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  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Stack Me!

  It’s the wart-tingling escapade of one slightly squashed cane toad’s hunt for friendship and the surprising place he finds it.

  Also by Morris Gleitzman

  Toad Rage

  Toad Heaven

  Toad Away

  The Other Facts of Life

  Second Childhood

  Two Weeks with the Queen

  Misery Guts

  Worry Warts

  Puppy Fat

  Blabber Mouth

  Sticky Beak

  Gift of the Gab

  Belly Flop

  Water Wings

  Wicked! (with Paul Jennings)

  Deadly! (with Paul Jennings)

  Bumface

  Adults Only

  Teacher’s Pet

  Boy Overboard

  Girl Underground

  Worm Story

  Aristotle’s Nostril

  Doubting Thomas

  Give Peas a Chance

  Once

  Then

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (Australia)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Group (NZ)

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2008

  Text copyright © Creative Input Pty Ltd, 2008

  Illustrations copyright © Rod Clement, 2008

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  puffin.com.au

  ISBN: 978-1-74-253006-2

  For Lilly, Maggie, Baddie,

  Deeks, Max and Kitmas

  ‘Danger,’ yelled Limpy. ‘Everyone off the road.’

  It was dinner time in North Queensland. On the highway, in the glowing dusk, cane toads were munching contentedly. And burping a bit. All except for Limpy, who was hopping up and down on top of an ant hill, waving frantically at the others.

  ‘Please,’ he begged them. ‘Move.’

  The other cane toads on the highway didn’t move. They didn’t even look up.

  Oh no, realised Limpy, they can’t hear me.

  He knew why. It was because they were such noisy eaters. And their dinners were even noisier. The air was full of flying insects complaining loudly about being eaten.

  Limpy pointed to the headlights in the distance.

  ‘Truck coming,’ he yelled.

  It was no good.

  Down on the road, his relatives couldn’t see what he could see up on the ant hill. They just carried on munching, unaware that sixteen wheels were about to hurtle round the bend in the highway and seriously flatten their warts.

  Limpy’s warts were prickling with panic. If his rellies didn’t shift their buttocks soon, they’d be wearing them as eyebrows.

  ‘Please,’ Limpy begged his rellies again. ‘Move.’

  A flying insect stuck its head out of a cane toad’s mouth and caught sight of Limpy’s desperate hopping and waving.

  ‘Hey, you lot,’ yelled the flying insect. ‘Pay attention. That young bloke’s telling you to stop scoffing us and get off the road.’

  Other flying insects saw Limpy and started yelling at the cane toads too. Slowly, the rellies got the message. They began to hop off the highway, still chewing.

  But it was too late.

  The truck roared round the bend and suddenly its huge headlights turned dusk into day.

  Limpy stared in horror.

  Several cane toads were still on the road, huddled together, chewing as fast as they could.

  Oh no, thought Limpy.

  He knew what would happen next.

  It did.

  The truck swerved across the road, directly towards the now trembling cane toads, and drove over them.

  Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Limpy couldn’t look. He’d seen the horrible sight too often before. Plump happy rellies suddenly turned into tragic patches of flat skin and even flatter warts.

  By a human.

  On purpose.

  Limpy moaned and slumped onto the ant hill.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said an annoyed voice.

  Limpy looked around.

  An ant was glaring at him.

  ‘Would you mind not making so much noise on our roof,’ said the ant. ‘We’re trying to get the kids to bed.’

  It was a fair enough request. When Limpy had asked the ants if he could use their hill as a lookout, they’d said yes as long as he didn’t eat them afterwards or keep their kids awake.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Limpy. ‘I forgot.’

  The ant peered down at the squashed rellies on the highway and gave Limpy a sympathetic look.

  ‘Apology accepted,’ said the ant. ‘Bad luck about that lot. Still, three or four’s not as bad as it used to be before you had the lookout, eh?’

  Limpy sighed.

  The ant was right, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  ‘We’re very grateful for the use of the roof,’ said Limpy. ‘If there’s anything we can do in return, just let us know. Your kids are welcome to use our mud slide. And if you ever need repairs done to your hill, my cousin Goliath can carry huge amounts of mud in his mouth.’

  While the ant was thinking about this, Limpy saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him forget all about roof repairs.

  Another vehicle was coming.

  And a toad was still squatting out in the middle of the highway.

  Limpy could tell instantly who it was from the big muscly shoulders silhouetted in the headlights. And the big muscly arms. And the stick the toad was waving above his big muscly head.

  Goliath.

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Limpy hastily to the ant, and hopped off the ant hill. He hit ground so hard he felt like he’d dented several warts, but he hurried onto the highway towards Goliath.

  Not too fast, Limpy reminded himself.

  That was the worst thing about having a crook leg. Try to hop too fast and you just went round in circles. Which wasn’t so good when you were trying to rescue a stubborn rellie from certain death.

  ‘Goliath,’ shouted Limpy as he got nearer to his cousin. ‘Don’t do it. Get off the road.’

  ‘Don’t try to stop me,’ said Goliath, glaring into the approaching headlights. ‘Those mongrel humans have pushed us around for too long. Well this is showdown time. I’m an angry cane toad a
nd I’ve got a stick.’

  Limpy felt weak with panic.

  Arguing with Goliath was pointless. When he got an idea in his head, not even a large rock would shift it.

  Limpy grabbed Goliath’s big arm and tried to drag him off the highway. But Goliath was too heavy. Limpy couldn’t even drag Goliath off the white line.

  ‘Mongrel,’ Goliath was yelling at the vehicle. ‘I’m gunna pop your tyres and stab your wheel rims.’

  The vehicle was so close now that Limpy could feel the heat from the headlights.

  Suddenly he knew this was it.

  The moment he’d always feared. The moment he and poor Goliath would end up flat and dead, just like all the sun-dried rellies Limpy had spent his life hauling off the highway and carrying home and stacking neatly in his bedroom, one stack for uncles, one for aunties, one for cousins and one for their popped-off warts.

  No point running now. Cane toads weren’t as fast as vehicles, and vehicles could swerve all over the road when there was squashing to be done. It was a law of nature.

  Limpy blinked in the glare of the headlights. For a moment he felt a pang of regret that he’d never achieved his life’s ambition – friendship between humans and cane toads.

  He made sure that his last thought was about Mum and Dad and Charm and how much he loved them and how lucky he was to have a sister who knew how to reassemble a squashed cane toad’s buttocks after he was dead.

  Then an amazing thing happened.

  So amazing, Limpy couldn’t believe it even as he watched it.

  The vehicle swerved, but not towards him and Goliath.

  Away from them.

  The driver must have hit the brakes because suddenly the tyres were squealing. As the ute skidded past, the wind from it was so strong that Limpy felt his face being pulled out of shape.

  His brain felt pulled out of shape too.

  With amazement.

  Limpy had never seen this before.

  A human driver trying on purpose not to kill a cane toad.

  Limpy watched, stunned, as the ute slewed off the highway and came to a sudden stop in the long grass, not far from the ant hill.

  Goliath was looking pretty stunned too.

  ‘I won,’ he croaked, staring at his stick in a dazed sort of way. ‘Unreal.’

  ‘It’s more than unreal,’ said Limpy. ‘That human has just done the most amazing thing in the history of cane toads.’

  Goliath scowled at the ute in the long grass.

  ‘That’s not amazing,’ he said. ‘That’s just bad parking.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Limpy. ‘I hope the human’s not hurt.’

  Limpy hopped over to the edge of the highway and cautiously approached the ute through the grass.

  He could hear Goliath following close behind.

  ‘If the human isn’t hurt now,’ muttered Goliath, ‘he will be as soon as I can sharpen this stick. And as soon as you give me a leg up so I can reach his belly button.’

  Limpy gave Goliath a look.

  ‘I don’t want you to even think about hurting him,’ said Limpy. ‘Because what you are about to see is something you’ve never seen before.’

  Goliath frowned. ‘Dung beetles using deodorant?’

  ‘A human driver,’ said Limpy, ‘who doesn’t hate cane toads.’

  Goliath stared at Limpy and snorted. ‘No such thing.’

  But Limpy knew there was. He’d seen it with his own eyes.

  And now, as he watched the driver’s door swing open and two legs appear, a hopeful glow spread through his warts. Was is possible that this human might be able to help him achieve his life’s ambition?

  Friendship between humans and cane toads, with no killing.

  Limpy didn’t say anything to Goliath.

  It was probably a silly thought.

  But as the rest of the human emerged from the ute, the thought suddenly didn’t seem so silly after all.

  ‘What?’ said Goliath nervously.

  Limpy realised he was squeezing one of Goliath’s warts very hard with excitement as he gazed up at the human.

  At the big black boots.

  At the red jacket and pants.

  At the long white beard.

  ‘Stack me,’ said Limpy. ‘I think I know who this is.’

  ‘Limpy,’ said Mum, frowning. ‘Slow down. You know you’re not meant to hop fast in here.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ panted Limpy as he hopped very fast towards his room.

  Suddenly his crook leg gave way. He swerved and crashed into Dad, who was helping Mum peel lizards.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ said Limpy.

  Dad helped Limpy up.

  Limpy picked a lizard spleen off Dad’s head.

  ‘For swamp’s sake, Limpy,’ said Dad. ‘I know you can’t help your leg, but that’s it, you’re grounded. No mud slide for three nights. And if you weren’t our only surviving son, I’d make it six.’

  Limpy didn’t argue. There wasn’t time.

  If I’m right about the human in the ute, he thought, Mum and Dad will understand why I’m in such a rush.

  ‘Come and mash these slugs for me,’ said Mum.

  ‘Sorry, can’t right now,’ said Limpy. ‘I have to urgently identify a human.’

  Limpy hurried, not quite so fast, through the tropical leaves into his room. He rummaged behind the stacks of flat sun-dried rellies next to his bed and found what he was looking for.

  His human newspapers.

  Limpy didn’t keep much of the stuff that was chucked from passing cars or left at picnic grounds, but he always kept the magazines and newspapers. They were the best thing ever for understanding humans.

  He unfolded one of the newspapers and started turning the pages.

  It wasn’t easy. The newspaper filled his room and Limpy had to hang off the creepers growing across his ceiling and turn the pages from there.

  Suddenly his leg slipped and he crashed down onto a page.

  And there it was, right under his nose, clear as anything in the moonlight coming through the creepers – the ad he was looking for.

  Yes, he thought.

  I’m right.

  It is him.

  There was a crackling and rustling at the edge of the page.

  Mum’s head appeared, then Dad’s.

  ‘What do you mean, identify a human?’ said Dad.

  ‘Goliath’s not trying to eat one, is he?’ said Mum.

  Limpy shook his head.

  ‘Look,’ he said excitedly, pointing to the page.

  Mum and Dad hopped onto the newspaper and stood next to Limpy, staring down at the human in the ad.

  At the big black boots.

  At the red jacket and pants.

  At the long white beard and friendly twinkling eyes.

  ‘He’s called Santa,’ said Limpy. ‘A Christmas beetle told me about him. Santa is the nicest human in the whole world. He fills the hearts of other humans with peace and goodwill.’

  Mum looked doubtful.

  ‘I’d like to see that,’ she said.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Limpy.

  ‘What are those weird animals?’ said Dad, pointing to the ad. ‘Why have they got tree branches growing out of their heads?’

  ‘They’re called reindeer,’ said Limpy. ‘They’re Santa’s helpers. Humans are very fond of reindeer. I reckon if a cane toad was Santa’s helper, humans would be fond of us too.’

  Limpy watched as Mum and Dad took this in.

  ‘Why are you telling us this?’ said Dad.

  ‘Santa’s down at the highway right now,’ said Limpy. ‘With Goliath.’

  Mum and Dad stared at Limpy.

  Limpy took a deep breath and explained the whole thing, right up to the best bit where Santa swerved off the road because of all the peace and goodwill in his heart.

  ‘Goliath’s trying to stop Santa leaving,’ said Limpy. ‘Until I can get back there.’

  Mum and Dad exchanged a look.

  ‘Limpy,’
said Mum. ‘Be honest with us. Are you about to go on another dangerous quest to try and bring safety and happiness to cane toads for countless generations to come?’

  Limpy knew Mum and Dad probably wouldn’t like the idea. Parents never did if it involved risking your life, specially when you were grounded. But Limpy decided to tell them the truth.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘If I can be Santa’s helper, I think it’ll change the way humans feel about cane toads.’

  Mum and Dad looked at each other again.

  Then they both gave Limpy long hugs.

  ‘Be careful,’ whispered Mum. ‘And come home soon.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Limpy. ‘I will.’

  ‘We’re proud of you, son,’ said Dad. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Limpy.

  ‘Remember,’ said Mum. ‘No fast hopping.’

  Limpy gave Mum and Dad one last hug, then headed off. There were a couple of things he had to do before he clambered on board Santa’s ute. And keeping busy was the best way not to feel sad about leaving.

  ‘Limpy,’ called Dad.

  Limpy stopped and turned.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘You’re not grounded any more,’ said Dad.

  On the way back to Santa, Limpy visited the Christmas beetle for advice.

  Limpy knew it had to be a quick visit because Santa wouldn’t stay stuck in the long grass for ever. Not even if Goliath had managed to let the air out of Santa’s tyres and stuff swamp slime up Santa’s exhaust pipe.

  ‘Go away,’ said the Christmas beetle, glaring down at Limpy from a leaf overhanging the moonlit swamp. ‘I’m not on duty. Christmas isn’t for another two days.’

  Limpy blinked.

  This was a bit too quick.

  ‘I promise I won’t take up much of your time, Mr Christmas Beetle,’ he said. ‘I just need to ask you about Santa.’

  The Christmas beetle scowled and muttered things that Limpy was pretty sure didn’t have much to do with Christmas peace and goodwill.

  ‘If I’ve told you kids once,’ said the Christmas beetle crossly, ‘I’ve told you a million times. Santa only brings presents for humans. He does not bring presents for ants, lizards, mice, fruit bats, snakes, termites, echidnas, wombats, slugs, toads or, I’m sorry to say, Christmas beetles.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Limpy. ‘I was hoping you could give me some advice. About being Santa’s helper.’