Triskellion 3: The Gathering

by Will Peterson

  Charlie grunted and shook his head.

  “Put the gun down, Charlie,” Clifford said.

  Charlie said nothing. Keeping one eye on Gabriel and the other on his brother, who was getting closer with every step, he raised an arm to wipe away the sweat that was running down his face.

  “Why don’t you do something?” Rachel hissed at Gabriel.

  “I don’t have to,” he said. “Watch…”

  Charlie Possum was shaking, the shotgun veering back and forth between the children and Clifford, who was now no more than a metre away from him.

  “You know this is wrong,” Clifford said.

  Charlie shook his head vehemently. “Don’t make me shoot you too.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Clifford said, taking another step towards his brother.

  “Stop!” Charlie cried, waving the gun.

  But Clifford kept going. He lunged forward at the last second – just as Charlie raised the weapon – and made a grab for the gun.

  The shots were deafening.

  As Rachel, Adam and Gabriel backed away, they could see that the fuselage was peppered with bullet holes, and fuel was beginning to pour from one of the engines.

  Oblivious to the danger, the two brothers wrestled over the gun, their screams of anger and frustration echoing off the rock that towered high above them.

  “Can’t you stop them?” Adam asked.

  Gabriel shook his head and dragged the twins back, pulling them away from the plane until they were a safe distance from the explosion that he knew was coming.

  The force of it knocked the three of them off their feet. By the time Rachel had managed to stand up again and wipe the sand from her eyes, the plane was already engulfed in flames. She stared into the inferno, trying to make out the figures of Charlie and Clifford Possum. She knew there was no way they could have survived the blast, but just for a second she imagined she saw them: two dark figures, twisting together against a wall of flames.

  The spirits of two warring brothers.

  Rachel watched Gabriel turn and saunter away and was gripped by panic. It was as if they were suddenly out of control on a terrible rollercoaster ride. She took hold of her brother’s arm, which was trembling. Their heads spun with images, memories, feelings; few of them good. Since holding the Triskellions, they had returned to a shocking reality; one in which they remembered the traumatic adventures that had brought them to this continent in the first place.

  And now they were out of immediate danger, the full realization hit them both in the stomach like a low punch.

  Rachel began to cry and she could clearly see the distress on her brother’s face; could feel it in her mind. She turned away from the terrible heat of the fire and saw Gabriel sitting on a rock. He was holding the Triskellions and smiling.

  “We were happy, and safe!” Rachel screamed at him. “Then you come along and … start all this again.”

  “You weren’t safe,” Gabriel said.

  “And we are now?” Adam snapped.

  Gabriel shrugged and stood up. “We need to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Rachel said. “I want to go back and see Mom. Make sure she’s OK.”

  Gabriel said nothing.

  “I’m with Rachel.” Adam’s voice quavered with fear and panic. “Whenever we’ve followed you, it’s ended in disaster.”

  “But that’s just it” – Gabriel rested a hand on his shoulder – “it hasn’t ended yet, and it can’t end without your help.”

  “I want it to end,” Adam said.

  “Good. Then let’s make it happen. Aren’t you both sick of running? Of hiding?”

  Rachel could read her brother’s thoughts and knew the answer.

  Gabriel had remained so calm and seemed so unmoved by Rachel and Adam’s pleas that it was clear there was only one possible way to go.

  His way.

  “So how do we help you?” Rachel asked.

  “There’s another one,” Gabriel said; “another Triskellion.”

  “And what happens when we find it?” Rachel asked. “If we find it?”

  “We need to bring the three together,” he said. “That will be the end of it. And yes, we will find it. You already know where it is.”

  Rachel had a sudden hunch. “It’s in the United States, isn’t it.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “Home,” Adam said.

  They turned at the sudden scream of sirens. A fire engine from the visitors’ centre was racing across the scrub towards the burning plane.

  “We need to move,” Gabriel said. “They mustn’t find us here.”

  They dodged through the undergrowth and skirted round the base of the mountain until they could see the visitors’ centre in the distance. Adam went in and bought some water, and Rachel said she needed the toilet. She checked her purse; she still had some money.

  After buying something to eat, she found a payphone and dialled the number of the house they had left some days before. There was no answer. Just a piercing continuous disconnected tone.

  Rachel had not expected her mother to be there, but having it confirmed only added to her panic.

  She thought for a moment; she really needed to speak to someone. She looked around. No one was waiting for the phone.

  She dialled another number…

  “Mel Campbell…”

  Laura had barely been able to hear the ringtone of her phone over the grumble of the Jeep’s tired engine and had only just remembered in time to use her alias.

  “No names,” the girl said. “It’s me.”

  Laura slowed down and pulled over. “Are you OK?” she asked. Her heart leapt at the sound of Rachel’s voice on the line.

  “Sort of,” Rachel said. “It’s all come back to us, though… Who we are; what we’ve been through.”

  Laura sighed and felt a pang of guilt. The worst had happened, and yet the scientist in Laura Sullivan felt a nagging urge to know what would happen next. “Are you safe?”

  A brief snort came down the phone. “Guess not. He’s come back.”

  “Who?” Laura asked, knowing full well who Rachel meant, but needing it confirmed.

  “Think. The boy.”

  “Where are you?” Laura asked. “I’ll come and find you; I’ll try to protect you.”

  “You can’t,” Rachel said. “Protect Mom.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Laura felt herself flush, knowing that her protection had already been inadequate.

  “I tried her at the house, but the phone’s been cut off. Where is she?”

  Laura didn’t know what to say. “Just tell me where you are,” she urged.

  “It’s best that you don’t know. We’re leaving now, anyhow.”

  “I think I know where you are,” Laura said. “Did you find them? In the biscuit tin?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah,” Rachel said. “We did.”

  “Just tell me where you’re going,” Laura pleaded.

  “No,” Rachel said, and then her voice softened a little. “We’re going to finish this.”

  “Please let me come with you…”

  “Gotta go.”

  “Love you…” Laura said.

  But Rachel had already gone.

  Laura grabbed a crumpled Kleenex from the dashboard, blew her nose loudly and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She knew now that they were way ahead of her; she had no chance of catching them.

  Deep down, she had always known.

  She shrugged, defeated, and her mind flashed back to the cave on the North African coast where they had discovered the second Triskellion. There, she had seen the twins’ arrival from New York, their stay in England, the trek across Europe and finally the time they’d spent in Australia, all detailed in a mural painted thousands of years before.

  Laura could not bring herself to think of the last series of images: the ones only she had seen that showed an alarming future that had not happene
d.

  At least, not yet.

  Laura arrived back in Kalgoorlie early the next afternoon. She had driven all night, keeping herself awake with coffee as soon as she had reached the first signs of civilization.

  She checked back into the Nelson Hotel. The room was hot and, although her body ached from hours and hours of bumping over rough terrain, she slept fitfully – bad dreams and anxious thoughts never far from the surface.

  She was finally woken by a knock on her door.

  “Hello?” she said, nervously.

  Another knock.

  Laura swung her legs out of bed and pulled on her jeans. She fumbled in her bag and slipped a folding knife into her pocket, then, thinking better of it, opened it and held it concealed in her hand. She crept up to the door and listened, sensing someone still outside.

  “Hello?” she said again.

  “Laura?” The voice was quiet, close to the door.

  Laura fumbled with the catch and swung the door wide open. Standing in the hall, looking drained and frightened was Kate Newman.

  Laura bundled her into the room. She caught sight of the haunted expression on Kate’s face and hugged her. “You OK?” she asked. She could see that Kate was anything but OK.

  “Not really,” Kate said weakly. “I’m wanted. For murder.”

  Laura sat Kate down on the bed and made them both coffee. “What are you talking about?” she said, handing Kate a cup. “What murder?”

  Kate began to talk…

  She had not been nearly strong enough to resist the man who had forced his way into her house. The American had nearly wrenched the door from its hinges, and Kate had fallen back into the room. He had followed coolly behind and closed the door quietly, locking it with the key.

  Kate had held the back of a chair, her knees trembling and her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.

  The American had sat down at the kitchen table without taking off his sunglasses. “Where are they?” he’d asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  He’d pushed his glasses up on to his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as if he had already become tired of waiting. “You’re their mother, Kate. You must know where they are.”

  “I honestly don’t,” she had said. “They left in the night.”

  “By themselves?”

  “Yes,” Kate had lied, thinking that if there was any chance of them escaping, the boy they had left with would provide it.

  “Tell me what you know about your kids.” The American had looked straight into her eyes.

  “They’re just a pair of normal kids who happen to be twins.”

  “Nothing … special about them, then?” he had asked.

  The maternal instinct had risen up, strong. “Of course they’re special. They’re my kids.”

  “We know that. But what about special powers? Mind- reading? ESP? Hypnosis?”

  “They’re just kids,” Kate had said. “Leave them alone.”

  “What do you know about the Hope Project, Kate?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Now I know you’re lying,” he’d said, any inflection of warmth gone from his voice. “Apparently, you were a guest of the Project in England for some time a couple of years ago. This is a nice way to repay our hospitality.”

  He had got up and walked towards her, cracking his knuckles. Kate had steadied herself against the chair. She’d known she was in a corner now and didn’t like to think what might happen if she didn’t co-operate.

  “W-w-wait…” she’d stammered. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just promise me you won’t harm them.”

  “Come on, then.” The American had smiled faintly. “Talk.”

  “OK. I know that they’re different; that they have different genes to the rest of us.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” the American had said. “And have you heard of Triskellion?”

  Kate had nodded. “It was the place where I grew up.”

  “And what about the artefact that has the same name? Have you ever seen one?”

  Kate had known she would have one chance at this, and she had to get it right. She’d hesitated for what had felt like the right amount of time.

  “Well?” the American had pressed.

  “Yes,” she’d replied. “My kids have two of them.”

  “And do you know where the Triskellions are?”

  “Yes. If I show you where they are, will you leave us alone?”

  The American had nodded. The excitement had been written clearly across his face.

  Kate had taken timid steps over to the cupboard concealed under the stairs by the tongue-and-groove planks.

  “Secret cupboard?” the man had joked.

  She had run her fingernails along the side of one of the planks. The cupboard had swung open, and with her body she had masked the shotgun that Laura had put there a few days before. She had known she would have to be quick. In one move she had unhooked the gun and swung it back round into the room, noting in a millisecond the look of panic on the American’s face.

  “I killed him.” Kate’s face was blank, traumatized.

  Laura shook her head in disbelief.

  “He was from Hope,” Kate said. “He had a list. He knew who we were. He knew the kids’ names!” She took a sip of her drink with a trembling hand.

  Laura felt a flutter of panic. “Which names?”

  “Their real names,” Kate said. “Our names.”

  “We need to get away from here, pronto,” Laura said. “How did you leave the place?”

  Kate barely heard her. Her mind had flashed back to the moment when the American had tried to wrestle the shotgun from her: how she had accidentally pulled the trigger. He had flown backwards, his black shirt blown to tatters and wet with blood. “There was a struggle…” she murmured. “The gun went off.”

  “Kate?” Laura said, bringing her back. “How did you leave the house?”

  Kate looked at Laura’s horrified face.

  “I burned it down,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do… I wanted to destroy everything … the evidence. Now, where are my kids?”

  The Boeing 747 began its descent from the clear blue.

  Rachel shaded her eyes as she watched the wing tips tremble; wisps of cloud and invisible air currents skimmed across the plane, forcing it down towards the earth. Rachel had no clear idea just how these things stayed in the sky. She vaguely knew the physics – the combination of forward thrust and air resistance and so on – but the fact that it stayed up still seemed like a minor miracle.

  It appeared that Gabriel also had little confidence in the aeroplane staying in the sky. He had looked sick and nervous for every minute of the past thirty or so hours, and had only rallied a little when the flight had touched down in Chicago and let some passengers off before continuing on to New York. For the past hour his eyes had kept darting nervously to the overhead locker where the Triskellions were wrapped up tightly in Rachel and Adam’s backpacks.

  The thirty hours of travelling had given the twins time to get used to the memories that had come back to them. Their childhood in Manhattan. The home they had grown up in. The years spent with the father they would now try to re-establish contact with.

  They were both trying not to think what the next leg of their adventure would reveal. Gabriel was giving no clues away. In fact, he had barely spoken to them at all.

  Rachel held Gabriel’s hand as they continued their descent, feeling for once that she was more in charge of the situation than he was.

  The plane banked, and New York stretched out below them: a collection of small islands and peninsulas. As they got closer still, the spires and mirrored towers of Manhattan came into view and sparkled – as shiny and magical as the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz.

  The plane dropped further and Rachel recognized the East River below, and just beyond, the runway of LaGuardia Airport. After the bright light of Australia and b
eneath the cloud canopy, the world looked greyer – and more familiar.

  Home.

  They queued at passport control. The immigration officer looked Rachel and Adam up and down, studied their passports for a moment and then called a colleague. The two officers then looked through the twins’ passports and at the stamps on the pages. They typed in an address on a computer terminal.

  The first officer looked up, and Rachel managed to catch his eye.

  “We’ve been to see our grandma,” she said, and smiled.

  The other officer looked at Adam, who also smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “Welcome home.” The officers spoke in unison, and waved them through, the first man tipping his cap at Rachel.

  They left the terminal building and walked across to where the buses stopped to rejoin Gabriel, who had somehow slipped through customs unnoticed. Adam had seen a payphone and went inside to try to make contact with their father.

  Across the concourse, a small group of men in grey suits and women in pink and blue twinsets had gathered. The women were handing out leaflets, and one of the men was talking through a megaphone: “Come and join us at the Church of the Triple Wheel. Ezekiel One will soon be upon us. Become a Triple Wheeler today and be ready for the Gathering…”

  A lady in a pink cardigan stepped forward with a beaming smile and gave Rachel a leaflet. “Spread the good news, young lady. Prepare for the Gathering.”

  Rachel took the leaflet while Gabriel waved away the advance of a young man with a CD.

  “Prepare,” the man said. “Listen to Pastor Crane in your own home.”

  Rachel looked at the leaflet. It read:

  EZEKIEL ONE. THE TIME IS NOW!

  She looked at the picture of a man with a plastic-looking face and blond wig addressing a rally somewhere; his eyes were bright and full of what she took to be religious fervour.

  “What’s Ezekiel One?” she asked.

  Gabriel leaned across. “Let me see,” he said, taking the leaflet. “What did you say he was called?”

  As Gabriel stared at the leaflet, Adam rejoined them. Rachel saw the look on his face. “Did you speak to Dad?” she asked.