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lay down mywinning hand in Uno when he leans forward in his chair and squints out the front window. He grabs the binoculars, then curses under his breath and gets the walkie-talkie from the built-in table beneath the window.
    “Pioneer, we got a live one headed this way.” He lets go of the speaker button and the walkie-talkie crackles for a moment.
    “One car?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    I grab the binoculars from the table where Brian left them and try to get a better view of the approaching car. It’s a police cruiser, maybe a few miles away at most. I can see it after I focus the binoculars a little more, but the bar of lights on top isn’t flashing. Still, it sends a chill up my spine and my stomach flutters.
    “Brian, take another look. Cthe. Still, 201D; I hand over the binoculars.
    “Well, crap,” he mutters, and grabs for one of the guns hidden beneath the table and tucks it into his belt, pulling his shirt out and over it. He calls Pioneer again.
    “Treat it as a welcome rubbernecker right now. No need to panic yet,” Pioneer says. Anybody who wanders into our development out of curiosity we call a rubbernecker. A welcome rubbernecker is someone we don’t turn away at the gate.
    I jump as our development’s siren lets out three short bursts at half volume—just loud enough to hear within our walls—our code for unexpected company. Basically, itmeans be alert, but carry on as usual. A few people will need to head to the orchard and drive a truck across the path that leads to the Silo’s entry door, just to be safe, and our guns will have to be quickly tucked away. In other words, we have to take out the apocalyptic and leave in the suburban.
    I straighten my shirt and shorts, then my hair. Not that any of these things gives away much more than my inability to look anything other than ordinary—which is a good thing right now, I guess.
    “Be calm, Lyla,” Brian grumbles. “Quit fussing with your clothes.”
    I paste a smile on my face and then realize it looks all wrong, so I bite my lip instead. Brian rolls his eyes and groans. “Oh, man, you suck at this. Just stand behind me, ’kay?”
    A few short minutes later, the police car comes to a stop beside the guardhouse.
    “Stay here,” Brian says as he opens the door.
    There are three people in the car. I can see the two men in the front clearly, but the person in the back is hunched behind the passenger seat. All I can see is the top of his head. The driver’s-side window rolls down as Brian gets closer to it. I lean around the door to see and hear better. The man in the driver’s seat is about my dad’s age. His eyes stand out more than anything else. They seem to be on alert, watchful—sharp inside his softly rounded face.
    “Hello there.” He smiles up at Brian even as he sizeshim up. “I’m looking for a Mr. Gerald Brown. He lives here, correct?”
    Brian puts a hand on the top of the car and leans down. “Yes, sir. May I ask what you need him for?”
    “His sister’s looking for him. Family business.” The man looks Brian up and down, takes in his broad chest and untucked shirt. “Nothing to be concerned about. I’m assuming we’re welcome?” There’s a challenge in his voice even though he’s smiling brightly, and Brian recoils a little. I retreat back into the guard booth and put my hand on the gun hidden underneath the table. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I need it, but it’s what Pioneer’s taught us to do.
    “You are absolutely welcome, sir.” Brian sounds convincingly casual, and I allow myself to relax a little, but still I keep my fingers on the gun. “We just like to keep a record of our visitors.”
    The man nods and settles back against the seat, content for now. Brian turns to me and points at the gate. I take my hand off the gun and press the button that opens it. The car slowly begins to roll forward, and the driver waves to me as they pass. The person in the back has moved to sit