Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [13]
Except if they had, why was one of them taking the dust cap off one of the truck tires?
“This'll be great,” sniggered the one with the dust cap. “When you put compressed air in 'em, they swell up like a balloon and explode.”
Limpy wished desperately that humans didn't have their own language. Why couldn't they speak normally like everyone else? Then he could understand what they were planning to do and decide if it was an emergency. He didn't want to be spraying poison around if it wasn't.
Limpy looked at the way the air-valve teenager was grinning cruelly at him. Then he felt something unpleasant between his legs. The one holding him had started fiddling with his bottom.
Limpy decided it was an emergency.
He flexed his glands and let them have it.
Except no poison came out.
Oh no, he remembered with a jolt of despair, I used it all up on the rats. My glands haven't refilled yet.
Limpy felt himself being lowered, bottom first, toward the air valve on the tire. He tried to struggle and kick, but he was being held too tight. He closed his eyes and wished he was back at home in the swamp playing mud slides with Charm. At least they could have a few more happy days together before she went food collecting and a truck got her.
Suddenly another human voice rang out.
“Stop that!”
Limpy twisted round to see. It was the girl. She strode over and snatched him from the teenagers.
“Hey,” they shouted. “Rack off, freak.”
Limpy, trembling with relief in her hands, was amazed at their stupidity. The girl was younger than them, but she was taller and her muscles were quite a bit bigger. Where he came from, if you were rude to someone with bigger muscles, you got eaten or at least heavily chewed.
The girl grabbed one of the teenagers by the ear and squeezed.
He squealed.
“You rack off,” she said.
Limpy saw the teenagers wondering whether to fight her.
She pulled out a mobile phone and started dialing.
The teenagers glanced at each other, then ran out of the loading dock and down the street.
“Freak,” they yelled back at the girl.
Limpy looked up at her. She was trembling too as she put the phone away.
He wished he could thank her, but he couldn't, so he just tried to look grateful.
“Come on,” she said. “Let's get you back to your natural habitat.”
Limpy hoped she'd said, “Let's get you back on the truck.”
He liked her face. It had freckles all over it, which, he decided, if she was a cane toad, would probably be the most beautiful warts.
Then he realized she wasn't putting him on the truck. She was carrying him across the street to a park.
“No,” he yelled. “The truck. I've got to get on the truck.”
She didn't even look down.
This is hopeless, thought Limpy. She can't understand a word I'm saying.
That didn't stop him from yelling all the way into the park.
“Poor thing,” she murmured. “You're scared.”
Limpy didn't want to do what he did next, but this was an emergency.
He started kicking.
“Ow!” said the girl, and put Limpy down on the grass.
He saw she was sucking her hand. He must have scratched her with his toenail. He wished he could say sorry, and thanks again, but he didn't have the language.
Or, he remembered in panic, the time.
Frantically he tried to hop back toward the loading dock, but just went round in circles.
The girl laughed, gave him a friendly wave, and left.
Oh well, he thought, at least I haven't hurt her.
Limpy forced himself to slow down. He hopped out of the park and back up the street, anxiously watching out for the teenagers.
As he got closer to the loading dock, he heard the one sound he didn't want to hear.
The truck engine revving.
“Wait,” he shouted as he hopped frantically toward the loading dock. “Wait for me. Games mascot coming through. It's a matter of life and death.”
Just as he got to the loading dock entrance, the truck roared out into the street.
Limpy flung himself into the air and grabbed hold of the brake light as it went past. He hung on, weak with relief, as the truck rumbled down the street.
The fruit flies, still sitting on the number plate, looked