Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [14]
“West,” said Malcolm.
“Eh?” said Limpy.
“Far over the horizon where the sun sets,” continued Malcolm, beaming at the rellies. “I call it Sunset Estates. You'll love it. A real slice of cane toad paradise. And because you're all family, I'll be making your new homesites available at low, low discount prices, easy weekly repayments, flying insects accepted.”
Limpy's throat sac was rigid with shock.
He struggled to digest what he'd just heard.
Malcolm was taking everyone in the wrong direction. To the west. Where, Limpy had heard from very thirsty galahs, the heat was crippling and swamps were nonexistent. And then, worst of all, the big wart-bag was charging everyone to live there. They'd have to spend the rest of their days risking their lives on the highway to get the flying insects to pay him. Scientists with needles full of deadly germs wouldn't even have to leave the road to get to them.
Limpy struggled to unstick himself from the sticky sap tree. It was the only thing stopping him from rushing across the clearing and confronting Malcolm and begging everyone not to go.
And, thought Limpy desolately as he stopped struggling, infecting them all.
He was still stuck to the tree hours later when Malcolm led a meandering column of rellies out of the swamp in the direction of the setting sun.
Limpy looked sadly across the clearing at Mum and Dad as they hopped after Malcolm, their tearful warty faces turned back toward home.
Charm was further ahead, next to Malcolm, but she was looking back tearfully too.
Suddenly Mum let out a cry. She broke away from the others and frantically retraced her steps and flung herself across one of the mounds of earth.
It was, Limpy realized, his grave.
“I don't want to go,” sobbed Mum. “I don't want to leave my son. I don't want to leave my home.”
Dad came over and gently pulled her to her feet.
“Come on,” he said. “There's nothing for us here now except terrible memories.”
He started leading her away. She broke free again and darted back to the grave and, Limpy saw, grabbed his favorite soft drink can.
“They're not all terrible memories,” said Mum.
This time, hugging the can, she let Dad lead her back to the others.
Malcolm stood at the head of the column, watching impatiently. “Can we go now?” he said.
Charm glared angrily up at him. “Hey,” she said. “We're leaving the home we love. Don't rush us.”
Limpy watched Malcolm turn away from Charm and the others and roll his eyes. Then, telling the others to keep up, he led them off toward the setting sun.
Limpy felt a spasm of pain.
Not in his back, in his guts.
“Goodbye,” he whispered to them all.
For a second Limpy thought Goliath was waving, but then he remembered they didn't even know he was there. Goliath must just have been trying to snatch a few stink beetles for the trip.
“Take care,” whispered Limpy as his family disappeared into the dying light.
He didn't cry this time.
Not now that he knew what he had to do.
Limpy discovered it wasn't easy, peeing up his own back. Especially since the sun had gone down and he was having to aim in the dark. He got the hang of it eventually, though, and after a while the sticky sap started to dissolve.
He staggered away from the tree and went and lay in the swamp for a while to wash off the rest of the sap and soothe his aching warts.
Then he visited Ancient Eric.
As Limpy approached the moonlit mound of earth, he heard a hissing sound.
For a scary moment Limpy thought Malcolm had come back to get something he'd forgotten. His map or his exercise equipment. Then Limpy saw it was just a couple of snakes with dried herbs on them, chortling at poor Ancient Eric.
“Not so hungry now, eh, flat-face?” chuckled one of the snakes.
“Come on, you miserable old windbag,” hissed the other. “Eat us.”
Limpy's glands prickled with anger. He was very tempted to give them a squirt. Then he remembered what Dad had told him: Don't waste your poison pus unless you're actually being attacked. Or unless you're prime minister and your press secretary tries to trim