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  For Tom and Jamie

  G'DAY FROM THE AUTHOR

  You might notice a few strange and exotic words in this book. Fear not! They won't hurt you, they're just Australian. To find out what they mean, choose one of the following options.

  1. Put the book down, fly to Australia, ask a local, fly back, pick up the book, resume reading.

  2. Have a squiz at the glossary on page 191.

  Happy reading,

  Morris Gleitzman

  Limpy stuck his head out of the grass and peered up and down the highway. He felt his crook leg twitching and his warts tingling like they always did when he was excited.

  And scared.

  All clear. No headlights speeding out of the darkness. No trucks, cars, buses, or caravans thundering along the highway. No humans on wheels looking for cane toads to squash.

  “Let's do it,” said Limpy.

  “Do what?” said Goliath.

  Limpy sighed. He told himself to stay calm. He told himself not to even think about whacking Goliath round the head with a lump of possum poo.

  “Goliath,” pleaded Limpy, “try to concentrate.”

  “I haven't had any dinner yet,” grumbled Goliath. “I'm so hungry I could eat a human's hairbrush.”

  Limpy gripped his cousin's big arms.

  “We've got a plan, remember?” said Limpy. “If it works, it'll improve the lives of cane toads everywhere.”

  “What?” sneered a nearby bull ant. “Even the ones that are already flat?”

  Limpy ignored the bull ant.

  In the glow from the railway-crossing light, he saw that Goliath was frowning.

  “This plan,” said Goliath. “I still don't get it.”

  “Do exactly what I told you,” said Limpy, “and you will.”

  Goliath nodded uncertainly.

  “It'll never work,” sneered the bull ant. “You cane toads are losers.”

  Limpy didn't eat the bull ant. What he and Goliath were about to do was too important to waste time having a snack.

  “Good luck, Goliath,” said Limpy.

  His cousin didn't reply. Limpy could see that a frown was still creasing Goliath's big warty face.

  Poor thing, thought Limpy. Probably as tense as me. Or else he's got a stink beetle stuck in his throat.

  Limpy turned to Uncle Nick, who was lying at the edge of the road.

  “Good luck, Uncle Nick,” said Limpy.

  Uncle Nick didn't reply either. Limpy would have been surprised if he had. Uncle Nick had always been a silent sort of bloke, even before he was squashed flat by a truck and baked hard by the Queensland sun.

  “Sorry about this next bit,” added Limpy.

  Limpy dipped a flat stick into the soft drink can he'd filled with sticky sap from the sticky sap tree. Gently he smeared sticky sap all over Uncle Nick. He knew Uncle Nick probably wouldn't be too happy about it if he was alive. From the expression on Uncle Nick's squashed face, he didn't look too happy about it now.

  “I'll wash it off afterward,” promised Limpy.

  Struggling with the weight, Limpy picked Uncle Nick up, careful not to touch his sticky side, and handed him to Goliath.

  “You sure you know what to do?” panted Limpy.

  Goliath's frown had got bigger, like the time he'd tried to swallow a giant stick insect and then realized it was the tailpipe off a bus.

  For a moment Limpy was worried that Uncle Nick was too heavy for Goliath. But it couldn't be that. Goliath was twice as big as Limpy, and four times as strong.

  Then Limpy realized why Goliath's forehead was so crumpled.

  He was thinking.

  “I still don't get how this is gunna work,” complained Goliath. “I hate to say it, but I reckon that bull ant's right.”

  The bull ant gave a chortle of triumph that only stopped when Goliath ate him.

  “I'll explain it again,” said Limpy patiently. “To stay healthy, we need flying insects in our diet, right? Because they're rich in vitamins and minerals.”

  “And wings,” said Goliath.

  “Right,” said Limpy. “And the place to find flying insects is on the highway under the railway-crossing light. Which makes us easy targets for humans in vehicles. There's nothing a human in a vehicle likes better than driving over a cane toad, right?”

  “That and picking their noses,” said Goliath. “Lucky mongrels. Wish I had a couple of little cupboards in my face.”

  Limpy interrupted before Goliath forgot the plan again.

  “Okay,” said Limpy. “On the count of three. One, two, …” He checked that the highway was still clear and gave a signal to the family members waiting in the grass on the other side.

  “… three!”

  Goliath grumbled some more, flexed his muscly arms, arched his back, and flung his round flat dry sticky uncle high into the air like a Frisbee.

  It was a perfect throw.

  “Well done,” gasped Limpy.

  High above them, Uncle Nick seemed to hover, spinning in the cloud of insects flying around the railway-crossing light.

  Limpy strained to see if any of them were getting stuck onto the sticky sap.

  It looked like they were.

  Then, suddenly, dazzling headlights roared round the bend in the highway. Huge wheels thundered over the railway tracks.

  “A truck!” yelled Limpy.

  He leaped into the ditch, dragging Goliath down after him, his hopes nosediving into the mud at the same time.

  It's not fair, thought Limpy. No uncle should be hit by two trucks. Not on different nights. If this truck makes contact, Uncle Nick'll be smashed to bits. The family members on the other side could be injured by jagged pieces of flying uncle.

  As the truck rumbled away into the night, Limpy peered anxiously up at the white haze over the railway crossing.

  And saw, weak with relief, that Uncle Nick was still airborne. He was wobbling slightly but was still on course, spinning down toward the under-growth on the other side of the highway.

  Uncles and aunts, cousins and neighbors, were scrambling out of the ditch on the other side and hopping into position to catch Uncle Nick as he landed. Some were so excited they jumped too soon and fell in a heap, which gave Uncle Nick something nice and soft to land on.

  “It worked!” shouted the family members whose mouths weren't full of mud. “Good on you, Limpy and Goliath.”

  Limpy's warts tingled with delight.

  He beckoned the family to bring Uncle Nick back through the stormwater tunnel under the road. As they emerged, Limpy looked anxiously to see how many flying insects Uncle Nick had stuck to him.

  Not a huge number, but enough for a start.

  Perhaps the sticky sap wasn't sticky enough, thought Lim
py. I'll add a bit more mucus next time.

  He turned to congratulate Goliath on a top throw. And saw that Goliath was still lying at the bottom of the ditch, face in the mud, sobbing.

  “I knew it,” Goliath was croaking, broad shoulders shuddering with misery. “I knew it was a dopey idea. I knew a truck would come. Now I've broken Uncle Nick.”

  Limpy tapped Goliath on the warts and pointed at the family faces grinning down at him.

  Goliath blinked, sniffled, and stared up at Uncle Nick and his coating of insects.

  “Stack me!” said Goliath, eyes widening. “Flying-insect pizza.”

  Limpy and the others chuckled. They'd never seen an actual pizza in real life because the pizza boxes humans threw out of cars only had bits of crust in them, but they knew what Goliath meant.

  “Now I get it,” said Goliath happily. “This is a way for us to collect flying insects without going onto the highway. And if we don't go onto the highway, humans can't run us over. Because humans only drive on the highway.”

  Limpy grinned. Goliath might be a bit slow, but he got there in the end.

  The other cane toads applauded.

  Goliath blushed modestly.

  Then the happy group hurried toward the swamp to tell everyone else the good news and share the flying insects with them.

  Limpy glowed with pleasure. Right up until a sudden violent noise made him spin round.

  He froze in stunned disbelief, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing.

  He'd never seen anything like it, not once in his whole life.

  He heard Goliath and the others croak with amazed fear as they saw it too.

  A vehicle, headlights blazing and motor revving, had driven off the highway and was crashing through the undergrowth, coming straight at them.

  “Hide!” yelled Limpy.

  He grabbed Goliath and dragged him into a bog hole.

  The vehicle thundered toward them.

  Limpy could feel Goliath's big warts trembling as they crouched in the mud.

  I don't believe it, thought Limpy, trembling too. A vehicle driving through the bush. Away from the highway.

  It wasn't natural.

  “It isn't possible,” croaked Goliath. “It can't be happening.”

  But it was.

  Limpy gave Goliath's arm a reassuring squeeze, then peered out of the hole to make sure the others were safely hidden. They were. All around him in the moonlight Limpy could see legs and bottoms wriggling into hollow logs and clumps of weed. Out of the darkness came the sounds of other animals panicking.

  “Look out!” croaked Goliath.

  The vehicle roared past Limpy's face. It was so close Limpy felt his lips pulled out of shape by the slipstream and his mucus seared by diesel fumes.

  He was still sneezing long after the vehicle had disappeared into the dark bush and its distant engine could be heard no more.

  Limpy could still see it, though. The horrible image of its rear end bumping over rocks and logs was burned into his brain.

  It was a four-wheel drive.

  Limpy's mucus was dry with fear as well as diesel. He'd heard the rumors about four-wheel drives. How four-wheel drives didn't need roads. How four-wheel drives could go anywhere. But he'd thought they were just scary stories. “Eat your mashed leeches,” he'd heard a mum say to some little cane toads once, “or a four-wheel drive will come and get you.”

  Now he knew it was true.

  “Three croaks for Uncle Nick!” said Aunty Ellen.

  She scraped a handful of flying insects off Uncle Nick and held them up.

  “And,” she added, “three even bigger croaks for Limpy and Goliath!”

  The uncles and aunts and cousins and neighbors that were crowded around the edge of the swamp in the moonlight gave three hearty croaks. And a couple of burps for good luck.

  Limpy tried to look pleased. He tried not to show the others how anxious he was feeling. He tried to stop straining his ears for the sound of the four-wheel drive coming back.

  He looked around at his loving relatives and tried to convince himself that they were right. That the driver of the four-wheel drive wasn't a murderous cane toad hunter. That he or she had just fallen asleep and veered off the highway accidentally and had been woken up by the sound of hysterical wombats and was already back on the highway and gone forever.

  Think positive, he told himself. This is a celebration. Look happy.

  “Limpy got the Uncle Nick idea from watching an echidna,” Goliath was telling the rellies. “You know how anteaters have sticky tongues? So the ants stick to them?”

  Limpy realized the rellies were nodding and looking admiringly at him. They were waiting for him to say something.

  “Goliath helped me develop the idea,” said Limpy.

  He decided for Goliath's sake not to go into detail. Goliath did it instead.

  “Before Limpy thought of using Uncle Nick,” said Goliath proudly, “I put sticky sap on my tongue.”

  Now the rellies were looking at Goliath admiringly.

  “My tongue was even stickier than an anteater's,” continued Goliath. “Actually, it was a bit too sticky. I spent last night up one of the railway-crossing light poles with my tongue stuck to the wood. Took three cousins hanging off each leg to rip me down.”

  Goliath poked his tongue out so everyone could see the splinters of wood.

  The rellies weren't looking quite so admiring now. Some of them looked a bit ill.

  Poor Goliath, thought Limpy. He was only trying his best.

  “Uncle Nick and I couldn't have done it without Goliath,” said Limpy. “Three croaks for Goliath!”

  The rellies who weren't feeling queasy gave three more croaks.

  Limpy felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Well done, son. We're proud of you.”

  Limpy turned, and Dad gave him a hug.

  “I always knew you'd be a leader,” said Dad. “When you were a tadpole and that flood washed away most of your brothers and sisters and you got wedged in that rock, I knew you were destined for great things.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Limpy, throat sac trembling with pride. “But I don't want to be a leader, I just want to keep us safe.”

  He saw Mum had hopped over too. She was standing there, looking down at Uncle Nick with a sad expression on her face.

  Limpy realized all the flying insects had been picked off Uncle Nick and eaten. He was just about to offer to get Mum some more when she spoke first.

  “Poor Uncle Nick,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a moth.

  Limpy felt a pang in his guts. Was Mum upset about him and Goliath chucking one of her brothers around?

  “Your Uncle Nick was a dreamer,” continued Mum. “He used to spend hours gazing up at birds and planes, wishing he could fly. And now, thanks to you, Limpy, he can.”

  She gave Limpy a tearful kiss and hug.

  “We're so lucky,” she said. “Having you to keep us safe. We're the luckiest cane toads in the whole wide swamp.”

  Limpy enjoyed the hug for a few moments, but then found himself thinking about the four-wheel drive again.

  What if it came back?

  How safe would Mum and Dad and the others be then?

  Standing there, watching Mum and Dad lick the last insect legs off Uncle Nick, Limpy felt his warts tingle. Suddenly he had a new plan. A plan so big and scary it made his glands ache.

  He tried to pull himself together.

  Stop being a jelly bug's wobbly bits, he said to himself sternly. This is urgent. You've got to tell this plan to the others now, straightaway, tonight.

  Most important, you've got to tell it to Ancient Eric.

  Limpy felt faint at the thought.

  Ancient Eric was very scary.

  Maybe not tonight, he said to himself. Tomorrow. Or next week.

  He decided to have another hug with Mum. Before he could, there was a buzz of excited whispering among the relatives. The crowd parted to let someone thr
ough.

  Limpy looked up.

  Aunty Ellen was coming toward him. She was leading someone carefully by the hand. The relatives were all gazing in awe, even the queasy ones. Limpy saw who it was and gulped.

  Ancient Eric.

  Limpy could hardly believe it.

  Ancient Eric never came out of his cave under the big rock. The rumor was that even moonlight was too strong for his ancient skin, which had gone completely smooth and white with age. Ancient Eric didn't like visitors either, though that wasn't so much to do with his skin as his really bad temper.

  I've got to risk it, thought Limpy. I've got to tell him my plan.

  As Ancient Eric got closer, Limpy opened his mouth.

  But no croaks came out.

  “Let's get it over with,” snapped Ancient Eric to Aunty Ellen.“I've got a snake stew waiting for me, and I want to get back before the snakes escape.”

  Aunty Ellen cleared her throat.

  “Limpy and Goliath,” she said. “Ancient Eric would like to say a few words.”

  The swamp fell silent.

  Ancient Eric looked at Limpy and Goliath, then at Uncle Nick, then back at Limpy and Goliath.

  Limpy could feel Goliath trembling next to him. He hoped Goliath didn't wet himself. It wasn't a good thing, doing a wee in front of someone as important as Ancient Eric.

  “Well done, boys,” boomed Ancient Eric. “Thanks to your ingenuity and imagination, cane toads will be able to gather flying insects in safety and live in peace, harmony, and security forever. Now where's my dinner?”

  Ancient Eric started heading back toward his cave. The relatives gave three more croaks even louder than before.

  Limpy took a deep breath and shouted above the din, “No, they won't!”

  The swamp fell silent again. Blood drained from warty faces. Limpy heard Mum gasp. Goliath crossed his legs.

  Ancient Eric turned and glared at Limpy.

  “What do you mean?” he growled.

  Limpy felt his throat sac go tight with stress. He opened all his skin pores to let some relaxing air in. Everyone was looking at him.

  “We're not living in peace and security here,” said Limpy, trying to keep his voice steady. “Humans around here hate us. That four-wheel drive earlier tonight was probably looking for cane toads to kill. It could be back tomorrow with loads of other vehicles.”