Toad Rage by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online

and the main chassis of the truck, smeared with oil, covered in dust, and spitting road gravel out through dry lips—was Goliath.
    Limpy blinked and swung his head round to use his other eye, just in case he was seeing things.
    He wasn't.
    “Goliath,” yelled Limpy. “Are you okay?”
    “No,” croaked Goliath, “I'm not. I'm a hit-and-run victim.”
    Limpy decided not to point out that hit-and-run victims didn't usually threaten trucks with sticks.
    “I've been yelling for ages,” complained Goliath, “but you were more interested in hanging off the side of the truck.”
    “Sorry,” said Limpy. “Are you hurt?”
    Goliath didn't answer.
    Limpy didn't like the look of him. The way his arms and legs were just hanging loose and his face was pushed into his own bottom. He could have broken bones and internal injuries.
    “Help me out of here,” croaked Goliath. “I'm gunna rip this bloke's doors off and shove his engine up his nose.”
    Then again, perhaps not.
    Limpy scraped a handful of grasshopper bits off the radiator grille and swung himself under the front of the truck.
    The roadway hissed past his head, hungry for his brains.
    Limpy ignored it.
    Upside down, careful to keep his crook leg off the road, he clambered across to Goliath.
    “Hang on,” he said.
    “Don't need to,” said Goliath gloomily. “It'll take a crowbar to get me out of here.”
    Limpy swung onto the axle cover next to his cousin. For a skinny cane toad there was plenty of room. Now that he was close, Limpy winced. For a cane toad the size of Goliath it was a tragically tight fit.
    Limpy moistened Goliath's lips with grasshopper juice, then fed him the bits.
    Goliath gulped them down.
    “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, what are you doing?”
    “Lubrication,” said Limpy, scooping up handfuls of truck oil from the axle cover and rubbing them into Goliath's warty skin. “It's a concept I learned from a slug.”
    When Goliath was covered with oil, Limpy clambered round to the other side of the axle and started pushing.
    Goliath didn't budge.
    Limpy braced himself against a brake-fluid hose and pushed till his warts felt like they'd pop.
    Still Goliath didn't shift.
    This is hopeless, thought Limpy. I'll have to starve him till he gets thin. Which could take weeks. Meanwhile, if a rock flies up from the road …
    Then Limpy remembered something.
    Goliath was scared of dust mites.
    Giant lizards didn't fluster him a bit, enraged funnel-web spiders usually copped an earful if they tried it on with Goliath, but dust mites sent him into a panic.
    Limpy took a deep breath. It was risky, but he didn't have any choice.
    “Sorry I'm not pushing very hard,” he said in a loud voice behind Goliath. “I keep slipping on all the dust mites.”
    Goliath gave a scream louder than all the air brakes going on at once, and disappeared.
    Limpy stared around in panic.
    Oh no, Goliath must have wrenched himself free and leapt straight onto the road.
    I shouldn't have done it, thought Limpy, distraught. I should have just tickled him.
    Then he saw something moving up ahead.
    Something large and hanging upside down from the truck chassis.
    It was Goliath, wide-eyed with terror, scrabbling his way toward the front of the truck.
    By the time Limpy caught up, Goliath was on the bull bar gobbling insect fragments. Now that he had a mouthful of grasshopper, locust, midge, moth, gnat, and cicada, he seemed to have forgotten about the dust mites.
    Limpy showed him how to turn round and get a fresh supply of dinner.
    After a very long time, Goliath burped and gave Limpy a grin. Limpy beamed back. His crook leg was twitching with happiness to see Goliath. He gave Goliath a delighted punch on the arm. Goliath gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him off the truck.
    “Thanks, old mate,” said Goliath. He glared up at the driver's cabin. “Now I'm gunna teach this mongrel a lesson, starting with ripping his wheels off and peeing in his fuel