Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [12]
“Get your paws off my family,” muttered Limpy.
He wanted to shout it, but he didn't in case they might hear and come hurrying over. He watched in frustration as Malcolm took one of Mum's hands and started patting it.
“Yuck,” groaned Limpy.
Virus germs or no virus germs, Limpy could barely stop himself from rushing across the clearing and jamming a sharp twig up Malcolm's nose. In fact, he knew he couldn't stop himself, not unless he did something drastic.
He did something drastic.
He hopped round to the front of the sticky sap tree, then flung himself back against it. The sticky sap gripped him all the way from his neck to his buttocks.
Malcolm was giving Dad's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
Limpy struggled to free himself, to get over there and sort Malcolm out with a large lump of possum poo, but the sticky sap held him tight.
Where's Ancient Eric? thought Limpy furiously. Ancient Eric should be the one helping everyone get over the scare of the four-wheel drive, not smarmy-mucus Malcolm.
Limpy watched as Malcolm went over to a small mound of earth, turned, puffed out his chest, and addressed the gathered rellies.
“Ancient Eric was a fine leader,” he intoned, “and we will always remember him.”
What?
Limpy strained to hear more.
Malcolm bent forward and placed something on the mound of earth. It was flat and white and very smooth.
Limpy gasped.
It was Ancient Eric.
Squashed.
But how? Ancient Eric hadn't been near the highway since cars got power steering.
Then Limpy remembered how Malcolm had changed direction and made the four-wheel drive crash into Ancient Eric's rock. Ancient Eric must have come out of his cave to see what all the racket was about just before the moment of impact and been squashed. Talk about tragic timing.
Unless …
It was a terrible thought, and Limpy's warts burned as he had it.
Unless Malcolm had planned it that way.
“It is with gratitude and humility,” Malcolm was saying solemnly now to the other cane toads, “that I accept your invitation to take his place as your leader.”
Limpy felt like his warts were going to explode. He kicked and wriggled, flailing his arms, trying to tear himself off the tree so he could hop across the clearing in a huge furious semicircle and tell everyone what Malcolm had done.
But all Limpy managed to do was get one of his hands stuck to the tree as well.
Malcolm was still speaking. What Limpy heard next made him jolt with shock so violently that his hand ripped away from the tree.
“Limpy was much loved by us all,” said Malcolm, “and we will always remember him. He was a close personal friend of mine, even though he was a bit pushy at times.”
Was?
Limpy stared across the clearing.
Malcolm was standing next to another mound of earth.
Mum and Dad and Charm and Goliath were sobbing so hard now, Limpy could see their shoulders shaking even at that distance.
Stack me, thought Limpy, stunned. They think I'm dead too.
“In the absence of Limpy's body,” Malcolm was saying, “which after a thorough search of the area we've failed to locate and which we assume was taken by the human to be made into a handbag or something, Limpy's family would like to commemorate him with some of his things.”
Limpy watched in anguish as Mum and Dad and Charm and Goliath moved unsteadily forward one by one and gently placed familiar objects on his grave.
His collection of soft drink cans.
His newspaper and magazine scraps.
His sun-dried chicken bones.
All the precious things he'd collected that had been chucked from passing vehicles.
Limpy couldn't stand it. His poor dear family, racked with grief and misery. Suffering all that pain over his death when he wasn't even dead.
Yet.
Desperately, Limpy struggled to free himself from the sticky sap. He had to let them know he was still alive. Then he remembered the virus germs and stopped struggling.
It's better this way, he thought. If they think I'm dead, they won't come looking for me and put themselves at risk.
But