huge shadow had fallen over them.

  “It was me,” said a voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Limpy recognized the voice instantly. It was confident and loud, but with a soft wet hiss to it like the sound of a slug being sucked through a water rat's teeth.

  Malcolm.

  Limpy twisted round and found himself looking up at the biggest cane toad in the whole wide swamp.

  Malcolm was staring down at him. At first Malcolm's expression looked to Limpy like fond amusement. Then Limpy spotted something else in Malcolm's eyes.

  It was either hatred or indigestion.

  Malcolm gripped Limpy's neck skin even tighter.

  I don't think this is indigestion, thought Limpy.

  He desperately tried to stop his throat sac from wobbling. He didn't want Malcolm to see he was scared.

  Because he wasn't.

  Not really.

  Oversized wartbag, thought Limpy angrily. Just because you're big and strong and handsome and popular and both your legs work properly, that doesn't give you the right to risk the lives of innocent family members.

  Limpy decided to tell Malcolm that now.

  Malcolm lifted Limpy up level with his face.

  Limpy gulped. Malcolm's warts were huge. Each one was as big as a medium-sized dung beetle.

  Then Malcolm's eyes went cloudy, like lizard blood in water, and his face split into a smile as wide as a buffalo's bottom crack.

  “So, fourth cousin,” purred Malcolm. “Don't be offended, but it seemed to me that your flying-insect-gathering plan was a bit inefficient. Not to mention disrespectful to the sadly departed. So I offered these good folks my plan, which guarantees them forty-five percent more flying insects in thirty-five percent less time. Of course they accepted. I hope you don't have a problem with that.”

  “Actually,” said Limpy, struggling to stop his voice from wavering, “I do.” He pointed to the squashed rellies on the highway. “I have a problem with you getting family members killed. And I also have a problem with you risking the lives of innocent little kids.”

  “Hey!” said Charm indignantly. “I'm not a little kid.”

  Limpy saw her glance up at Malcolm and blush.

  “I just haven't grown a lot,” she muttered. “Cause of pollution.”

  Limpy's glands stiffened. That bashful look on Charm's face. He'd seen it on other toads’ faces when the night breeze was perfumed with jacaranda flowers and romance and that strong smell you get when you chew a toilet deodorant block.

  Limpy's insides churned with horror.

  Charm was in love with Malcolm.

  Charm gave Limpy a guilty glance, then looked back up at Malcolm.

  “Could you put my brother down, please?” she said.

  Malcolm didn't move. Limpy saw he was looking at Charm with amusement. Charm, misty-eyed, didn't seem to care.

  “Hey,” said Goliath to Malcolm, pulling himself up to his full height, which was almost level with Malcolm's chest. “You heard what the lady said.”

  Limpy flinched as the smiling Malcolm's eyes flickered with anger.

  “Um,” stammered Goliath, flinching too. “What she said was that if you could please see your way clear to putting Limpy down when you have a moment, we'd all be very grateful.”

  Limpy felt himself falling. He hit the ground hard. His vision went blurry for a moment, but he could still hear Malcolm's voice.

  “Limpy has a good heart,” Malcolm was saying, “but he's weak and sentimental. If we're like him, we won't stand a chance against the humans. If, on the other hand, we're strong and determined and we have a good business plan, we can survive.”

  The other cane toads looked thoughtful and murmured things to one another. Limpy hoped they were planning to wedge Malcolm inside a hollow log and tickle him with hairy spiders until he apologized for being rude to fourth cousins.

  “We suffered a few place mats tonight,” continued Malcolm, nodding toward the squashed rellies on the road. “But that's part of being strong. Some of us must sacrifice our lives so the rest of us can have a lot more to eat.”

  There was a general croak of agreement from the rellies.

  Limpy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He struggled to find his voice. Shock and amazement were making his mucus dry up.

  “Place mats?” he croaked up at Malcolm. “These aren't place mats. These are members of our family. And why do you keep saying ‘we'? I didn't see you out there on the highway risking your neck flaps.”

  Malcolm sighed. He reached down and pulled Limpy to his feet.

  “It's not easy for you, Limpy, we understand that,” said Malcolm gently. “When you were younger and that truck squashed your leg, I'm thinking it may have squashed a bit of your brain too. Which is why you don't understand some things. Like how a leader never risks his own life, because he's too valuable a resource.”

  “What Malcolm means,” said Charm gently to Limpy, “is that he has to keep himself safe so we can all benefit from his leadership.”

  More croaks of agreement from the rellies.

  Limpy looked up angrily at Malcolm.

  “You're not our leader,” he said. “Ancient Eric is. I think we should let Ancient Eric decide what's best for us.”

  Limpy turned and hopped unsteadily off toward Ancient Eric's cave.

  Please follow me, he begged the others silently. Please don't go back onto the highway.

  After a bit, he heard the others following. He slowed down to let Charm and Goliath catch up. But it wasn't either of them who appeared alongside him.

  “I've been watching you, you little slug,” hissed Malcolm, leaning down and spraying mucus into Limpy's ear. “Trying to impress everyone with your brave exploits and clever ideas. Well, here's some advice,
son. That plan you've got to take over from Ancient Eric, forget it. I'll be taking over because I'm big and strong and you're a deformed little maggot.”

  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.

  Limpy 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.