Free Triskellion by Will Peterson

one in particular gave her any answer beyond the shake of a head, so she wheeled herself back to remove the tablecloths from the trestles. When she had finished, she took a powder compact from her handbag and checked her make-up in the small mirror.
    Outside on the veranda, Tom Hatcham, padded-up and waiting to bat, lumbered over to Commodore Wing, who stood on the steps, looking out over the pitch, his eyes narrowed against the sun.
    “They’ve gone,” Hatcham said.
    Commodore Wing gave Hatcham no sign that he either knew or cared what the landlord was talking about. He shouted out a brief “Shot!” as Lee Bacon hit a four across the boundary, the red ball speeding into the rope that marked the edge of the pitch, bouncing up and thudding into the flaking, wooden steps beneath the commodore’s feet.
    As the train gathered speed, Rachel looked out at the green blur of trees that sped past the window, and let out a deep breath that she realized she had been holding for the best part of a minute. She could see Adam’s spirits visibly lifting as the train headed away from the village. He flopped back in his seat, his feet up on the chair opposite, and his smile that little bit broader than it had been for several days.
    But no sooner had the train reached full speed than it suddenly began to slow down again. The green blur outside the window refocused into trees and hedgerows. Thebrakes squealed against the hot rails and the train ground to a halt.
    “Just the signals, I guess,” Rachel said. She summoned a smile, but was unable to contain a glance back along the track herself, to shake off the feeling of having been followed. The engine ticked over, clicking and whirring, then slowly the carriage began to roll
backwards
along the track.
    Adam glanced round nervously, then jumped up from his seat and paced over to the sliding door. The train continued to reverse for a few metres, then, its engine powering down, finally stopped altogether.
    Adam stabbed at the buttons that would open and close the doors if activated by the driver.
    Nothing.
    Rachel realized that, unlike those on the old carriage in which they had arrived, these electric doors could not be opened from inside. “So much for a nice, new train,” she said.
    “I’m going up front. See what’s happening.” Adam pushed his way along the aisle and opened the door at the end of the carriage that joined it to the next one. Rachel did not fancy being alone in the otherwise empty carriage and quickly followed.
    Three carriages down, Rachel and Adam found the guard’s cabin, empty, but with a window open on to the side of the track. Adam stuck his head out and Rachel craned herneck to see through the small gap that remained. A man in a blue uniform, holding a dayglo orange flag, was walking away from them along the curve of the carriages, moving slowly towards the front of the train, which was obscured from them by the bend.
    “Hey,” Adam called, but the man didn’t seem to hear. Adam turned back to his sister. “I’m not staying in here. I want to know what’s up.” He stretched his arm out of the window and reached down to where a handle on the outside released the guard’s door. It swung open against the side of the train with a clang. Adam jumped down the metre or so from the train on to the coarse gravel of the track. Rachel hesitated a moment then, when Adam turned round, his arms open as if to catch her, she jumped too.
    They walked alongside the train until the engine came into view, but instead of the signals they had expected, saw a vast oak tree lying across the rails. The driver had climbed down from the engine and was talking to the guard with the orange flag. As Rachel and Adam approached, the men looked tiny against the tree, its thick, scaly trunk as high as their necks and the dense green foliage spreading well beyond the limits of the track. It looked like a dead dinosaur guarding the line. Keeping intruders away.
    Ensuring that, for a