Chapter 20

 

Mitchell Lee was taller than me and really thin, almost skeletal. He had really, really curly dark hair and a tightly trimmed mustache. Wearing khakis and a checkered button-up, he reminded me, at first sight, of a modern Ichabod Crane.

 

I waved an arm from my booth in the corner of the coffee shop, probably unnecessarily, as so many people were glancing my way, he probably could have figured it out on his own. Plus my waitress never seemed to be more than twenty feet away. How did Astrid deal with all this attention? Truth told, she had been dealing with male attention from about fourteen on, so maybe the extra amount supplied by celebrity status wasn’t a big stretch for her. Bothered me, though. Snipers like to hide.

 

“Ajaya Gurung, so nice to meet you,” Mitchell said, shaking my hand.

 

“Really? You think?”

 

“Well, yes, of course. The man who rescued Team Johnson? Who wouldn’t want to meet you?”

 

“Probably Teams Uptown Girls and Bone Shakers. They’d have a shot at number one, wouldn’t they?”

 

He pulled back, his grin fading. “That’s pretty… cold.”

 

I laughed. “I’m kidding. This newfound attention is disturbing. Nobody cared a few days ago; now I’m somehow interesting to everybody. I don’t trust it,” I said, waving a hand at the faces turned our way.

 

His disturbed expression cleared and he nodded. “Oh, yeah, I can see how you might feel that…” he said, but then the waitress was right there.

 

“What can I getcha?” she asked, directing her comment at me instead of him as she topped up my already full cup.

 

“Ah, mocha latte, please,” Mitchell said.

 

“Sure thing,” she said, smiling at me. Not sure if she even glanced his way.

 

“See what I mean?” I asked as she reluctantly left the booth. “A week ago, I couldn’t get her attention for, like, ten minutes.”

 

“Yeah,” he said, frowning a little. Then his expression cleared and he became excited again. “I’m so glad you accepted my email. You must have dozens of interview requests.”

 

“Yeah, like fifty-three at last count, but none of them had what you have,” I said.

 

“What I have?” he asked, confused looking.

 

“Yeah, this will be a quid-pro-quo-type deal. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

 

“What, ah, what questions do you have for me?” he asked, much less sure.

“You wrote an article a while back, about ghosts in the Zone. I have questions,” I said, watching his response. If it was I, and I had written an article about sightings of people in the Zone, I would have been instantly curious about that question. Instead, his eyes got wide and he looked suddenly uncomfortable, maybe even worried.

 

The sound of fast-moving feet hit my ears and I spun around, my brain realizing just in time that the feet were very, very small. A small blonde pixie came to a crashing halt in front of me, her mother approaching with an embarrassed expression.

 

“Momma said you saved Ashhtrid,” she said, possibly six or seven years old. Both of her middle two upper front teeth were missing in action.

 

“I, ah, helped her. She’s my friend, so we have to help friends, right?” I asked. Behind her, the woman froze, a tentative smile on her face.

 

The little girl nodded, then dove forward to hug me. At least six people were touching the sides of their right eyes. I hugged her lightly, giving her mom a smile back.

 

“Come on, Joelle. Let’s leave Mr. Gurung to his coffee, okay?” the mom said, gently peeling the little person off me. Secure in her mom’s arms, Joelle waved at me as her mother took her back to their table.

 

Mitchell still looked uncertain but his eyes held a gleam much like the one Cade Kallow had when we were doing the big interview. He nodded. “How about question for question?” he asked.

 

I nodded. “Lead the way.”

 

“What’s it like when you come across human remains… in the Zone? Or do you not even notice them anymore?” he asked.

 

“I come across them every single trip inside. They’re everywhere and no, you never get used to them. Most of the time, I try to figure out what happened to them, how did they die. I’m always careful not to disturb them. I think that would be very disrespectful. In there, it’s human against machine, so I feel for every human I find.”

 

He opened his mouth to ask another one, then closed it at my raised eyebrow. Then he nodded. My turn.

 

“Did you find any other credible accounts of people living inside the Zone?” I asked.

 

He scratched his head, sighed, and finally spoke. “Yes. A couple of others, all Zone Defense. But between responding to my ad for sightings and me contacting them, they all changed their minds and refused to talk to me.

 

“You’ve refused to go on Zone War for three years. Why now?” he asked.

 

“They always wanted to put cameras on me before. That would be a real quick way to get dead. This was an on-air interview, not putting me at risk inside the Zone,” I said. “Where, in the Zone, did those other good sightings happen?”

 

“Only one responded with that much detail when they emailed me back. Said it happened on the lower west side of the island, about level with SoHo. What drives you to keep going back into the Zone?”

 

“I have a family to take care of,” I said. He raised both eyebrows, the message being that there were other ways to earn a living. I explained. “New York is expensive, nowadays even more so than London or Tokyo. There are five of us. The only skill I have that lets me meet those financial obligations is Zone salvage. Did you get into trouble for that article?”

 

He looked troubled, glancing around to see if anyone could hear us. “I was warned by my editors that it was extremely irresponsible to suggest people could live in the Zone. It was suggested that I should post a follow-up that basically admitted that my first article wasn’t even close to being true, just spooky ghost stories of the dead. What do you think about the Zone Reclamation Bill?”

 

“I don’t know any of its details. Saw something on the news that said it would require the military to go in with boots on the ground. As much as I would love to see Manhattan drone free, that would be a bloodbath.”

 

He jumped in before I could ask my question. “But then you’d lose your way of living? That flies in the face of your previous statement about supporting your family. You don’t really want to lose the Zone at all, do you?”

 

“It’s my turn. Were you ever visited by government agents regarding your story?”

 

“I’m not answering that. You’re not being straight with me. I think I have enough,” he said, reaching up to touch his right temple.

 

“Well, Mitchell, so do I,” I said, touching a button on my shirt. People get so used to iContacts that they forget about more mundane recording systems. “Be very careful what you write. You bailed early. My answer to your last question is kind of a doozy. But now you won’t have it. Maybe another reporter would like the story. Maybe Agents Black and White would like to see how you responded to my questions?”

 

He grimaced and started to say something but then glanced around quickly, seeing all the faces still turned in our direction. Then he picked up his latte and left. The door closed behind him as I realized he’d just stuck me with the bill.