Toad Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page A

black.

“O uch,” said Limpy.
    Daylight was stinging his eyeballs.
    Something else was stinging his back. Worse than stinging, hurting. He hadn't felt pain like it for years, not since the truck had run over his leg.
    I don't get it, thought Limpy. Why's my back hurting? The needle went into my tummy, not my back.
    A horrible thought hit him. Perhaps it was a fork wound. Perhaps the human had tried to eat him while he was unconscious.
    Would a conservationist do that? Limpy hoped not, for all their sakes. But his back was killing him.
    What had happened?
    Limpy tried to look over his shoulder, but that only made the pain worse.
    I need a mirror, he thought.
    He looked around, but all he could see was blueplastic. No puddles, no shiny metal, no spare lizard eyeballs, no reflective surfaces of any kind.
    Just smooth curved plastic walls.
    Stack me, thought Limpy. I'm in a bucket.
    He knew he should be scared, but his back was hurting too much for that.
    I know, thought Limpy, grimacing. I'll do a wee and look at my back in that.
    Before he did, he glanced up in case the bucket happened to be standing close to a side-view mirror on the four-wheel drive.
    It wasn't. The bucket was half under what looked to Limpy like a folding table, the kind humans used for picnics and washing toddlers on after they fell into mud holes.
    “Ouch,” said Limpy again. Tilting his head was making his back hurt even more.
    But suddenly he didn't care. Above him he saw, hanging over the edge of the picnic table and clearly visible against the sky and the trees, several large sheets of paper covered in squiggly lines and colored patches.
    Maps.
    Limpy knew what maps were because he'd seen people using them in cars. Maps were what humans used to find places and start arguments.
    Places like, for example, national parks.
    Limpy's warts tingled with excitement.
    Perhaps that's why the conservationist captured me, he thought. Perhaps it's part of a plan to transport all cane toads to the safety of national parks.
    Limpy was wondering how he could arrange for Charm and Goliath and Mum and Dad and the other rellies to go to the same national park as him when a drop of something wet plopped onto his head.
    Rain?
    For a breathless moment, Limpy pictured the bucket filling up with rain and his floating to the top and escaping and rounding up the family so they could all travel together.
    Then he tasted the trickle running down his cheek.
    It wasn't water, it was saliva.
    Limpy looked up.
    A face was staring down at him. A big face with floppy ears and sad eyes and a droopy wet mouth.
    For a second Limpy thought the conservationist had shaved off his beard during the night.
    Then he realized it was a dog.
    “Good,” said the dog, without any enthusiasm that Limpy could hear. “You've woken up at last. We thought you'd carked it.”
    I still might, thought Limpy grimly, if my back's anything to go by.
    “Not much fun, these conservation projects, are they?” said the dog mournfully.
    Limpy wondered how much the dog knew about what was going on. Maybe the dog was the conservationist's assistant. Humans would probably prefer dog assistants because they could kill their own fleas whereas human assistants, so Limpy had heard, needed chemical sprays.
    “I'll get the boss,” said the dog.
    “No, wait,” said Limpy. “I want to ask you something. Are there any national parks around here?”
    The dog thought for a moment.
    “Yeah. Over to the east. Huge. Can't miss it.”
    Limpy felt like doing a cartwheel. Then he remembered his back. Plus he still had to ask the six-million-mudworm question.
    “This conservation project,” said Limpy. “Does it involve transporting cane toads to national parks where we can live safely and happily for ever and ever?”
    The dog thought for another moment.
    “No,” said the dog flatly. “It involves infecting cane toads with a virus that'll kill you all.”
    Limpy felt weak with shock. He stared up at the dog,