Samson coughed more of the purple liquid all over Saint’s hand. Saint flicked the liquid on the ground and growled. Samson’s head was regaining its clarity. Saint had force fed him some more of that purple liquid from the mason jar and he felt the pleasantness again but knew it was tied to the poison. He stared down the chasm. Its jagged walls seemed as if they were carved by a worm or a mole. The rock had been chipped away for years, spiraling into a narrow tunnel. Saint crouched to his knees. The mouth of the cavern came up to his shoulder when he stood and Samson doubted he could make it through the tunnel at all. He gazed up the well. The flashing blue and red lights bounced off it’s rim. He guessed that they by now had seen the blood and the empty graves. It was only a matter of time before they found them in the well. Saint pulled Samson to the mouth of the cavern, having him hunch with him.

“Does your church have a basement?” He mumbled.

“No,” Samson responded with disgust.

Saint grinned his toothy grin.

“Good,” he slurred.

He kicked Samson in the kidney, causing Samson to fall forward onto the jagged rock in the cavern. Samson let out a cry of pain. Saint maneuvered his way into the cavern, his shoulders cutting against the stone walls. Saint jammed his boot into Samson’s stomach.

“Move or be moved,” he ordered.

Samson pulled himself up as high as he could, slowly dragging himself across the rocks trying not to cut himself again. They crawled about ten feet down the cavern when a beam of light showed behind them, filling the base of the well with a pale glow.

“Hello! Anyone down there?” A voice called out.

Samson stood still, reverting back to his silence. Glancing over at Saint, he saw it was difficult for the giant to move. Confidence returned to his soul and plan began to formulate in his brain.

“They might be able to kill Saint before he can move,” Samson thought.

“Hello?” The officer called again.

Samson’s heart was racing. Gripping the rocks, he let out a loud below.

“Down here I am trapped! Pleas-”

Saint clasped his fist shut and Samson fell down in another fit of pain. The jagged rock made the pain worse as he rolled in pain, being stabbed by the rocks. Saint let a thunderous roar and slammed his fist in the ceiling. The whole cavern shook. Samson tried to push through the pain to run. Saint roared and struck the ceiling again. Several bits of shale fell to the cavern floor. Samson tucked his head and curled into a ball. Saint struck the ceiling a third time. The mouth of the cavern cracked against the attack. The small mouth of the cavern started to close as more shale fell. Saint clutched Samson’s throat and threw him down the tunnel. Samson struck the rock and slid several feet, breaking the ground as he did. Saint cupped his hands together. Gurgling his roar, he swung his arms up, cracking through the ceiling. The mouth of the cavern closed as large rocks filled the opening, sending the cavern into complete darkness. Samson stared, as the last beam of pale light disappeared under the landslide. The last pebble made its way to the floor and the shaking stopped. The muffled sound of the officers screaming to each other was drowned out by the slow scraping sound of Saint’s clubbed foot dragging against the ground. Saint clicked on his lighter. His duster was covered in tan sandstone making it seem more gray than black. His Stetson was completely gray as were his boots. His mouth had curled into a snarl with the sharp bottom teeth piercing into his upper lip. The glow from the lighter made him lose all of his human features leaving just a massive shell.

“Congratulations, you just made this your tomb.”

Samson’s eyes filled with tears. He was angry and proud of himself. In one sense he had doomed himself to this dungeon for eternity but in the same breath he had trapped Saint down here with him. He leaned on that victory as being more important than all others. Saint crawled closer to Samson.

“Well, keep moving,” he gurgled.

Samson pulled himself up and made his way down the tunnel. They traveled down the tunnel for several feet. Every step the tunnel became less jagged. The walls began to round out as if they were crawling through a concrete pipe. Samson noticed the walls had etchings on them, caved deep into the shale and seemingly untouched by time. He attempted to get a closer look at the etchings but couldn’t make them out in the dim light of Saint’s lighter. He could feel Saint’s gurgled breath drenching his back as they crawled. Samson wasn’t sure, but he felt like Saint’s attack on the ceiling had drained him. He was using his size to still seem intimidating, but it wasn’t enough to hide his fatigue.

“Stop,” Saint moaned.

Samson stopped his crawl and looked back at the giant. Large gobs of saliva were dripping down Saint’s chin. Saint wiped the spit from his jaw with the hand that was holding the lighter, nearly burning himself as he did. He growled and dropped the lighter. The light bounced on the stone and faded to dark. The moment the light went out Samson bolted. Picking up his feet crawling as fast as he could through the tunnel. He didn’t look back as he heard Saint groan, fumbling on the ground for the lighter. Samson felt the dust fill his eyes causing his tear ducts to water down his cheeks. He expected the pain and the purple liquid to drain from his nose at any minute. He was far away, almost twenty feet when he heard Saint howl.

“Samson!”

He slowed waiting for the pain, but it did not come. He heard Saint scraping against the walls far down the tunnel. Every scrape was echoed with the sound of teeth gnashing. Samson picked up his feet, doing the best he could to run with the small space. He took a large step forward and fell into nothing. The long tunnel had seemingly ended, leaving a large open abyss. Samson let out a yelp as he plunged forward, falling deeper into the darkness. Flailing his arms as he fell, hoping to grab hold of anything to break his fall. He fell for what felt like an eternity. He was not sure how far he had fallen from the tunnel, but guessed it had to be more than three stories. He met the end of his fall with a loud splash as his feet connected with a large body of water.

He sunk deep into the murky depth of the water. The water was filled with dirt and sand making it almost mud. Samson kicked his way to the surface breaking his head free of the water doing his best to tread in the dark. He spit a large amount of mud out and tried to clean his eyes, but it was no use. The weight of the dirt pulled against his legs, dragging him back under the more he kicked. Gasping for breath and blind from the water, he dredged himself slowly through it, doing his best to keep his head afloat. The world was black making it impossible to see and now with the caked mud constantly building up on his ears, it was nearly impossible to hear. Without sight or sound, Samson’s disorientation of his surrounding was becoming more unbearable.

He swam for about ten minutes. His arms were becoming fatigued and his headache was starting to return. Every stroke brought his mouth closer to the dirty water sending heaping gulps of it down his throat. He extended hand out for another stroke and struck his thumb against a hard rock. He yelled, causing even more water to fill his mouth. He frantically reached for the rock, trying to find a surface to grip. He was grateful it was rough and jagged like the beginning of the tunnel and found a handhold very quickly. He wrapped his arms around the rock trying get a grip with his feet. He kicked under the water fishing around for a foothold but there was none to be found. He put all his weight in his hands holding his breath he lifted his body out of the water, hanging by his chest on the front of the rock. He could feel himself starting to slip and he dug his knees into the stone for stability. Once stable he threw his right leg up onto the top surface and fully pulled himself out of the water. He clutched the rock, gasping for breath and spitting mud.

The world was silent. Not even the murky water made a noise. He held the rock close, the only thing that was tangible around him, fearing to the slightest move would return him back to the water. He was weary, cold and dirty. He closed his eyes and wished for death. The mud dripping off his face splashing lightly in the water was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.

His dream was dark. Sitting on a raft floating in the middle of the ocean amidst a great fog. He stood up and overlooked the ocean. A large vast expanse of nothing, the water was so blue it was nearly black. Sitting down he looked at his hands. They were clean and scrubbed, his hair was freshly cut, and his headache was gone. He wondered if he had really died. He looked out through the fog and saw what looked like a shore, someone stood at the foot of it waving at him. He stood up on the raft. The current jostled it ever so slightly. The shape was glowing, cutting through the fog. It began to jump up and down and called out to him.

“Samson!” He spoke in a soothing voice.

He tried to get a closer look and leaned forward on the raft. The current jostled it again and Samson stabilized himself. He dipped his hand into the water in an attempt to paddle. As his hand touched the water the current became violent, knocking Samson back to the middle of the raft. The waves grew higher and threw Samson every which way. The shore was fading and the fog was coming in thicker. He pulled himself up, trying to regain control of the raft as the waves picked up and crashed over the side, pushing him off the raft into the dark water.

He snapped awake. His foot had fallen off the rock into the water. The dampness startled him, and he jerked it out sending splashes of mud into his face. He wiped the mud off on the rock. The rest, though violent, had done him good. His head didn’t hurt as much, and his muscles seemed more relaxed. He leaned back on the rock and mulled over his next move. He wanted to know what happened to Saint and why he wasn’t dripping purple liquid right now.

“Perhaps I actually did give Saint the slip,” he thought to himself.

He smiled, trying not laugh. Though he was still in the cavern covered in mud and bruises he couldn’t help but enjoy this fact. He had escaped. That was something Saint could not hold over him anymore. This realization gave him hope and stood up on the rock, trying carefully not to slip. Using one hand to keep himself stable he used the other to feel around his surroundings. He felt on the far side of the rock. To his surprise he found it was not large rock in the middle of the water but that it was small protrusion to a large land mass.

He reached into the darkness towards the bulk of the land mass and again attempted to find a handhold. He ran his hand across what felt like a smooth ledge. The smoothness of the ledge caught him off guard. It wasn’t smooth like rock or shale but smooth like marble, no blemishes or cracks. He released his stabilizing hand from the rock and placed both hands on the smooth ledge. He leaned back on legs and thrust his body forward, sliding across the smooth ledge like a seal. He slid further than he intended, and he stopped abruptly against an equally smooth wall. The wall seemed to be made of the same material as the floor. Samson used the wall to prop himself up. He glided his hand across the wall, hoping this would lead him to an opening in the cavern. From there he could find a sewer access or an opening in the rocks he could climb out of. He ran his hand along the wall until he came to such an opening. The opening folded in hard like a right angle. He moved his hand over more of the opening and felt it bend hard into a doorway. He was confused.

“Why would there be a doorway down here?” He thought.

He stepped through the doorway. The room seemed large, Samson felt like it traveled up several stories, but he did not know why. He moved his hand to the left, trying to see if there was anything in the room that would offer light. Reaching his hand forward, he touched large cylinder. The cylinder was metallic and smooth but covered in dust. He continued his hand across it. It looped around into a ring. As he felt the ring, he could feel another loop inside that ring. At once he knew what it was. It was a chain. Each loop climbing up higher towards the ceiling. Samson was shocked, he had not felt a chain this large unless it was connected to a ship. He stepped under the chain. The clicking of the metal echoed through the room. He again reached out and felt against the wall to the left of the door. The wall was a smooth as the rest, yet it seemed like certain marks had been driven into the wall with a chisel or rock hammer.

His hand met a metal stand embedded in wall. It also felt cylindrical. Though inside the stand Samson felt something loose. He tightened his hand around it and wiggled it loose. It was a wood stake, almost as large as a baseball bat. He ran the stake around his hands. As he made his hands up to the top of the stake it felt wet. He leaned in and sniffed it. It smelled like pitch. His heart raced.

“Could this room be what Saint was looking for?” He pondered.

He reached his hand out for the large chain. His fingers met it. He raised the stake above his head and struck the chain with it. Small sparks lit off the chain. In the faint light before they extinguished Samson spotted a second chain across from him on the right side of the door. Like the first it climbed up into the darkness. He lifted the stake and struck the chain again. Sparks leapt off the chain onto the pitch and the stake burst into flames.

The room lit up under the red glow. The walls were a dark marble, caked in dust but still letting off shine from the flame. The entire room was empty, save for the two large chains anchored into the ground at the first two corners. Lifting the torch, he could see another two at the far corners. All of them rising up into the atrium. He lifted the torch and looked up into the atrium. There he saw it. A large casket suspended in the center of the atrium by the four chains reaching to the floor and another four reaching upward to the ceiling before disappearing into the darkness.

The casket was silver covered in dust. The lid was sealed shut by a dozen large golden locks, each one wrapped around the casket. Carved on the bottom of the casket was a large word written in Latin.

“Periculo”

Samson looked back down around the room. Every wall was etched with the same word. Samson held his breath and whispered to himself.

“Danger.”