Toad Rage (11 page)

“Goliath,” sobbed Limpy.

It was no good.

Goliath wouldn't stand a chance in those huge jaws between those massive yellow teeth.

Then Limpy heard something.

A dog barking.

Outside.

The brute must have taken Goliath outside to crunch him up.

Limpy looked wildly around and saw a window in the wall above his head. It was open just a crack. He flung himself at the wall and, helped by the sticky fruit salad syrup on his hands and feet, dragged himself up it.

He squeezed through the window and launched himself into the darkness.

When he hit the ground, he was dazed for what felt like ages.

A few thoughts stuck in his spinning brain.

Find the dog. Get Goliath out of its mouth. Let the dog chew on my leg if necessary. The crook one, preferably.

Then Limpy heard groans.

He opened his eyes, hoping desperately that Goliath was still alive.

But it wasn't Goliath he saw lying on the grass moaning and dribbling, it was the dog.

“Dopey mongrel,” said a familiar voice.

Limpy spun round.

Goliath was leaning unsteadily against the wall, panting, covered with teeth marks and trifle.

“Silly bugger bit me in the glands,” he said. “Squirted himself in the mouth.”

Limpy stared, dazed and weak with relief. Then he grabbed Goliath and dragged him toward the bushes. The security guard couldn't be far away.

“Not bad for a bloke with a bad back, eh?” said Goliath. “That dozy heap'll have a bellyache for a week.”

Limpy didn't say anything. He was putting all his
energy into dragging Goliath toward the stormwater drain at the edge of the restaurant garden.

But he knew Goliath was right.

It was amazing.

That dog was bigger than a whole swamp full of cane toads put together. And Goliath had beaten it.

“It'd take something bigger than a dog to stop me,” Goliath was saying. “A croc, or maybe a sheep.”

Limpy still didn't say anything.

As they scrambled into the drain, his head was buzzing with an idea.

An idea that could solve all their problems.

An idea that was even bigger than a sheep.

“M
e?” said the flea.

Limpy nodded, grinning.

“Me compete in the Games?” said the flea. “Are you mental?”

The other animals and insects stared at Limpy and shook their heads and feelers. Limpy could see they thought he was.

“It's tragic,” muttered the crocodile sadly. “The stress of being the ugliest species on the planet has gotten to him and his brain's exploded.”

“Hey,” said Goliath to the crocodile, “don't insult my cousin, okay? He might be a bit weird-looking but he's not mental.”

“Everybody calm down,” said Limpy, “and let me explain my idea. No, even better, I'll demonstrate it.” He pointed to the flea. “Goliath, eat Gavin.”

Goliath looked at the flea, confused.

The flea, alarmed, jumped up onto the ceiling of the drain.

Goliath turned to Limpy. “You told me I wasn't allowed to eat any of our friends in the drain,” he said.

“That's right,” said Limpy, “and I'm glad you remembered.” He looked up at the flea. “Gavin, sorry to startle you, but I just wanted us all to see you do your biggest jump.”

“Yeah, well, there'd better be a good reason,” said the flea, glaring down at Limpy. “This stress is not helping my ulcer.”

Goliath was glaring at Limpy too. “You've got me all hungry now,” he complained.

Limpy took a deep breath.

It wasn't easy getting simple-but-brilliant ideas across. No wonder cane toads didn't go in much for philosophy, quantum physics, or interior decoration.

“Okay,” said Limpy. “Does anyone here know measurements?”

Most of the animals and insects looked at each other and scratched their heads and thoraxes.

“I do,” said a woodworm. “I once spent a couple of weeks eating a carpenter's ruler.”

“Great,” said Limpy. “How high would you say Gavin jumped just now?”

The woodworm squinted up at the ceiling. “About one and a half meters,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Limpy. “And how tall would you say Gavin is?”

“I know that,” said Gavin. “I'm good with numbers too. I once spent three days in a math teacher's armpit. My height is a shade under half a millimeter. My brother Lofty, though, you should see him. He's a good tenth of a millimeter taller than me easy.”

“Right,” said Limpy. He took another deep breath. This was the crucial bit. He wished now he'd paid more attention in Ancient Eric's class “How Many Insects Have I Just Eaten?”

“If Gavin's half a millimeter tall,” said Limpy, “and the ceiling's a meter and a half up, that means Gavin just jumped … um … many, many times higher than his own height.”

“Three thousand times higher,” said Gavin proudly.

“Exactly,” said Limpy. “Now, that bloke who's the world-champion high jumper at the Games. Anyone know how many times his body height he can jump?”

The animals and insects looked at each other again, frowning.

“Three thousand and one?” said Goliath.

Limpy shook his head.

“About one,” said the woodworm. “The average human athlete is about two meters tall, and the world
record for the human high jump isn't much more than that.”

“Exactly,” said Limpy.

He paused to let this sink in.

The animals and insects gazed up admiringly at Gavin the flea.

“Wow,” said the crocodile to Gavin. “You're three thousand times better than the human world-champion high jumper. You should compete in the Games.”

“We all should,” said Limpy quietly.

The animals and insects stared at Limpy, stunned.

“If the world-champion weight lifter at the Games,” said Limpy, “tried to lift as many times his own body weight as the average ant can lift, he'd be crushed.”

“Jeepers,” said an ant. “No wonder the humans wouldn't let me be a mascot. They were embarrassed.”

“Crocodiles are better swimmers than humans,” continued Limpy. “Lizards are better at marathons. Spiders are better sprinters. Kingfishers are better divers. Snakes are better climbers. Kangaroos are better at the hop, step, and jump. I've seen head lice do better gymnastics than the best human gymnasts. There's hardly an event at the Games that an animal or insect isn't better at than the human world-record holder.”

The drain echoed with cheers and yells of delight.

“Hang on,” shouted the kangaroo, suddenly frowning. “It's not that simple. The humans'll never let us compete in their Games.”

Slowly the drain fell silent.

Limpy took another deep breath. His heart was going faster than the pistons in an accelerating truck. This was the best idea he'd ever had.

“That's why,” said Limpy, “we're going to have our own Games. The Non-Human Games. When the telly networks get a squiz at our world records, they'll be broadcasting our Games quicker than you can say 'major sponsor.'“

The animals and insects stared at him, stunned again.

“That's brilliant,” squeaked Gavin the flea. “When human sports fans see what great athletes we are, we'll be heroes.”

“Or at least,” said Limpy quietly, “they might stop killing us.”

The drain erupted with cheers again, even louder than before.

Limpy looked around at the delighted animals and insects. He thought of Mum and Dad and Charm and how they'd soon be safe.

His warts tingled with happiness.

Then Limpy realized Goliath was staring at him, eyes shining.

“My own cousin,” said Goliath breathlessly. “A genius. Wait till they find out at home.”

Limpy couldn't stop himself from giving a happy smile.

“So,” continued Goliath, “what event will us cane toads be setting world records in?”

Limpy felt his smile fading.

It was a good question.

A worrying question.

Kangaroos were better hoppers.

Fleas were better jumpers.

Goliath was strong, but not as strong as an ant.

Eating mud worms and letting them crawl out your bottom wasn't an official event.

Limpy felt the happy tingle slowly disappearing from his warts.

“Well?” asked Goliath, eyes clouding with concern. “What's our special event?”

“There'll be one,” said Limpy, trying not to look too anxious. “There's got to be. We just have to find out what it is.”

“I
t's not water polo,” said Goliath, staggering out of the lake and coughing up pondweed. “Water polo stinks. Every time I catch the round thing, I sink.”

“We must be doing something wrong,” said Limpy, rubbing the painful lump on his head. “Maybe at the Games they play it with a ball instead of a rock.”

“I'm fed up,” said Goliath, flopping down in the grass at the edge of the lake. “I want to go home.”

Limpy sighed.

“We've got to come up with more events to try,” he said. “We've only tried eleven. Ten, not counting wrestling, which wasn't really an event because you were doing it with yourself. Keep thinking.”

Limpy felt awful saying it. Thinking was really hard and painful for Goliath. He could tell by the way Goliath's warts went pale while he did it.

Goliath's warts were pale now and he was frowning and staring into the distance.

“Table tennis,” he was mumbling. “Rowing. Cricket. Knitting …”

Then suddenly his eyes opened wide.

“I've got it,” he said.

Limpy saw that Goliath was staring at a human riding a bike on the other side of the park.

“Good thought,” said Limpy sadly. “They said on telly that cycling's a really important event. But your feet wouldn't even reach the pedals.”

“I'm not talking about cycling,” said Goliath. “I'm talking about jamming a stick through the front spokes of that bike. That human would be on the ground in a heap before you could say, 'I'm gunna bash you up, you murdering mongrel.'“

Limpy sighed again.

“We're trying to make humans
like
us, remember?” he said. “I just don't think bashing them up is going to help. Now come on, think of some Games events we haven't tried.”

Goliath scowled. “This whole idea stinks. We've been in this dumb park all morning. I've got pulled muscles from trying to do gymnastics on the monkey bars, splinters from when that twig archery bow broke, and bruises on my bum from discovering I can't grass ski. I reckon we should forget being Games
champions and bash up some humans instead.” “I've got a better idea,” said Limpy. “Come on.” “Blow up some humans?” said Goliath hopefully as

he hopped after Limpy. “Mess up some humans'

hair?”

Limpy carefully pushed up the small grating, clambered out of the drain, and helped Goliath squeeze out after him.

“Careful of these tiles,” he said. “They're wet and slippery.”

He looked around.

Along one wall was a row of lockers, along the other a row of showers.

“Oh yuk,” said Goliath, shuddering. “Is this where humans wash?”

Limpy nodded. Even though the showers were empty, it was a pretty scary sight.

“I get it,” said Goliath, suddenly excited. “We've come to steal their soap and shampoo.”

“No,” said Limpy wearily. “We haven't come to do that.”

“I don't get it then,” said Goliath. “Why bother breaking into the athletes' changing rooms if we're not gunna strike a blow for cane toads everywhere and mess up their toilet bags?”

“Because,” said Limpy patiently as he led Goliath
across the tiles, “we're here to find the athletic storeroom.”

“And break all the equipment,” said Goliath hopefully.

Limpy wondered if a cold shower would help cool down Goliath's brain.

There wasn't time.

He could hear the crowd cheering outside in the stadium. As soon as the event was over, the changing rooms would be thronging with athletes and Games officials and security guards and big dogs hungry for revenge.

“We have to be quick,” said Limpy as he led Goliath into the next room. “We need to find some athletic equipment for an event we can be good at. And we have to do it without anyone seeing us.”

“Too late,” said a voice.

Limpy froze.

Goliath bumped into him, then froze.