Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [21]
“What's happening?” said Goliath, appearing next to Limpy with a mouthful of sock fluff.
“She's left us behind,” said Limpy, numb with disappointment.
Goliath thought about this.
“Perhaps she's just gone to get some more grasshoppers,” he said. “Or socks.”
“Nah,” said a voice.
Limpy looked up. Sitting on the bedspread was a mosquito.
“She's gone to the opening,” said the mosquito.
“What opening?” said Limpy. He thought of all the openings he'd seen on telly. Garage doors. Cats' mouths. Tubs of yogurt. The openings humans got in them when they were shot.
“The Games,” said the mosquito. “Opening ceremony. Big event. All the athletes'll be there. Huge crowd. Top feed.”
The mosquito sighed wistfully.
Limpy sighed mournfully. He couldn't believe it. She still hadn't understood. Here they were, a human and a cane toad who actually cared about each other, and he couldn't get one simple idea across to her.
It's hopeless, thought Limpy, crook leg aching with despair. I give up.
Who had he been kidding? How could one slightly squashed cane toad hope to change things that had been going on since the dawn of time?
Limpy opened his mouth to tell Goliath they were going home.
Before he could, the mosquito sighed again. “Makes me hungry just thinking about it, a feed like that.”
Limpy found himself thinking of Charm and what she'd be doing when she got hungry. Going down to the highway and having a feed there. A tiny target fixed in the headlights.
Suddenly his warts prickled with determination.
I won't give up, he thought. I can't.
Limpy saw that he and the mosquito weren't the only ones thinking about food. Goliath was climbing up the bedspread and was almost close enough to reach the mosquito with his tongue.
Limpy hauled on Goliath's leg with all his strength.
Goliath crashed to the floor.
“Ow,” he yelled.
Limpy gave him a glare.
The mosquito was buzzing nervously.
“Don't fly off,” said Limpy. “I promise my cousin won't do that again. He'd forgotten we're trying to save our species from extinction and we need your help.”
“Funny way of showing it,” said the mosquito.
“Sorry,” mumbled Goliath.
“The Games opening,” said Limpy to the mosquito. “Will the mascots be there?”
“Will they ever,” said the mosquito. “Biggest day for the mascots. They wouldn't miss it. Not with millions of people watching on telly.”
Limpy felt his glands tingle with excitement.
“And,” he said, “are you going to the opening?”
“Nah,” said the mosquito sadly. “Too windy. Take me a week to get there.”
“We could give you a ride,” said Limpy. “You could hop on my back and hang on to a wart.”
The mosquito looked doubtfully at Goliath.
“Don't worry about me,” said Goliath. “I'm full. I've eaten a sock.”
The mosquito buzzed down and landed on Limpy's back.
“Great,” said Limpy. “Now, I'm okay till we get out the bathroom window, but after that you'll have to give me directions.”
Limpy stuck his head up out of the stormwater drain in the middle of the stadium and nearly fainted with shock.
He'd never seen so many humans.
The stadium was full of them.
Humans in tracksuits.
Humans in blazers.
Humans in security guard uniforms.
Marching. Waving huge flags. Directing crowds.
And behind them, towering into the sky on all sides, vast paddocks of seated humans cheering and waving small fluffy mascots and throwing streamers at the parade.
The whole spectacle was noisier than a truckload of chooks going over a railway crossing.
A hundred truckloads.
Stack me, thought Limpy, I didn't know there were this many humans in the whole world, including Tasmania.
“Yum,” said the mosquito. “Just as well I'm hungry.”
Limpy saw that Goliath was looking pretty stunned too, and Goliath was used to big crowds, because sometimes when he got hungry, he just stuck his head into a termite's nest. He was looking like he wished he had his head in one now.
“Limpy,” said Goliath nervously. “I don't reckon we should be here.”
“Relax,” said Limpy, trying to ignore his pounding heart and the roaring crowd. “This is exactly where we should be.”
He peered