REPORTER: Morris has cautioned that these efforts are often unsuccessful. And even if something were discovered, it’s unlikely that it would answer all the questions. But pressure from various governments and influential families has ratcheted up since that life raft appeared on Montserrat.
ANCHOR: Speaking of that, Tyler, has the man who discovered the raft been found?
REPORTER: Not as of yet. The media here ask about him every day. But so far, no response. It’s a rather small island. So it seems unlikely someone could go unseen for very long.
Land
“Good morning!” LeFleur said cheerily when the guesthouse door swung open. “Wanna go for a ride?”
“What time is it?” Dobby grumbled, rubbing his face.
“Around eight. I’m heading to the beach where we discovered the raft. I thought you might want to see it.”
Dobby sniffed deeply. He wore a black Rolling Stones T-shirt and orange running shorts.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Actually, I would. Can you give me a few minutes to get cleaned up?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the jeep.”
LeFleur had arrived with a plan. It began with getting Dobby alone, then confronting him with what he knew. He didn’t want to run into any reporters. And there was one place where he knew that wouldn’t happen.
An hour later LeFleur was steering his jeep through the darkened landscape of the exclusion zone as Dobby gazed out the window. Gone was the lush green vegetation and sherbet-colored houses of the northern side of the island, replaced by a moonlike terrain of mud and gray dunes. Occasionally the top of a streetlight or the upper half of a house could be seen poking up from the ash.
The exclusion zone was the dead half of Montserrat, a dull, empty panorama suggesting the end of one world and the beginning of another. Twenty-four years after the Soufrière Hills eruption, the area remained off-limits.
“Why are there no other cars on this road?” Dobby said.
“Only authorized vehicles.”
“The beach is beyond this?”
“Yeah,” LeFleur lied.
Dobby looked out the window. “How long ago did that volcano explode?”
“Nineteen ninety-seven.”
“I bet you never forget that year.”
“No,” LeFleur said. “We never do.”
Eventually, the jeep reached Plymouth, once the largest town on the island. Four thousand people had lived here. Shops and restaurants had thrived. Now, like Pompeii, Plymouth was defined by its ashen ruins. Oddly enough, it remained the island’s official seat of government, but its population was zero, making it the world’s only ghost-town capital.
“This is bloody awful,” Dobby mumbled.
LeFleur nodded, but kept his eyes straight ahead. Bloody awful, it was. But worse than the calculated murder of a yacht full of innocent people? He didn’t get this Dobby, the way he reacted to things. If the notebook was accurate, then Benji’s “cousin” was incredibly good at hiding his crimes—and his guilt. But the biggest question still remained: How did Dobby get off the Galaxy? How did he escape when everyone else was lost?
“Is that a church?” Dobby asked, pointing.
LeFleur slowed the jeep and saw the remains of a cathedral. “It was,” he said. He thought for a moment. “Do you want to take a look?”
Dobby seemed surprised. “All right. If you’ve got time.”
Moments later they were entering the ruined structure, which had been burned inside and out from the volcanic eruption. Light spilled through the exposed beams that once held up a roof. Some pews still lined up parallel to each other, but others were destroyed, their loose boards and rails scattered where they came apart. The floor was covered in ash. Prayer books lay open and abandoned. Here and there some green growth was spreading, the Earth reclaiming the space.
The remains of a lectern, with four steps leading up to it, stood in the center, before a large archway that was burned black.
“Go stand in that,” LeFleur suggested, “and I’ll take a picture.”
Dobby shrugged. “Nah, that’s OK.”
“Go on. When else will you be here?”
Dobby hesitated, then shuffled his boots along the ashen ground to the steps. LeFleur waited. Beads of sweat formed on his hairline. The lectern itself was inside a round enclosure, waist high, with a railing all around. One way in, one way out.
When Dobby reached the top, he rested his arms on the dirty edges. Had he been a priest, he’d have been ready for a sermon.
“Lemme grab my camera,” LeFleur said. He reached slowly around his side, took a breath, then pulled his gun from its holster. With both hands holding it steady, he aimed the barrel straight at Dobby, whose eyes widened in shock.