We pass a gas station, with a raggedy American flag still blowing in the wind. There are rusted trucks sitting in the parking lot, abandoned. We check them all for gas, to see whether we can use them to reach our destination more quickly, but they’ve all already been siphoned. It’s a sign that people lived around here after the war long enough to scavenge, but there’s no one to be seen now. No sign that anyone’s set foot on this road, in this part of America, for years and years and years.

Beyond exhausted, we trek all day. Finally, night begins closing in. We’re all famished. The only upside is that there have been no more attacks from crazies, and no sightings of wild animals, despite the Toledo zoo being just a few blocks from where we’re heading. I’ll never forget the time I came face to face with a wild lion that had broken free from Central Park Zoo. It’s an experience I hope never to repeat.

The air is heavy with dust. The houses become more dense, as does the destruction. There are whole streets where the front parts of the buildings have been blown off, like the door to a doll’s house being taken off and exposing the whole house inside. Each house tells the same story: of everything of worth being looted, of the building being left in disrepair with wallpaper peeling from the walls, plaster and wiring falling from the ceiling, the stairs caved in, of nature trying to reclaim what was taken from it. Rats have nested in the old family homes, as have birds.

I’m on even greater alert here than before. Anywhere that was once more populated is more dangerous. Not only are there more places to hide but there’s more chance that people survived the war and got left behind. At least there’s no sign of slaverunner activity. I’m certain that this area must have been amongst the first to be raided by the slaverunners. They probably haven’t been here for years now, discarding the place after taking what they needed, leaving a ghost town in their wake.

Finally, I see the huge rust-colored bridge where the train tracks pass over the roads. For the first time in a long time, I let a flicker of hope lift my spirits. I even find enough strength in my limbs to run.

“Guys, come on, this way,” I call to the others.