Page 109 of Samson

They arrived at the bomb door, and the guard pushed it open, then used the barrel of his rifle to push Samson into the room.

“Do you guys all live in the building?” Samson said as he walked to his chair. “Or do you get to go home at night?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough. I guess I ask too much.”

“You do. Hold out your hands.”

Samson did, and the guard uncuffed him, then locked him in.

“If there’s any chance for any of them,” Samson prayed. “Make sure they’re not inside when this place blows.”

He stretched his hunched shoulders back, remaining straight-backed as he walked to the other side of the room to confirm they hadn’t found his stash.

The scrap metal he’d piled in the corner was good cover. Everyone only saw what they wanted: a weak, broken man. They were too inexperienced to know what to look for in someone like him.

After removing several large pieces of metal, he counted the bombs he’d created.

It had been a slow process in order to keep anyone from noticing the disappearing parts, and he’d had to force himself to be patient. He couldn’t move too early on this. He only had oneshot, and if he didn’t have enough firepower, it would all be for nothing.

As far as the timing went, he’d have to leave that one up to God and trust that whoever needed to be in the building would be.

But there was one man who he knew would definitely be a casualty of the bombs. He’d made his peace with the fact that there was no way out of here for him. He’d given himself to God, and it would play out how it needed to. Knowing that God had given him a second chance to make a difference right at the end was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Before moving back to his seat, he dropped to the floor to do pushups. At first, he clapped in front of his chest with each rep. Then he increased the difficulty by clapping behind his back. Once he was done, he sat on the floor and clasped his hands together, thanking God for the vigor that had been restored. It was more than he needed to get the job done, but it was good to know he wasn’t finishing his life in weakness.

“Amen,” he said, then went to the table, reaching underneath the seat to pull out the paper he’d stashed there. He’d found it crumpled up in one of the boxes they’d brought in.

After smoothing it out on the table, he angled the lamp so he could more easily see the marks he’d made in it with a dirty nail.

It was a map he’d made of the building from his recollection of the blueprints.

He took the nail he’d left by the leg of the table and added a few more details, marking his cell and this room, which he now knew the positions of.

“That’s much better.”

He pulled his chair closer to the table. It wasn’t time to move yet, but it was getting close. He could feel in his spiritthat the season had shifted for him. God had been faithful, and it wouldn’t be long until Samson would finally be able to fulfill the purpose that had been established for him at the beginning. He’d lose his life in the process, but those were the consequences, and he was willing to face them. Like David paying for what he’d done to Bathsheba and Uriah, Samson would take responsibility for the choices he’d made in life.

His eyes lifted to the ceiling.

“I know you know this already, but if I could go back and do it all again differently, I would.”

All the mistakes he’d made, and yet God hadn’t given up on him.

“Thank you for letting me finish what you started.”

Chapter 23

Delilah leaned forwardin the pew and clasped her hands together. Her lips moved silently until she heard a door. When she looked up, a gray-haired man was approaching cautiously.

“Am I interrupting?” he said.

“No. I was just praying.”

“Then I am interrupting.”

She shook her head. “It feels like I’ve been praying nonstop lately. Taking a break is okay.”

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