Just as the waves begin to lessen, the engine of the boat finally splutters to death. We’re sitting ducks again. Only at least this time we’re nowhere near the dangerous city of Cleveland. Instead, we’re closer now to the northern bank of Lake Erie. From here we can see the derelict city of Detroit. It’s another grand city reduced to nothing more than rubble. I shiver, desperate to make it to Toledo soon and put the danger and horror of mass destruction behind us.

But I have a feeling it’s only just beginning.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So this is Toledo,” I say, looking around at the decaying harbor we’ve landed in.

Finally, we touch the shore and disembark. It feels strange to be back on solid ground after so long at sea. I am not sure whether I am relieved to be off the violent waters, or anxious to be back on dry land.

I look around. Toledo is more or less intact, but completely empty. It’s a ghost town, eerie in the pale morning light. The place is so thoroughly deserted, I can’t help but think slaverunners must have been through here, picking off all the survivors. The thought makes me shudder.

Zeke consults the map. “It’s this way,” he says, pointing ahead.

We all stop and turn and look at the boat. I have mixed feelings, knowing we are abandoning it. I can only hope and pray we find the train soon. And I can’t help but feel a sense of victory that we made it this far by water.

We turn and walk. We trek down a narrow road, tall trees growing on either side. There are young tree saplings that have clearly grown since the war because they look healthy and untamed. But the road itself has been ravaged by bombs. Every few steps we pass another crater, another burnt out car, and bits of twisted metal all over the asphalt from an explosion that ripped vehicles right apart from its force. Nature has attempted to reclaim the road. Tufts of grass spring out of cracks, and vines twist around street signs, hydrants, and lamps.

After a while, we turn onto a main road. Here there are houses dotted either side of the road, the wood siding rotting and falling off in places, their front gardens completely overgrown. Some of the houses have endured fires and have huge black smoke marks above the grubby windows. Others look almost completely intact, the bombs that fell here missing their properties by mere feet.