🔥 PALMETTO AMBUSH — THE THRILLER THAT STARTS WITH FIRE

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A southern city, a cryptic message, and a day that should’ve been ordinary—until the gunfire started.

Chapter 1 — Another Day in Paradise

It was always hot in August, especially in this part of the South. You could feel, taste—even hear—the heat. Comforted by air conditioning and being inside most of the day, Phillip was glad he didn’t work outdoors. Sunlight glared through his office window on the fourth floor. He glanced down at his phone to check the time.

“Another hour. Time is dragging today,” he sighed.

A notification chimed on his work computer. Phillip—computer engineer, fixer of broken code and runner of endless programs—rolled his chair toward the desktop and opened the email.

“Meet at the place at 7:45,” was all it said.

“Strange,” he muttered.

The sender was no mystery; he knew who they were. The blandness irked him—no expression, no details, just a time and place. Still, he’d go. These meetings usually worked out for Phillip. Side money to build special programs—and sometimes dinner.

He reeled his chair back and checked the wall clock, hoping time had jumped.

“6:45. Forty-five more minutes,” he said.

Bang. Bang.

Gunshots sliced the air—sharp, metallic, echoing through Phillip’s office.

“What the—!” He dove toward his desk.

Screams erupted in the hallway. Another message flashed across his monitor.

You should leave now, but do not take the elevators.

Phillip stared, mind racing. How did the sender know? Why no elevators?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The shots boomed again, closer. Panic clawed at him. He typed with shaking fingers:

Why not, and where should I go?

The reply arrived instantly:

Lock the door now. Now, Phillip.

He sprinted, turned the lock, and slid back behind his desk. The knob rattled. The door shuddered under frantic hands. Phillip braced for it to splinter—or for bullets to chew through the wood.

Silence.

He waited, then peered over the desktop. Nothing. He exhaled, sat, and typed:

The door is locked. What is going on? What should I do?

Bring your personal email up on your phone. I’ll talk to you there. When I tell you, run down the hallway to the fire exit.

He fumbled his phone twice before logging in. The hallway noise faded to scattered screams. Outside his window, the parking lot looked normal, eerily undisturbed—no sirens, no police.

His phone buzzed:

Go now. Run down the hallway and take the fire exit. Go to the second floor. First room on the left. Hide.

Phillip froze. The desk felt safe. He stayed put, breath shallow, listening. Another message:

Go now, Phillip, or they will murder you. Go.

Adrenaline snapped him into motion. He unlocked the door and bolted—then tripped and crashed to the floor. He had stumbled over a body. Jacob.

Horror surged up his spine. Across the hall, Jacob’s office was shredded. Another body slumped behind the desk. The corridor—once neatly decorated—was pocked by bullet holes and smeared with blood.

His phone again:

Go now. Get up and go. They are coming.

He ran for the fire stairs, tumbled down a flight, and burst onto the second floor. Bodies. Silence. The first door on the left—he slipped inside, locked it, and crouched behind a file drawer.

Finally, you almost didn’t make it.

Sarah, wtf is going on? he typed.

Just focus on getting out. Don’t use my name. They’re heading upstairs. Wait for my signal, then go to the elevator. First floor. Straight out the front doors.

Why the elevator now? He didn’t ask. He just waited—then:

Get out now. Elevator. First floor. When it opens, run.

He ran. At the elevator, he jabbed the button.

“Help me…” a voice croaked behind him.

A woman, bleeding, reached for him.

Bing.

The doors slid open.

Phillip bent, instinct fighting orders.

What are you doing? You can’t help her. Get inside or you’ll end up like her.

His chest ached. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, backing into the car.

A figure in full body armor rounded the corner at a sprint, rifle swinging up. Bullets sparked and tore through the doorframe as the panels slid shut. Phillip dropped to the floor, heart pounding.

His phone buzzed:

You almost died trying to be a hero. They know you’re alive. They’re coming down the stairs. You have enough time to make the door. Don’t hesitate.

Bing.

Light flooded the lobby. The front doors gleamed beyond the reception desk. He sprinted. Bullets sang past—high, cold. He dove behind the counter, counted a breath, then exploded toward the exit and out into the heat.

He didn’t stop at his car. He cut across lanes of traffic into a crowded grocery store, pushed through to the employee area, slipped out a loading dock, and dropped to the truck bay. The woods waited beyond.

Branches whipped his arms as he ran. When his legs finally failed, he leaned against a tree and checked his phone: a string of messages—Are you okay… Don’t go to the car… and finally:

It’s 7:30. Be at the place by 8. I’ll be waiting.

He steadied his breath. The woods stretched five miles between the store and downtown. He still had his bag. No holes. The protocol was okay. Which meant she was okay.

The earth trembled.

Boom.

The shockwave tumbled him against a trunk. He staggered up and looked back. A column of smoke and fire clawed into the sky where the store had been.

“No way,” he breathed. “The whole store?”

The whine of engines—ATVs?—rose in the distance. Phillip ran, angling through the trees toward downtown.