We huddle together, keeping vigilant of any danger as our little boat is buffeted by the waves and thrown around. Even though my stomach is empty, I still feel like I could throw up.

The dogs whimper as we lurch sideways. Bree begins to cry. For the first time I wonder if we made the right call taking the river route. If Buffalo was completely deserted, maybe all the big cities along the lake’s edge are deserted as well. But just as I’m thinking it, I catch sight of a city on the banks, and what I see chills me to my core.

“Zeke!” I cry as the boat bobs up and back down again. “Where are we?”

“Must be Cleveland,” he replies.

“Do you see it?” I shout to Ben, my eyes transfixed on the city that the lake seems to be pushing us toward.

“I see it,” he replies.

There, in the distance, looming up in the middle of bombed out buildings, is the unmistakable outline of an arena.

“We have to MOVE!” I cry. “There are slaverunners in that city. If they see us, we’re dead.”

I remember the powerful speedboats the slaverunners chased us with before. Our little boat will be nothing against them. If we’re spotted, we’ll be captured in a matter of minutes.

“There’s nothing we can do!” Ryan shouts back as the boat makes another huge push up, followed by a stomach-churning plummet down.

I know he’s right but I just can’t accept it. There must be something we can do to put a bit more distance between us and the city crawling with slaverunners. We seem to be forced closer to the banks. From here, I can even make out the sight of the bright yellow school buses that are used to transport young girls to the sex trade. We’re far too close for comfort.

“Is there any gas at all?” I cry to Molly, who’s sitting by the engine throttle.

She tries it, and to my relief, the engine sputters alive.

“There must be a tiny bit left,” Ryan says.

“Good. Then use it!”

He powers the boat forward, heading away from the coast and farther into the middle of the lake. The waves here seem even stronger, and with the forward motion of the boat as well, we seem to be bobbing up and down even more violently. Charlie begins retching in his hole at the bottom of the boat. Bree holds onto him to comfort him.

“Come on, Ryan,” I urge, willing him to go faster, to get us out of sight of the dangerous city.

At last, the distance between us and Cleveland seems to grow. I can no longer make out the buses, and the tops of the buildings disappear over the horizon. The only thing that’s left in my sightline is the roof of the huge arena.