Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [17]
The train had been slowing down for some time, and now it jolted to a stop.
Limpy peered through a crack in the carriage wall.
When his eyes got used to the sunlight, he saw a concrete platform with rows of metal fences.
“End of the line,” said one of the sheep. “Good luck. Hope you find the national park.”
Limpy looked around sadly at their kind faces.
He didn't know what to say. What could you say to traveling companions who'd be ending up as roast dinners?
Hope the gravy's not too hot?
It didn't seem right, so he just gave them a grateful smile and said “Thanks.”
As he squeezed through the crack in the carriage floor, he remembered something.
The virus germs.
Oh no, he thought. What if I've infected the sheep?
That wouldn't be fair, his new friends having to spend their last precious hours worrying about their health.
Then Limpy realized he was being an idiot. Humans wouldn't want to spread germs to every living animal, because if they did, they wouldn't have anything left to eat for lunch. The virus germs must just affect cane toads.
That's a relief, thought Limpy, though it wasn't much of one.
Limpy dropped onto the rusty beam under the train and looked around.
His warts prickled with fear.
Human feet in big work boots were clomping along the platform. Human feet he'd have to get past to find the national park.
Limpy looked around some more.
What he really wanted was a tunnel that led under the platform and under all the other scary human places outside and came up right in the middle of the national park, wherever it was—preferably next to a swamp.
He couldn't see one.
Which meant he'd have to go across the platform.
Limpy took a deep breath. He waited till none of the human feet were directly in front of him, made sure he had plenty of mucus so his lips wouldn't dry out when he was hopping for his life, and hopped for his life.
The bright morning sun hurt his eyes. He couldn't see if any boots were aiming for him. All he could do was head toward the patch of shade on the other side of the platform.
Not too fast, he reminded himself. If you start going in a curve you'll end up somewhere fatal, like the ladies’ toilets.
Limpy felt his mucus drying up with the effort and the stress. He dreaded hearing that horrible cry humans give when they see a cane toad. The one that sounds like they've got a bog worm stuck in their throat and they don't like the taste.
The cry didn't come.
Limpy threw himself into the shade, gasping gratefully.
And saw to his relief that he was on a concrete ramp that led down into darkness. Could this be the tunnel he'd hoped for?
An ant was trotting toward him up the ramp. Followed, Limpy saw, by a swarm of other ants.
“Excuse me,” Limpy said to the first ant. “Is this the way to the national park?”
“Rack off, wart-head,” scowled the ant as he hurried past. “We've got a train to catch.”
Limpy was tempted to have breakfast, but the ants’ red bodies and red faces and red angry eyes didn't look that appetizing.
“Thanks for your help,” muttered Limpy. “Have a nice day.”
He turned away and headed toward the mouth of the tunnel. Before he reached it, he heard a loud cry behind him. Not, Limpy saw with relief as he spun round, from a human. From a sheep.
The sheep were being herded by the humans out of the train carriages and down wooden chutes. The first few sheep had frozen in horror and were staring at the approaching ants.
“Arghh!” screamed one of them. “Fire ants!”
Limpy watched, stunned, as the sheep tried to scramble back up the chutes in panic. Then they bolted. The humans were knocked sideways as a tide of frenzied sheep thundered across the platform. Toward, Limpy saw, his own panic rising, him.
Limpy spun back round desperately. He was trapped. Concrete walls rose up on both sides, too high to climb. Ahead was the tunnel, but soon it would be full of a frenzied stampeding mob.
Stack me, thought Limpy, weak with terror. I'm going to