Empire Dirt — Shane Lindemoen

I'm on the Lhasa Express, rocketing through China at three hundred miles per hour. This train, the tallest and fastest in the world, is headed for twisted metal and brick that was the rest of the track somewhere near Tibet. I'm lying supine, fingering the bullet-hole in my guts. Members of the eco-terrorist organization, the Global Liberation Front, have strategically placed containers of engineered nerve agents that specifically target primate chromosome number two all over the planet. The nuclear fallout will take care of the rest. These are my last moments - and I have no idea how I've gotten to this point. The detonator in my hand will blow the receivers strapped to the drums of soman-gas. The hurried scuff of rubber on carpet is more special-forces coming to thwart my species-ending plot of destruction. I don't have much time left. Somehow, I have to sift through the fog of my life, and try to understand why the fate of the world rests on my shoulders.