TOCABAGA (Revised Edition) (Book #1 of The Tocabaga Chronicles)

by Thomas H. Ward

  TOCABAGA

  The Tocabaga Chronicles

  By Thomas H. Ward

  REVISED EDITION

  Copyright ©2013. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic mechanical methods.

  April 11, 2026

  If you are reading this then you are one of the lucky ones or smart ones who have survived the first year of the collapse. I am writing these chronicles to pass on a history of what has happened, a history telling how we have survived so far. I do not reveal the full names of the people living here in case the Feds happen to come upon this. Read my story and tell others what has happened here. Pass it on; it may save your life.

  My name is Jack Gunn and I live on Tocabaga. The real name will not be disclosed, nor the location. Tocabaga is a clue as to the general location of this island. It is a sanctuary where one can be safe from what is going on in the outside world. If you happen to come here, are of good character, and believe in the freedom of man and the Constitution, you are welcome to stay. The current population is 556 people. We help each other stay alive.

  I am 63 years old and have traveled to forty countries in my lifetime. I have seen a lot of despair around the world, those poorer than poor with no hope of improving their lives. People are living in their own filth and stench, inside cardboard boxes without water that is safe to drink, or even a bathroom. Little kids pick through the garbage dumps for rotten food. It breaks my heart to see this. They have hyper-extended little bellies, which means they are starving to death. These people live day to day, meal to meal. They have no hope for a better life for them or their kids. What are we, what are you going to do about this?

  It is so quiet here, so quiet I can hear the birds singing. You can hear the flutter of their wings and the wind blowing through the trees. There are no cars or noisy motors, no road noise at all. Every now and then you may hear a military plane fly overhead but not often.

  It wasn’t always like this. In the old days 5,000 cars would pass by my house on a holiday weekend going to the beach. The cars were loaded with people, grills, coolers, bikes, and boats. The peak time was the 4th of July weekend. Cars were bumper to bumper. July 4th Independence Day, what a great time we used to have going to the beach and watching the annual fireworks, as each year the city would try to make them bigger and better than the year before.

  We used to have a 4th of July Parade and everyone decorated their cars with red, white, and blue paper streamers and followed the two fire trucks our city had, beeping their horns while driving, while we were waving American flags. Afterward we would all go to the only bar here for a drink with free hot dogs and burgers. We acted a little like hicks but it was fun for everyone. Boy, a hot dog with mustard and onions sure would taste great right now. We still celebrate July 4th with no parade and no hot dogs, but it means more to us now than it did a couple of years ago. Now we are really fighting to keep our freedom and Constitutional rights.

  One thing we do hear are the sounds of drones flying overhead at night. They’re like a buzzing bee, a low tone which you can barely discern. No one has ever seen a drone, we only hear them flying at night like bats. Drones have excellent night vision cameras and can identify any person. Drones can shoot missiles that have the ability to blow up a car or truck so the drones make everyone a little concerned. We know the government is watching us but why are they watching us?

  Does someone think we are a threat to the country?

  We are waiting for you to contact us by email to find where Tocabaga is located. There is an email address hidden within these chronicles.

  I will reply.

  April 17, 2025

  12 Months Earlier

  My brother Ron, who was on guard duty, radioed me, “Ten cars are coming down the road, they must be the same ones the Rangers warned us about, so get your butts down here fast.”

  I radioed back, “Ron, we are on the way.”

  The rapid response team and all security persons grabbed their guns and headed to the bridge; a total of fifty men. No one said a word as we jumped into our vehicles but I knew everyone was worried about what would happen next. The sun was setting and soon it would be dark.

  Ron spent 25 years in the Navy and was a Crew Chief. He retired as a Senior Chief Petty Officer. He made drug and illegal immigration arrests in the old days. The Crew Chief is the one who man’s the 50-caliber guns and other small arms as well as makes any repairs needed during flight. He also was a chauffeur and bodyguard for an Atlantic Fleet Admiral and the Fleet’s heavyweight boxing champion. Grandpa taught us how to box and shoot when we were kids. Grandpa used to box for money when he worked in the coal mines and he always carried a Colt .45 in his waistband. He was a tough old guy who died of a heart attack at the age of seventy-eight. He served in the Army in WWI and was in combat with the Russian Wolf Hounds. Ron is a great shooter and not afraid of anything. We’re very close and I can trust him to do anything for me. Since the Civil War every man in my family has served in the Military.

  Our compound is on an island with one way in and one way out over a two-lane guarded bridge. Our little island is a mile and a half wide and two miles long. This used to be a busy little place, with four restaurants, one bar, one church, one seven-eleven store, two gas stations, and two marinas. There are 1,975 housing units, which includes condos and homes. Once we had a little over 3,000 people living here, now it’s reduced to the 556 remaining. I estimate there are about 1,200 abandoned cars and about 300 boats left by the people that used to live here. That means we have plenty of fuel and gasoline on hand.

  When you leave the island your property becomes more or less community property. Cars, boats, houses and anything in the house such as food supplies, guns, or whatever, will be taken for the general good of the community. When you return, or if you return, you’ll get your property back.

  We have a lot of resources, materials, food, gas, guns and cars that are now targets for the criminals to steal. We have the resources and a location that is very desirable. We accept new people but we cannot let in any bad apples. The problem is finding out who is good and who is bad.

  We all piled into our vehicles and drove as fast as possible to the bridge, just three minutes away. Upon arriving, we saw Ron and my son Tommy standing behind a car watching the vehicles pull up to our roadblock. There were ten vehicles and I estimated at least forty people, who probably all had guns.

  It looked like a scene right out of the old movie, “Mad Max,” starring Mel Gibson. A bunch of beat-up old cars and evil-looking people inside them. I wondered how these jerks found our compound because it is not well known unless you are from around here and even then many locals do not know our location. The Mad Max cars stopped about 160 yards away.

  I told Ron and Tommy, “Keep under cover while our other people get into position.”

  Everyone knew what to do as we had trained for this many times. Due to the uphill rise of the bridge our men were not visible to the potential enemy. They could only see about six people. My hands were sweating and my heart was racing. I was thinking, What do these guys want? Whatever they want, it can’t be good for us.

  Tommy spent eight years as a Marine Scout Sniper and fought in the Korean War in 2018, which only lasted sixty days. Thanks to him and other brave soldiers, Korea is now a united free country again. He received the Silver Star and is credited with 45 confirmed sniper kills. His weapon of choice is the Remington model 700, firing a Winchester .308 caliber bullet. He can hit
a melon at 600 yards. He is the best long distance shooter we have. His real name is Thomas Matthew Gunn but he soon gained the nickname Tommy Gunn because of his shooting skill, named after the Thomson Submachine Gun called the “Tommy Gun.”

  Two men stepped forward holding a white flag and approached with no visible weapons and hands raised. Rick the duly elected head of our group, yelled to our men, “Everyone, hold your fire.”

  I told Ron and Tommy, “If these guys put their hands behind their backs, shoot them. They might have a gun hidden behind them.”

  Rick said, “Robbie and Jack put down your rifles. Let’s go see what they want; we’ll meet them halfway.”

  We still had our side arms on as we walked towards them. Like a shadow, Mark was following behind me carrying his pocket knife. Never take a knife to a gunfight is my motto but this was Mark’s only weapon; he used it to skin fish.

  We stopped walking and they came closer. I said, “That’s close enough,” putting them at about ten feet away.

  We needed to keep some distance between us and these people in case a fight broke out. This would give us time to draw and shoot our handguns.

  I looked at them, unshaven, in dirty clothes; they were grimy-looking people. I couldn’t tell who they were but I didn’t like the looks of them. My sixth sense was telling me these people weren’t good apples.

  The biggest guy asked, “Who is in charge?”

  Rick replied, “I am, what do you want?”

  You could feel the tension in the air. My eyes were fixed on these dirt bags; never ever take your eyes off the enemy. The wind blew their body odor in my direction and I almost gagged from the stench. They looked and smelled like they hadn’t taken a shower in months. Their hair was long and both had long scraggly beards. They were just dirty-looking junkies. The type of people you want to avoid.

  The larger guy said, “My name is Big Jim, what’s your name?”

  Big Jim was about 6‘5” tall; the other guy was about my size at 5’ 11” and 200 pounds. They both looked to be about forty years old but it was hard to tell.

  Rick answered, “My name is not important, what do you want?”

  Big Jim replied, “That’s not very friendly of you. We are just good old boys from up north of here and we need food, guns, supplies, cars and gas. We are willing to trade. We have some women, slaves or drugs if you need any. We know you have the supplies we need, how about helping us out?”

  That was our clue that these were very dangerous men. I felt sorry for the women being used as slaves.

  Rick answered, “We have nothing for you. We cannot spare anything and we don’t need any slaves or women.”

  Big Jim looked at the other guy and whispered something in his ear, then said, “You must need something, let’s make a deal. Look at how many men I got, we can take anything we want from your little group but we don’t want any trouble. We just want to come in and look around, take what we want and leave.”

  I wanted these guys dead for making that threat. You could tell they were big dope-heads and meth users. Half their teeth were missing. I kept staring at this Big Jim; he looked familiar but I couldn’t remember from where. His huge head, the Neanderthal shape of it, or size of it, was different. I was thinking, Where have I seen him before?

  I asked, “How many slaves do you have? Let us see them and maybe we can make a deal.”

  Big Jim replied, “We got five.”

  Big Jim told the man next to him to get the slaves. While they were walking back, I saw one woman about 25 years old, two young boys about 12 years old and two young girls about 10 to 12 years old. They were tied up with ropes around their hands and necks.

  Robbie and Rick both looked at me and Rick leaned over and whispered in my ear, “What are you doing?”

  I just whispered back in his ear as soft as possible, “Trust me and follow my lead.”

  The slaves were standing next to Big Jim with their heads hanging down and they looked in terrible shape. I felt anger and sorrow at the same time.

  I took off my gold chain necklace and said, “I’ll trade you this 18K gold chain for all five slaves. It is worth about $20,000 on the market.”

  My wife purchased the chain for me on our 20th wedding anniversary so it had great meaning and value to me.

  Jim said, “Let me see it.”

  I stepped forward to hand it over to him, he reached out and grabbed it from my hand very quickly as if to say, give me that you fool. I didn’t even like the idea of him touching my chain.

  He looked closely at the chain and verified it was 18K and then he said, “That’s not enough for all five. I need more than this but I’ll keep it as a down payment until we reach a deal.” He stuffed the chain into his front pocket.

  Big Jim just made a big-ass mistake. That really pissed me off and I looked right into his eyes. He knew I was mad and I could see a smirk on his face, he liked what he was doing. He was a bully and I hate bullies. He was use to getting his way by intimidation because of his size but that didn’t scare me as I knew I could kill him in an instant.

  I had no intention of letting him keep my gold chain.

  Then it hit me. I knew who this Big Jim was, I saw him about a year ago while I was peering through my rifle scope in the dark. I saw his silhouette, which was frozen in my memory, the shape of the head, the size of his huge Neanderthal head, and his beard rang a bell.

  I had enough of this talk and knew I had to kill these two guys. I looked at Robbie, I looked at Rick; he didn’t know what to do now or what say to these slimy dirt bags. I was thinking that talking time was over. I hoped Tommy had his 308 aimed at these jerks.

  The clock was ticking; I could feel they were going to make a move.

  April 11, 2025

  6 Days Earlier

  We heard the helicopters coming before we saw them. Security ran out into the street, guns ready, to see who dared to fly over our island. To our surprise they were Army Black Hawk helicopters, which relieved our fears so we didn’t shoot at them. We had never seen Army choppers over our island. They flew by, circled around, and then came back lower than before.

  The four Black Hawk UH 60 choppers hovered at about one hundred feet in the air and started to land in the street, creating a whirlwind of dust. The people who gathered there to watch them land backed up a few hundred feet to get out of the way. We were all surprised and wondered what they wanted. As far as we were concerned the Army was on our side.

  The Black Hawk helicopter is armored to withstand hits from 23 mm shells, and its airframe is designed to crush on impact to protect the crew. The pilot and co-pilot have armor plated seats. The helicopter also accommodates door gunners, who provide security for the crew and aircraft using machine guns.

  Upon landing, eight Army Rangers jumped out from each chopper in full battle gear, pointing their guns at the crowd that had gathered. Everyone, including me, started to back up and give them space; most of us with guns raised our hands to show we meant them no harm. I was thinking, what the hell is going on. Why are they pointing their guns at us?

  The Ranger motto is, “Rangers Lead the Way.” They are tough as nails. This was the first visit by the Army and we wanted news from the outside world to learn what was occurring out there. We had heard over the radio that the Army Special Forces were now involved fighting for the common American citizen.

  As the chopper motors wound down and the noise reduced, a Ranger Captain approached us and asked, “Who is in charge?”

  I was standing there with Rick, Robbie and Eddy. I stepped forward and said, “We are in charge Captain and you are a welcome sight. What can we do for you?”

  The Captain replied, “First of all, please instruct your people not to point any guns towards my men. Keep all rifles slung over your shoulder and handguns holstered as we don’t want any accidents to happen.”

  I yelled out his instructions for everyone to hear as I did not want any accident to happen either. Rick, Robbie and Eddy walked a
round the crowd making sure everyone complied with this order.

  After a few minutes the Captain seemed satisfied as our people laid down their guns or slung them over their shoulders and he said, “We heard about your little compound and since we were flying by on our way south; I decided to drop in to find out more about this location and the people living here.”

  I said, “Captain, may I suggest we go inside in the shade and talk?”

  The Captain told his men to stand down and they stopped pointing their weapons at us. They still stood there on each side of the choppers, watching everyone, guns at the ready.

  Four of us, along with the Ranger Captain and one Ranger Master Sergeant, went into what was once the local bar.

  After proper introductions and handshakes, Captain Sessions said, “Rick, please tell me a little about this island compound, what laws you follow, how many people live here and how it generally functions.”

  Rick said, “We are all property owners living here and I am the President and Jack is Vice President and Director of Security for our compound. We are governed by the state and county laws and for law enforcement, we fall under the County Sheriff Office. Twenty-five of us are Sheriff Deputies. We follow the US Constitution and Bill of Rights. We have a Board of Directors that is elected by the people living here.

  “There are twenty-five military veterans on our island, Marines, Navy, and Air Force but most are Army vets. Most vets were only in the military for four years but they know how to follow orders. Three of our men are retired from the military; Ron a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer, Bob a retired Marine; and Mike retired from the Army. Their knowledge and combat skills are helpful to everyone. Tommy Gunn was a Marine Scout Sniper and won the Silver Star. They drilled our security team into shape and set the rules of conduct and rules for engagement with any possible enemy.”