Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [23]
“Okay,” said Limpy. “Outboard motor in position, please.”
Goliath hung on to the back of the cooler lid and lowered his bottom into the water.
Soon bubbles appeared behind him; then the water frothed and the cooler lid lurched forward.
“Hooray!” shouted Charm. “We're off. National park, here we come.”
As they chugged out into the open water, Limpy turned and faced the horizon, enjoying the fresh breeze on his face.
Somewhere out there was the place where Mum and Dad and the others could live safely forever. And he was closer to it than he'd ever been.
For the first time in quite a while, Limpy felt a glow of happiness.
“How long will it take us to get there?” asked Charm.
“Not long,” said Limpy. “Not long.”
Limpy tried to work out how long they'd been drifting.
Hours?
Days?
The stinkweed had run out just before dark, and Goliath's bottom bubbles soon after. Then there'd been a night, and a sunrise, and lots and lots of hot sun.
The answer, thought Limpy weakly, is ages.
“This is the longest boat trip I've ever been on,” croaked Goliath.
Limpy didn't bother to point out it was the only boat trip Goliath had ever been on. Like Goliath, he was so weak with thirst and hunger he could hardly speak. He was exhausted just lying next to Charm and Goliath on the cooler lid. Even groaning was too much effort.
“I wish we could drink the water,” croaked Charm.
Limpy gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze.
He wished they could too. That had been the biggest disappointment of the whole trip. Gulping a mouthful of the water they were floating on and discovering it tasted like the salt-and-vinegar chips humans threw out of cars, only without the vinegar.
“Untidy mongrels,” croaked Goliath. “They must have chucked millions of chips in the water to make it this salty.”
Charm and Limpy croaked their agreement.
With a big effort Limpy managed to lift the palm frond off his head and squint at the horizon.
Still nothing.
No national park hills.
No treetops.
No rocky outcrops.
No kookaburras standing on one another's shoulders.
Just flat water and the empty blue sky and the scorching, scorching sun.
Limpy let the palm frond drop back onto his head.
Without these to give us some shade, he thought feebly but gratefully, we'd be dryer and stiffer than poor Uncle Nick by now.
He felt a surge of gratitude to Charm for suggesting they bring the palm fronds in the first place. And a surge of relief that Goliath hadn't been able to eat them when he'd tried to earlier in the day.
Goliath's pleading voice brought Limpy back to the painful present.
“Food,” croaked Goliath from under his palm frond. “I need food.”
“There's only a tiny bit left,” said Charm.
“That'll do,” said Goliath. “I'll have that.”
Limpy raised his frond and reminded Goliath that they'd agreed to ration out the food so it would last them the trip.
“Just give me some of it,” begged Goliath.
“All we've got,” said Charm, “is three flying-beetle legs and a sandworm snout.”
“Anything,” croaked Goliath. “Please. I'm a growing toad. I need food.”
“Hang on a sec,” said Charm, peering into the leaf she'd wrapped the food in. “Someone's eaten the snout and replaced it with a bit of dried mucus.”
Limpy looked at Goliath.
Goliath went guiltily silent.
“All right,” he said after a while. “I'll just have the mucus.”
Charm gave Goliath two beetle legs. His eyes opened wide with delight. She handed the other one to Limpy.
“What about you?” said Limpy. Goliath was already crunching the two legs and sucking the juice gratefully. Limpy held the third leg out to Charm. “You have it.”
“It's okay,” said Charm. “I don't need much food. That's the one advantage of being stunted by pollution as a kid. Tiny tummy.”
Tiny tummy, thought Limpy emotionally as he crunched his beetle leg, but very big heart.
Limpy lay on the cooler lid and lost track of time again.
Then he felt Charm slip under his palm frond and put her arms round him.
“Limpy,” she said in a tiny exhausted voice. “We're not going to find the national park, are we? We're just going