At Any Cost Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Fawkes, K. M.

  These cameras—which were linked to a twenty-four-hour-a-day recording device—would tell him if anyone was up there, or if it was safe for him to go up to the surface.

  His mind drifted once again to his sister and her family, and to the fact that they didn’t have any sort of warning system, but he shut the thought down quickly. He’d given Kady his offer. She knew he had a safe place and plenty of food and water, plus protection. He could only hope she’d take advantage of it. If not for herself, then for her son.

  At that moment, Garrett saw action in one of the windows on the monitor itself and a boy wandered into the frame, staggering slightly. Garrett gasped.

  He’d just been thinking of his nephew, picturing him in his head, and the boy he saw on the screen right now could have been Zach. He was around the same age, and had the same sort of shaggy haircut that was so popular with young people these days.

  Garrett was on his way to the elevator before he’d finished the thought. Whoever that kid was, he shouldn’t be out there in the desert by himself. This silo was a full twenty-five miles from civilization, which meant this kid was twenty-five miles from help.

  Garrett didn’t bother to think about how he’d gotten here—or why. He wasn’t going to let the kid wander around the desert on his own. He must have family near here, or perhaps be here with a field trip or something. It was daytime out, and he would be getting thirsty in the heat of New Mexico’s early summer season.

  Whoever he was, he needed help.

  But the next thought brought Garrett skidding to a stop just as his finger was reaching toward the button for the elevator.

  In the middle of the desert by himself. At that age. There was something wrong here, and if he hadn’t been so quick to try to play hero, he would have realized it earlier.

  Garrett slowly pivoted on his toes and strode back toward the monitors, his eyes on the boy, who was now very obviously staggering, looking like his legs had stopped working correctly. Or his lungs. He reached out toward the silo, probably seeing a human dwelling and assuming that there was someone in there to help him. His face held a confused, terrified expression, and Garrett’s own face twisted in rage and horror. His heart constricted in sorrow at what he was watching. Because he knew exactly what it was, now. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t different.

  That didn’t make it any less horrible.

  People had been driving their sick into the deserts for some time and dropping them off, thinking, perhaps, that a quicker death from overheating was the gentler way to go. Thinking perhaps that they would be stung by a scorpion or even bitten by a rattlesnake, and find an easier death by poisoning rather than a slow, suffocating death of drowning in their own blood.

  In truth, Garrett thought it was less generous and more selfish. People didn’t want to watch their loved ones die, and they would rather it happen far away from them, where they didn’t have to see it. Where they could pretend it hadn’t happened. Even if it meant their loved ones dying on their own.

  In this case, even if it meant one of their children dying on their own.

  His hands balled into fists as the boy on the camera fell to his knees. Though there wasn’t any sound on the recording, Garrett could almost hear the boy’s cries, hear the anguished screams that accompanied that confused look on his face.

  He let out a sob of his own at the thought but refused to turn away. This boy’s family had deserted him to die on his own—or perhaps were already dead—but he wouldn’t leave the boy on his own by turning away. He couldn’t be there in person. He would be risking his life going up there, assuring himself contamination if he touched the kid.

  But he wouldn’t turn away. Someone needed to remember this boy and witness his death. The kid deserved that much, at least.

  The boy started choking, then, and Garrett bit his lip as the blood started to run from his mouth. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. Once their mouths started to overflow, it was all but over.

  “There’s nothing to be done for him, there’s nothing to be done for him,” he repeated to himself, again and again, willing his feet to be still. He couldn’t go up there. He couldn’t go up there. He wouldn’t be able to save the boy, and he would only doom himself.

  By the time it was over and the boy had fallen onto his face, Garrett’s own lips were marked by his teeth, his throat raw from the sobs he wouldn’t allow himself to release. That was the nanovirus at work. And that was what might happen to his own nephew if his sister didn’t come to New Mexico. That was what might happen to Garrett himself if he didn’t get the hell out of this country, to someplace safe.

  It was the thought of getting out that made him take the next mental step. That kid was laying across his doorstep, and effectively blocking his way out of here. If the reports were true, it would be twenty-four hours before the virus would be cleared from the air and ground in the area. Twenty-four hours in which Garrett would have nothing but his thoughts to keep him company—and no way to contact his sister. Or anyone else.

  Chapter 6

  Two Days Later

  Garrett stared at the screen of the computer, then shut his eyelids slowly, hoping that he was misreading the story. When he opened his eyes up again, though, he saw the same thing.

  It was an article this time—the news on TV had become nearly unbearable, with the footage they insisted on showing—and it was talking about the cures the medical and pharmaceutical industries had been peddling in the months since the outbreak became a full-blown pandemic.

  From the looks of it, Garrett was starting to think that they’d seen this as nothing more than another way to make money, pushing drugs and faux cures on the public at will, with little to no idea whether they would actually work. There had been injections and medications that you breathed in, meditations and cleanses, and even a sort of hypnosis that was supposed to allow your body to heal on its own.

  Of course, none of them had worked. The article he was reading now had a very clear message on that: there was only one thing that could treat the nanovirus, and it wasn’t an injection or a breathable medication. It was the MRIs. The same treatment that had been announced only days after the first cases made headlines.

  Disgusted, Garrett hit the power button on the remote, tossed it on the desk, and grabbed his phone. He stood and walked quickly toward the monitor that showed the grounds, his eyes going right to the window he’d been watching for the last two days.

  The kid—the body, he corrected himself—was still laying there across the front step of the silo. As he’d known it would be. It wasn’t like there was anyone coming along the streets, collecting bodies. And the animals wouldn’t touch someone who’d died of sickness. They knew, somehow, that it wasn’t safe.

  Which meant that he’d have to deal with it himself.

  He shuddered at the thought. It made it worse that it was a kid, and that was the hell of it. It would be one thing if only the adults in the U.S. were dying. Horrible, but at least targeted. But the fact that the virus wasn’t even leaving the children alive cut him to the core. Not that he’d ever been a huge fan of kids or anything. He’d definitely never felt the pull to be a dad. But to see the sickness take them down like that, and to know that future generations were just disappearing…

  The question that had been growing in his mind, the one about whether there would be anything left once this was all over, lifted its ugly head again. What was left, if everyone out there was dead? What was the point? He’d seen movies where there was only one guy left alive on the entire planet, and it had never gone well for that one guy. Garrett had always thought the loneliness alone would be enough to make you want to slit your own throat.

  Which meant he’d better get up to the surface and make some phone calls, make sure he wasn’t the only one left on the earth.

  He shot another glance at the body on the front step, then looked at the calendar on his phone, just to be sure. Yep, it had been three days since he came down here—which meant two days
since that boy had died. Everything he’d learned from the media told him that the virus would be dead by now. He should be cleared to go up there.

  Cleared to get to an area where he could get in touch with the world again.

  That didn’t make it any easier to push the button, slide through the doors of the elevator, and then hit the button for the surface level. His finger hovered over the button with the large “S” as his mind raced through the problems, the possible repercussions…and the fear. What if he was wrong about the twenty-four-hour thing? What if the media was wrong about it? Surely it had come from the doctors, but what if they were wrong? What did they really know about the virus, anyhow?

  What if they’d been lying?

  He blew out a quick breath and shoved his finger onto the button, locking in his fate before he could reconsider again.

  “Nothing for it but to try,” he told himself softly.

  He had to get in touch with his sister again, and at least try to contact Jordan. And the only way that was going to happen was if he left the silo.

  By the time the elevator bumped to a stop, Garrett was sweating freely, his breath coming short and fast. The boy’s body would be right there on the other side of the front door—which lay just steps from the elevator doors—when they opened, he knew. Face-down, so he wouldn’t have to look the kid in the eye, but he’d still have to see him. Have to step over him.

  Have to get way too close to him for comfort.

  When the doors slid open, he was looking up at the seam where the front door met the wall. When he opened that door, he was looking at the horizon rather than down at the ground.

  Garrett scanned the driveway for the group of cacti he’d always used as a marker, and then took a step forward, keeping his mouth shut. Holding his breath. Trying to keep his skin from even touching the air. He stepped out of the silo’s entryway, using his peripheral vision to locate the barrier in front of him, and then carefully stepped over it without looking down.

  One foot over. Second foot over.

  And then he was free and walking away as quickly as he could, telling himself firmly not to look back. Never to look back. He hadn’t been able to save the kid when he was alive, and he wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing for him now that he was dead. Better to leave him in peace than screw him up even more by trying to move him.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, thumbed through the recent calls, and hit the button to call Jordan, then put the phone up to his ear. One ring. Two. Three. And then the voicemail message, just like all the other times he’d called.

  Hitting the button to kill the call, he started planning who he’d call next. Not that it took much thought. Kady’s phone number was at the top of the list, and he quickly hit the prompt to call it again.

  She picked up after the first ring.

  “Garrett?” she asked, her voice breathy and quiet.

  Garrett’s blood ran cold. He’d never heard her sound so scared in his entire life.

  “Kady,” he said, his voice just as quiet. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  A long pause, and then: “It’s here, Garrett. The virus is here. It got… It got someone at the end of our street.”

  Her voice broke and she stopped talking for a minute. When she started again, he could tell that she was making a herculean effort to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Jon saw them on the street. Right before they died. We had Zach in the house, so he didn’t see it, but… That boy, he was here a lot. He was one of Zach’s best friends.”

  At that, Garrett’s blood went from cold to fiery hot with adrenaline.

  “Was he at your house recently?” he asked sharply. “Any time in the days leading up to his death? Did you have any contact at all with the family? Anything?” When she didn’t answer, he snapped, “Kady!”

  “No!” she answered quickly. “No, nothing like that. Everyone’s been keeping to themselves. But I… I’m scared, Garrett,” she said. “Jon told me what happened, and I—”

  “Come here,” Garrett interrupted, not interested in hearing how the family had died or what Jon thought of it. “Get your stuff packed, get in your car, and get on the road. Right now. Before anything else happens. Avoid the airports—they’re the worse place you could be right now. Travel by car only, and don’t stop at restaurants for food. I have more than enough food for all of us and I’ll keep you safe. Come to New Mexico, Kady.”

  “Yes,” she answered immediately. “Yes, we’ll come. I’ll tell Jon right now that we have to leave. And Garrett?” A long, tense pause, and then: “Thank you. Thank you for giving us a way out. I know I haven’t always accepted your help, but…”

  “There’s no need,” he told her firmly. “I don’t want thanks. I just want you to get here. Now. Call me once you’re on the road.”

  She promised him that she would, and a moment later the line went dead, Garrett still listening intently, as if he could will her to safety if he kept the connection open.

  Finally, he pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the “End” button. Then, frowning, he tried his client again. Now that he was going to have company, he was even more concerned about the idea of Jordan just showing up. He’d paid many millions of dollars for this place, and if he showed up to find Garrett and his family squatting here, it could get ugly.

  Garrett didn’t think it would come to that. But better to be safe than sorry.

  He brought the phone up to his ear, assuming that he’d get Jordan’s voicemail again, and was surprised to hear a woman answer instead.

  “Hello?” she asked breathlessly.

  Surprised to hear a voice on the other end—and a female voice, at that—Garrett snapped his mouth shut for a moment, frowning. Then he got himself back together.

  “Hi, yeah, this is Garrett Floyd. I’m looking for Jordan Robins?” he said, making the statement a question out of pure confusion.

  A sob on the other end of the phone was his only answer for a moment, and he listened as the woman broke down. A frown creased his face.

  “Ma’am?” he asked. “Ma’am, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Jordan was my husband,” she said brokenly. “He died three days ago. Along with half our town.”

  Garrett dropped to his knees in the dust of the driveway, a spear driven through his gut. Dead. And half the population of that town.

  It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Of course, it shouldn’t have been; they were the richest people in the area, and nearly all of them had gotten that damn injection. Jordan himself had probably gotten it. Garrett should have seen this coming. He should have expected it.

  But he hadn’t.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “I won’t take up any more of your time, then. I hope you… I hope you can recover, Mrs. Robins,” he finished lamely.

  He hung up before she could say anything else. If he was correct, and the sound of her voice was anything to go on, she didn’t have much time left, either. She would have been living in the same house as Jordan, which meant she’d been living in contaminated air. Virtually a guarantee that she’d contracted the virus.

  Suddenly he was grateful that they hadn’t come out to the silo. It was selfish and horrible, and he was halfway disgusted with himself for thinking it, but if they’d come out here, they would have brought the sickness with them. And he’d be dead already.

  Not that being alive was much to brag about.

  Garrett drew himself back up to his feet and started walking quickly toward the elevator, pausing only to throw one worried look over his shoulder at the desert landscape beyond, and the unseen enemy in the cities. He’d read the books about the end of the world, of course. Everyone had. He’d just never imagined going through it himself.

  Chapter 7

  When Garrett awoke the next morning and turned on the news—despite the fact that he knew he wouldn’t like what he saw—things had somehow gotten even worse. He sat back into the comfort
able armchair he’d brought down for Jordan, stuck his spoon into the bowl of cereal he’d poured, and tried to prepare himself for what he was about to see.

  He knew before he even started that it wouldn’t work. But he also knew that he had to keep trying. The moment he gave up was the moment when everything was over.

  When the first images hit the screen, he nearly spilled his cereal all over the floor. It was a scene at a hospital, and even that place, which usually included so much chaos and blood, looked shockingly bad.

  There were at least one thousand people lined up outside of the doors, and they were… Well, the only word Garrett could think for it was that they were rioting. It wasn’t a peaceful march, and there weren’t any signs or banners. No kids on shoulders wearing funny hats or holding up inappropriate signs. No bullhorns. No cheers or coordinated chants.

  Only a group of angry, terrified people. And they were actually raging against the walls—and doors—of the hospital.

  The crowd was moving in a wave, back and forth in the street in front of the structure, and every time it got close to the doors, the people in the front pounded and screamed, the people behind them lending their voices as well. Even worse was the silence that came between those outbursts, though, because as the crowd drew back, all the people moving together as one, and prepared to charge toward the hospital again, they grew eerily, horribly silent.

  “The calm before the storm,” Garrett murmured.

  Then the people were charging forward again, all of them screaming in agitation and fury, and beating themselves against the windows and walls of the hospital.

  The footage was from a news helicopter, so he was looking down on the crowd, and couldn’t actually see anything in much detail. But he could hear the roar of the people, and see how much momentum they built up before they reached the hospital. And he could see the bodies that were left behind when they retreated—the people who had been crushed between their fellow rioters and the cold, unforgiving walls of the building.