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Death was certain.

Either from the extreme heat of their metal prison, or other means. Salty sweat stung Carrie’s eyes.

Prayers were futile. Take action.

Never surrender. Never give up.

I will not let this hellhole be my coffin.

Long before the thrumming had ceased, she fought back. Contending with the bumping and shaking as they traveled, Carrie scrambled for Joyce-Anne’s bound wrists, feeling for the duct tape binding. Using her fingernails, Carrie scraped at the tape, probing for the end.

Drenched in sweat, battling dehydration and heat exhaustion, she scratched the tape, searching.

It became impossible as they slowed onto a rough road that had them jarring and jogging. Then they stopped, and the humming was replaced with the overwhelming mix of hydraulic grinding, roaring, squeaking and clanking.

But Carrie refused to give up.

Reaching down deep, she continued picking at the tape until— finally —she found the end.

Slowly she worked, her wet fingertips slipping, gaining more until she had a few inches. Tensing, she gave it a sharp jerk and tug.

Amid the clamor came the first peel of the tape being unwound.

Hope soared.

Working faster, she uncoiled Joyce-Anne’s wrists. Joyce-Anne, in turn, helped free Carrie’s hands. They pulled the tape from their mouths. Gasping, contorting, shifting and twisting, they freed their ankles.

Suddenly the hydraulic groaning grew louder— nearer . Their dark world quaked with the tremble of metal crunching. Something cracked. A seam of daylight creased their prison as they ascended, screaming for their lives. But their pleas were lost in the thunderous noise.

They were lowered.

Movement ceased.

The uproar around them continued as they kicked, pushed and banged against the walls of their prison.