Tucker and Daniel, although tightly restrained, weren’t gagged, or blindfolded. Nothing within eyesight but an empty room and only bad guys to hear their pleas, left little reason for muzzled speech or blinders. Bound in wicker chairs with duct tape, they’d been left to discuss Farnsworth’s narrow escape from death in Miami. Outside, speeding vehicles raced to a screeching halt, and Spanish speaking voices screamed obscenities. In the captives dire situation, alive time hastily dwindled.

The sounds of Churro heads running everywhere. And to clarify, in everyday speech, a churro is a fried dough treat dipped in sugar and cinnamon. But Cartel members and Mexican drug users often call joints or marijuana cigarettes “churros.” And of course, “head” is a common term for dopers since the 1960s; hence the name, “churro heads.”

The garbled gangland chatter outside exemplified panic and paranoia. Something big about to happen.

But with limited views from a small side window, Tucker and Daniel could only speculate - until, the low growl of a gasoline tanker eased past the window, brakes squeaking with every tap.

A three-man crew unwound the hoses and within minutes the fossil fuel sprayed with a force that shook and drenched the whole house. The petroleum fumes staggering, the prisoners struggled for every breath: nose, throat, and lungs burning, becoming dizzier by the second.

And with a giant poof from a sudden wind gust, the house burst into a monstrous ball of flames. The unbearable heat instantaneous.

The detainee’s dark hair sizzled, crinkling from the ends, turning brown to yellow, white, and writhing like dying worms in agony. Vellus arm hairs singed to the skin, the tender tissue blistered before their eyes.

Surrounded, the inferno grew ever hotter. Poisonous gases painted a multi-colored film throughout the air.

The undulating smoke and darkness began in the open-ceiling’s eave, steadily working its way down, quickly consuming the room to within a foot from the floor. Chunks of the roof collapsed, falling from the sky with the thud of an anvil against the floor.

Tucker rocked his chair until it flipped onto its side. Farnsworth followed his lead. Once on the ground, Tucker pushed with his toes ‘til his mouth reached Daniel’s tape-bound hands and chewed his wrists free.

Daniel grabbed up a board with an exposed spike. The hot cherry-red nail melted through the tape to loosen his chest, legs, and feet. Then, he cut and yanked away Tucker’s bindings.

Finally freed, Daniel and Tucker scampered, keeping their mouths close to the floor, searching for cooler air that wasn’t already toxic.

They first wriggled to the front door, more resembling an alligator’s crawl, then the backdoor, and each window, but the heat was too intense to exit and escape.

Out of air and energy, Tucker laid his head against the floor to catch a quick breath and noticed what the Mexicans obviously hadn’t seen. In the middle of the room, a shifted throw rug exposed a previously hidden, flip-up cellar door’s side seam.

Tucker picked up a metal bar lying beside what was once a kitchen counter and pried open a small crack until he and Daniel could wedge their fingers beneath the separation and lift the cover.

But as they lifted, the added oxygen created the phenomenon known as backdraft. A giant explosion erupted, sending the lid flying, and calamitous hellfire shooting in all directions.

Fleeing the blaze, the guys scuddled like hermit crabs on their hands and knees. But unable to avoid injury, their arms were scorched up past their elbows.

As the fire dissipated from the steps and basement, they inched along the hallway leading to a closed metal door. But fearing another backdraft, they didn’t dare open it, certain another surge of oxygen would surely incinerate their blackened crisps to the core.  

They raced back upstairs to find the partially intact cellar cover. Arms extended above their heads as they carried, it became heavy fast. Carefully, they negotiated and descended the steps, lying the cover over them and the stairs, enroute back to the metal door.

Anticipating another thunderous eruption, they inched the door open gradually, and only wide enough to slide through the crack. Luckily, the cover blocked circulation enough to avoid another air-charged blast.

They eased cautiously into the huge tunnel of galvanized pipe, encompassed in darkness. The nauseating stench of foul, stagnated water overwhelming. Slip sliding, the muddy goop sloshed over their boot tops and squished between their toes.

Rats squealed, a tone-def rodent-choir ensemble, led by an offkey chorister, running in all directions, all but those squirming and twisting beneath the escapees’ feet to get away. Stiff-leather boots no match against gnawing oversized Rodentia’s’ long, razor-sharp, chisel-like incisors.

Weak in the knees and drenched in sweat, Tucker and Daniel trudged laboriously through the gunk that clung to their feet like glue. In the distance a hint of light illuminated a swarm of likely mosquitos the size of hummingbirds.

“Well, Tucker, how does it feel to be wallowing in the slop like pigs?” Daniel chuckled, highlighting his warped sense of humor.

“Yeah, thanks to you Daniel.” Neither could see expressions or gestures, so they had to take words at face value.

“You’re never satisfied, Tucker.”

“Satisfied with what, Daniel . . . hell, you got me into this fiasco.”

“Tucker, I gave you the break of a lifetime. Set you up in business with new everything and gave you more work than anyone could hope for.”

“Yes, you put a bounty on my head, and I’ve been running for my life ever sense. Plus, you dragged Tammy Jo and my best friend T.D. McCann into this mess too.”

“Tucker, I wanted great things for Tammy Jo. But she rebuked my romantic notions for you, an old has-been race tracker twice her age. And I gave T.D. a position far above his capabilities and staffed him to succeed.”

“Yes, Daniel, you did all those things . . . strictly to line your own pockets and double cross the cartel.” Daniel laughed, his deep voice echoing as it rumbled.

The light brightened as they grew closer. At the tunnel’s end, with hesitation, they climbed the attached ladder’s steps, fully expecting the gangsters' grasps upon exiting. But surprisingly, the cartel had vanished. The bustling grounds of before, empty, and the woods clear. All but for the burning house down the hill, they'd just escaped.

They sat, catching their breath, watching the roaring flames and black cloud of smoke in the distance, surely thankful to be alive.

Tucker noticed an 8x11 piece of paper stapled to a nearby tree, snatched it loose, and started reading.

Hello, Mr. Tucker and Farnsworth the snake - so, you’ve managed to escape the fires of hell. But don’t think it’s over. Killing you both would be too easy. We want you to suffer long and hard. And nothing will hurt you worse than the torturous deaths of those you love. We have Tammy and McCann. You won’t find us, but we will find you.