The cabin was abandoned, as far as I could tell. No signs of life came from either inside or around the cabin. I knocked several times, but it was obvious that no one was going to answer me. Well, I didn't come all the way out here for nothing.
I walked around the house, trying to find an entry way I hadn't thought of. It wasn't much of a place to live; it didn't have a backdoor or a chimney or any other way I could easily get inside. All it had was a locked front door and a window. Sorry, Chance. I'll buy you a new window next time I see you.
I found a good-sized rock and hurled it through the glass, which easily broke. I cleared the glass shards aside and carefully eased my way in. It was dark, but I had throught ahead enough to bring a flashlight. I fumbled in my purse until I found it and then I illuminated the small room. On the wall across from me I found a light switch, which provided a lot more light than my flashlight. What caught me by surprise was a giant rug that had an anarchy symbol crudely sketched into it spread across the main wall of the cabin. As I looked around I began to see other things that were vaguely familiar--a red flag, articles clipped from from newspapers, and other various Australian Resistance paraphernalia. What disturbed me most was the weapons that were scattered about the floor. Several knives, a rifle, a handgun, and some chemicals leftover from creating a small bomb were spread around like it was his demented hobby. I always knew Chance was radical, but this was too much.
On his desk, I saw a picture of my brother posing with a youth in his twenties, both donned in traditional rebel garb and flashing an anarchy sign. On the back was a note that read: "Chance--For protection and peace, Dalton." How ironic. I didn't see anything in anarchy that was related to protection or peace.
Under the picture was another that showed young Dalton posing on a fishing trip with a middle-aged man. The guy looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Then, it suddenly came to me. That was the guy who shot us--the driver of the car.
Now I had found my culprit. I just needed to a way to, well, find him.
I searched throughout the desk. I didn't find anything meaningful in any of his address books or calendars, but I did find a birthday card with Chance's name on it from Dalton. Inside was a message that said, "Take care of my son. Here's a couple of c-notes to help you along. -Dalton." The money wasn't in the card any longer. Too bad.
I looked closely at the signature and realized that it didn't match the signature from the picture. Two different Daltons--father and son, like the fishing picture. Why did Dalton Sr. want Chance to take care of Dalton Jr.? Whoa, wait a minute...
No. I already learned too many new things about my brother for one day.
I flipped the card over and it had a message that said, "Call if you need anything. (213) 839-2817."
Hmm. The personal number of Tex's kidnapper. Now that's a lead.
I grabbed the card and the two pictures and ran toward my speeder to go home.
(Go to 11)