to pass behind the train. He knew each car could hold about sixty to seventy people, back when things were more “normal”, but ahead he can now see along the side of the tracks to the rear of the train, stacked in piles along the side of the corn stalks, the seats have been ripped out to make more standing room. He counts the cars, seven in total, and estimates each one holding about three hundred drones. He knew the sheer weight of the masses would tax the engine and cause it to crawl along the tracks, so even minor damage could bury Mark’s plan.

He pulls out the notebook and opens it on the same page with the words “REMOTE 1 - GREEN BUTTON”, grunting once to get Dylan’s attention. The voice crackles in his ear: “Roger!” and he waits for a second