The red LCD display quickly counts down. There is no time to waste. The polluting, resource-degrading plant is set to explode. Eco-heroine Inez Wick has only minutes to escape. As she traverses the dark recesses of the dirty plant, she flashes back to a younger self, sixteen. Her father had just died in an oil rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico, and she had just broken up with her boyfriend. She remembers oily ocean water and flames, her footprints in the sand filling with black water. Flames were chasing her. They were jumping from one oily footprint to the next, up the beach after her. Snapping back to the present, she must get out of the plant. The exploits of Inez Wick could not end, just now. Too many others needed to pay.

Inez Wick returns in these fragmented lives to fight against those who would destroy the environment, to travel into outer space, to dodge drone attacks, to practice yoga, and to ride and fix bikes.

Books. They have weight. They have soul. They transport data from author to reader, slowly. They can even burn. But they can't generate revenue in the suggestive ad market. What good is a object when it can't embed the desire for a fish sandwich directly into the psyche of the user. No good at all. The book must die. Aaron M. Wilson explores the last book store in the world.