Toad Heaven Read Free

he was wrong. Not ever.
    Limpy took another deep breath. Now for the hard bit.
    “I reckon,” he said, “we should find a place where humans will leave us alone. And all move there.”
    Everyone stared at him, dumbstruck.
    “It's all the excitement,” said Dad apologetically to Ancient Eric. “It's overheated his brain.”
    Ancient Eric's eyelids drooped lower over his tired pink eyes.
    “When you've lived as long as I have,” he rumbled at Limpy, “you'll know that humans don't drive off the highway looking for cane toads. That human tonight was either lost or asleep or taking a shortcut.”
    The rellies croaked their agreement.
    “On the highway's a different matter,” continued Ancient Eric.“Humans will always try to kill cane toads on the highway. Always have done, always will do.”
    “That's right, your worship,” said Goliath nervously. “That's why we have to fight back. Is it okay if I go to the highway and chuck sticks at trucks?”
    Ancient Eric nodded. Goliath hopped gratefully away.
    Limpy was about to warn Goliath to stay off the highway, but Ancient Eric was speaking again.
    “Humans will always hate cane toads,” he rumbled. “Before you were born, young Limpy, a group of human bushwalkers came through here and killed six of us with a folding chair.”
    Some of the older rellies shuddered.
    “Humans have always hated cane toads,” repeated Ancient Eric, “and they always will. There is no place where we can be completely safe from them.”
    Limpy took another deep breath.
    “What about national parks?” he said.
    The other cane toads looked at one another, puzzled.
    “National parks?” they murmured.
    “What do you know about national parks?” growled Ancient Eric.
    “A butterfly told me,” said Limpy.“My sister Charm was there too. She …”
    Limpy broke off, a sudden thought churning his guts.
    He hadn't seen Charm all night. She'd promised to help with Uncle Nick, but she hadn't turned up.
    Where was she?
    “Go on,” snapped Ancient Eric.
    Limpy struggled to push the worried thought away.
    “The butterfly told us,” he continued, “that nationalparks are places where every living thing is protected. Where no living thing is ever shot, trapped, poisoned, stabbed, run over, blown up with bike pumps, or bashed over the head with cricket bats. Or folding chairs. I reckon we should all go and live in one.”
    Limpy stopped, out of breath, heart going like a dung beetle's back legs.
    Nobody made a sound. Limpy glanced at the rellies. They were all staring at him, frowning doubtfully like they had when Goliath told them he could fit ninety beetles in his mouth at once and still have room for a slug.
    “A fine romantic yarn,” said Ancient Eric. “Butterflies are always spinning romantic yarns, trying to impress ticks. Where is this dopey insect?”
    Limpy's throat sac drooped.
    “Goliath ate it,” he said quietly.
    “I see,” rumbled Ancient Eric. “Okay, son, you've wasted enough of my time. There aren't any national parks. National parks are a myth. A fantasy for feeble minds. Think about it. If national parks existed, don't you think we'd already be living in one? Nature's given you a great gift, young man. A brain bigger than a leech's entire digestive system. Start using it.”
    Ancient Eric turned and headed back toward his cave. “Now perhaps I can have my dinner,” he muttered,“or what's left of it.” He called back over his shoulder, “If anyone sees any snakes with mixed herbs on them, they're mine.”
    The other relatives started to drift away. Limpy saw they were giving him sad, sympathetic looks. He'd seen bog weevils get looks like that, the ones who didn't have a brain because the space was taken up with an extra bottom.
    “How do you know?” Limpy wanted to yell. “How do you know there aren't any national parks?”
    But he didn't, because his head was throbbing with stress and his mouth was dryer than Uncle Nick's.
    “Poor love,” said Mum,