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lowers his hands and stands with them on his hips as he considers me and my question, but we both know the answer. I’m not even mad when he doesn’t say it out loud. “We need to get ready,” he says instead. “We have to extend the fence. It needs to be higher and it needs to be stronger.”
    “We should go deeper into the woods. The cities will be the worst because there are more people to spread the Fever. If we’re farther away we can avoid it.”
    He shakes his head. “We need shelter. We’re deep in December. The weather is going to be nasty and cold for another few months. We’re safer here. We’re already pretty far from town.”
    “But we’re not very far from the Farm.”
    “We’ll be fine,” he promises. “And so will they. They have fences to keep them safe and once we strengthen ours we’ll be ready.” He grabs his coat and throws it on, pulling the hood up over his head. “Are you armed?”
    I hold up my knife still clutched tightly in my hand. “Always.”
    “Good. Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Five
    Vin
    I make it to the water in no time on the bike. It’s like swimming upstream sometimes, but the sidewalks get clearer the farther I get from the interstate.
    The second I pull into the driveway to Sienna’s house the gate starts to swing open and I shake my head in annoyance. I didn’t buzz her, I didn’t show my face to the camera. She just opened right up and let me in, no question.
    Sienna lives in a massive three million dollar mansion overlooking Puget Sound a good six miles from my place. Her dad is the CEO of something or other – she was baked when she told me about it and it didn’t make a damn bit of sense – and he’s hardly ever home. He’s constantly country hopping and so Sienna is constantly partying to try to get his attention. Her drug of choice is Molly and I know that because when you make a delivery to a hot girl living alone in a mansion over the water and she asks you come inside, you go inside. You break your rules, you let her open that package in front of you, and even though you don’t touch the shit, you touch her. All of her, every inch, and you realize you might not be addicted to powder, but you’re definitely addicted to something. To the money, to the views, the clean warm glow of a house not even pretending to be a home. To the smell of expensive perfume and the feel of soft skin writhing between your body and six hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.
    I roar up the short driveway and park in front of the door just as she throws it open and comes flying out.
    “Thank God you’re here,” she says, sounding almost angry.
    I shift my duffle on my back and look her over. Her long straight hair is wound dark and intentionally messy up in a bun near the top of her head. She’s wearing tight jeans, a loose sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder showing nothing but skin that’s getting soaking wet in this down pour, and that sight sends my blood running faster than stealing the bike did. Her eyes are smoky and dark, the makeup smudged from crying.
    “You alright?” I ask her.
    “Yeah, I’m just great,” she snaps sarcastically. “The Fever is coming and we’re all going to die. Things are just peachy.”
    I smirk. “Peachy?”
    “Can we go inside?” she asks, already sidestepping toward the door. “I don’t want anyone to see us out here and try to jump the fence.”
    “You gotta be more careful about that.” I follow her inside and toss my bag on the marble floor as she throws the locks and sets the alarm. “Did you even check to make sure it was me before you opened it?”
    “I saw a guy on a bike. I figured it was either you or Anderson.”
    “Who’s Anderson?”
    She shrugs, turning to face me and crossing her arms over her chest. “A guy I know.”
    “And you were going to open the gate for him?”
    “Why do you care? Are you jealous?”
    “I told you not to open that gate for anyone but me,” I remind her,