Toad Rage Read Online Free PDF Page B

to do it in emergencies, and this was certainly an emergency.
    Limpy kept spraying till his poison glands were empty.
    “Arghhh,” screamed the front rat, clawing at its face. “That really hurts.”
    The other rats were howling and rubbing their faces and backing away.
    They turned and ran.
    “Vicious mongrel,” yelled one as they went.
    Limpy ignored that.
    When his whole body had stopped shaking, he cautiously poked part of his head out of the drain opening and looked around.
    No teenagers.
    And there, in the loading dock, was the bloke with the clipboard.
    As Limpy hurried across the footpath toward him, he saw that the bloke was still angry. Except this time it wasn't the driver he was angry at, it was the girl in the sports singlet who'd been holding the big stick in the parade.
    She looked so unhappy, Limpy felt a pang of sympathy, even though Uncle Bart had told him once it wasn't natural to feel sympathy for another species.
    Limpy had never seen a human so miserable, not even kids in the backs of cars when the parents were playing their own music.
    He hid behind a box in the loading dock, hoping something would happen to cheer the girl up.
    “Why is it always me?” the girl was demanding, her dark ponytail flapping angrily around her head. “There are thousands of other athletes at the Games.
    Why can't you get one of them to appear at a dumb shopping center for a change?”
    “Because,” said the man, “the public wants to see you. They don't want to see some ugly bloke in his twenties with a prickle haircut and lumpy legs. They want to see Australia's youngest and prettiest Games athlete.”
    Limpy couldn't understand what the man was saying, but he could see the girl didn't like it. She threw her can of drink to the ground. The can rolled toward Limpy. It was another of the red ones with brown liquid trickling out of it.
    “I'm an athlete, not a soapie star,” the girl said angrily. “I've got training to do.”
    “You're in great physical shape,” snapped the man. “And if you stop drinking so much of that stuff, you'll stay that way.”
    Suddenly the girl was in tears.
    Limpy stared, sympathetic but fascinated. He'd heard about this weird thing humans could do with their eyes. Seeing it made him feel strange inside. Sort of sad.
    “What would you know?” the girl was saying to the man through her tears. “All you publicity people care about is ticket sales and TV ratings. You don't know anything about being an athlete.”
    She ran off and the man banged his clipboardangrily against the truck and followed her.
    Disappointed, Limpy watched the man go. So much for that plan. The man looked much too cross and distracted to be paying attention to Games mascot volunteers.
    Limpy wondered where he could find a less angry Games official. It wouldn't be easy. He didn't know the first thing about the natural territory or feeding habits of Games officials.
    Then he looked up at the truck and the answer popped into his mind.
    A scary, dangerous answer.
    But a good one.
    Of course, thought Limpy. That's where Games officials must hang out. Down south, at the Games.
    Limpy went over to the back of the truck and looked at the brake light. He wondered how far away the Games were, and whether he could hang on to a lump of plastic for that long. Then he noticed some other passengers sitting on the rear number plate.
    Two fruit flies.
    “G'day,” said Limpy. “Do you know if this truck's heading south to the Games?”
    The fruit flies looked at Limpy nervously.
    Limpy smiled at them and tried to look like a cane toad who'd just had a large lunch and wouldn't be eating any insects for several hours.
    The fruit flies still looked nervous.
    “We think it's heading south,” one said.
    “We hope so,” said the other. “We're planning to try our luck in the fruit industry down there.”
    “Thanks,” said Limpy. “Hope it goes well for you.”
    At that moment a shadow fell over Limpy.
    A big grinning human