Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [32]
“Quick!” whispered Limpy. “Into this rucksack.”
They were too late. The boy grabbed the rucksack while Goliath was trying to climb into it. Goliath fell back onto Limpy and Charm. The three of them lay there, dazzled by daylight, while the boy stared at them.
“Wow,” said the boy. “Live cane toads.”
Limpy, trying not to move a muscle, hoped the boy had said something about dead cane toads and putting them back into the rucksack.
No such luck.
The boy's freckled face broke into a grin, and his eyes widened.
Limpy knew that look. He'd seen human kids give that look to possums and mice and wallabies in campsites. It was the look humans gave to animals they wanted as pets.
“Hop for it,” he croaked to Charm and Goliath.
Too late again.
The boy picked them up in a wriggling armful and dropped them in a tangled heap down into his wind-breaker.
Limpy moved his bottom off Goliath's face and took Charm's elbow out of his mouth. He could feel the boy's hand supporting them on the other side of the windbreaker, which was rocking from side to side as the boy crawled.
Then they all went into a tangle again.
Limpy guessed the boy had climbed out of the bus and stood up. Now it felt as if the boy was walking.
“I'm gunna bite through this cloth,” growled Goliath, “and spray him.”
Limpy thought about this. It seemed a reasonable thing to do under the circumstances. Then he thought about the boy's friendly freckled face.
“No,” said Limpy. “He just wants us to be his pets. Maybe he'll be happy with just one of us. He can have me.”
“No,” said Charm, gripping Limpy's head.
Limpy gently pulled himself away. “I've got virus germs,” he said. “You two might not. It's better you both find the national park and get Mum and Dad and the others there.”
“No,” said Charm again.
“I'm definitely gunna spray him,” said Goliath.
Before Goliath could start chewing the windbreaker, the boy's hands reached down inside it and lifted the three of them out.
Limpy started to tell Goliath and Charm to look really bad-tempered and unfriendly so the boy wouldn't want them as pets. He stopped when he realized the boy was placing all three of them on the ground.
“Go on,” said the boy, smiling. “Hop it before the souvenir hunters get you.”
Limpy hoped the boy was saying, “I only want the one with the crook leg; you other two grumpy-looking ones can go.” Then he realized the boy was gesturing for all three of them to go.
“Come on,” said Charm.
Limpy looked up at the boy, who was still smiling at them. For a fleeting moment he felt he wouldn't mind being a pet with a human like that. If his life had turned out differently.
“Thanks,” he said to the boy.
He knew the boy couldn't understand him, but he hoped the boy could see the gratitude in his eyes.
“Come on,” said Charm.
The three of them hopped away as fast as they could, Goliath and Charm on either side of Limpy so he wouldn't hop crooked.
Limpy glanced back at the boy, who waved to them and started walking back toward the bus.
The roar was louder than ever.
Limpy looked anxiously toward the plane to make sure it wasn't going to take off and squash them.
What he saw stopped him mid-hop.
It wasn't a plane.
It was a huge torrent of water plummeting down a sheer hillside. The humans were leaning over a fence, taking photos of it. The roar was from the water smashing into the rocks below.
“Stack me!” squeaked Goliath.
“A giant waterfall,” gasped Charm.
But it wasn't the fresh, cool water that made Limpy's glands tremble and his warts tingle. Even though his parched nose could smell that there wasn't enough salt in it to flavor a single chip.
It was what lay beyond. A green and fragrant landscape that seemed to go on forever. Mighty trees and lush undergrowth and shady swamps buzzing with happy swamp life.
Limpy knew what it was.
He'd never been more sure.
It was toad heaven.
The national park was everything Limpy had dreamed of.
Big.
Beautiful.
Safe.
Very swampy.
Once the three of them were far