Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [8]
Suddenly a human voice boomed out.
Limpy went almost as flat as Uncle Roly, just from fear.
Then he saw something flickering in the gloom.
A human face in a box, speaking.
Other humans were lying in front of the box, asleep.
Limpy stared, relief flooding through his glands. He'd heard older family members talking about this box. Without it, they'd said gratefully, heaps more humans would be out at night driving over cane toads.
It was called “telly.”
Limpy was tempted to look at it for longer, but that would have been too dangerous, plus he had more important things to do.
He grabbed the underpants, leapt out the door, and hopped under the van.
Okay, he thought as he wriggled into the underpants, making sure that his body and head were completely covered, let's see if humans can be friendly to a cane toad if they think he's a tropical butterfly.
Limpy took a while to get into the wildlife enclosure, mostly because he couldn't see properly out of the leg hole of the underpants and kept banging into parked cars.
Finally he found the entrance.
So far so good, he thought.
He hopped over to the group of humans admiring the tropical butterflies and waited for them to notice him.
A horrible thought struck.
What if I've got the underpants on inside out? The colors won't look as bright. They'll think I'm just a drab moth.
He could feel something stabbing him in the forehead. He realized it wasn't anxiety, it was a label.
Everything was okay.
Then a man looked down.
Limpy flapped his arms inside the underpants. He did it slowly so he'd look like a butterfly who'd had a very busy day and was too tired to do any more actual flying.
The man saw him.
Limpy held his breath.
A wonderful thing happened. The man didn't chuck rocks at him or jump into a car and try to run him over.
It's working, thought Limpy delightedly.
Then the man's face went red.
“Arghhhh,” he yelled. “A cane toad. In me undies.”
Other humans shouted and screamed.
The man lunged at Limpy.
Limpy leapt out of the underpants and flung himself at the fence. Luckily he was small enough to fit through the wire.
He hopped frantically across the parking lot, trying to get over to a row of parked cars to hide underneath. To his horror he realized he was going too fast and his crook leg wasn't touching the ground properly and he was veering round in the beginnings of a circle.
The man was yelling behind him and the yells were getting closer.
Then Limpy saw that his circular hopping had brought him close to the big painted truck, which was revving its engine and starting to move off.
Limpy didn't hesitate.
He hopped higher than he'd ever hopped before and leapt onto the back of the truck and clung on to a brake light with both hands and his good foot.
With a shuddering roar, the truck surged forward into the sunset.
Limpy didn't look back.
He hung on with all his strength while the shouting behind him got fainter and fainter.
Okay, he said to himself as he hurtled down the highway, I admit it. Pretending to be a butterfly was a dopey idea.
He sighed.
He should have taken one of the furry slippers and pretended to be a wombat.
The highway was soon dark, but Limpy didn't mind because he knew exactly where he was going.
To the same place the truck was going, wherever that was.
A place where he could learn about disguises that actually worked. Disguises as good as the ones painted on the side of the truck.
Limpy hung on tight and had exciting visions of arriving back home with a pile of wonderful costumes. The cane toads would put them on and the humans driving on the highway would think the creatures in their headlights were echidnas and platypuses and kookaburras and butterflies and they'd drive past waving happily.
Suddenly the truck slowed down for a sharp bend in the highway.
Limpy realized it looked sort of familiar.
He peered round the back of the truck.
Ahead, lit up by the truck headlights and an overhead light that also looked sort of familiar, was a railway crossing that looked very familiar.