THE TOCABAGA CHRONICLES: (BOX SET - PART I - BOOKS #1-5)

by Thomas H. Ward

  I said, “Great, start shooting.”

  If we didn’t get rid of this car it would render our recon by land impossible and we might have to conduct it by boat, which is risky because any time you are on the water you are an easy target.

  Tommy chambered a round into the Cobb.

  The Cobb 50 BMG is a 50-caliber rifle, shooting a Browning machine gun round that can go through steel, even an engine block. It can enter through one side of a car, come out the other side, and kill someone. The BMG has a muzzle velocity of 1,900 miles per hour or 2, 800 feet per second. The BMG bullet is ½ inch in diameter and nearly four inches long. I call it the Superman Bullet. The Cobb is a semi automatic rifle, built just like an AR 15 but bigger and has a ten round magazine.

  Tommy put the Cobb on some sand bags for support and took aim at the car’s engine, squeezing the trigger, sending the superman bullet … Kaboom! The whole front of the car exploded in a massive fire ball, sending pieces of metal at us and a shock wave of wind, as we all ducked. If we would have been any closer one of us could have been killed. The sound was so loud it almost blew out my eardrums. Now we had a burning wreck sitting in the middle of the road with black smoke billowing high into the sky but at least it was no longer a bomb threat. We’d just let the fire burn itself out which would probably take most of the day.

  Tommy looked down the road through the Cobb rifle scope and yelled, “They’re coming! Everyone get ready.”

  We all looked down the road and I saw six cars. Without warning, Tommy fired the Cobb again…BAM! BAM! BAM! Three shots in a row and three cars exploded. The other three cars stopped and quickly backed up to get out of rifle range.

  People were jumping out of the blazing cars and running for cover. Tommy shot three of them with the Cobb and I guess about nine of them got away. It doesn’t matter where you are hit with a Superman bullet, it kills you. Hitting you in the leg or shoulder it blows those body parts right off into big chunks of meat and you go into shock, bleed out, and die.

  I think the assholes heard the explosion and thought we were all dead and this was their chance to breach our roadblock. They had no clue that we were waiting for them and ready to take out more of these creeps. They had no idea we had a Cobb 50, which can stop a car in its tracks. These guys were really pissing me off. They didn’t even know they had already lost the war; probably because they were all doped up and had no idea what they were doing, no logic, no reasoning, the dumb bastards.

  Since they were out the range of the AR and 308 rifles, no one else got off a shot. We all just started to laugh and Deputy Matthews shouted out, “Great shooting, Tommy!”

  Tommy had just dropped another three guys, bringing the total number of junkies over there down to less than twenty and he blew up three of their cars.

  I commented to everyone, “The question is what do we do now? Is the recon patrol still on? Should we wait? I am out of ideas and think we need to regroup before acting. We need to push that burning car off the road all the way into the water if possible. The three cars down the road we’ll just leave at that location and hope the coyotes eat the dead bodies.”

  Rick heard the explosion and drove down to the bridge. We told him what happened and that we used four rounds of BMG in the process of dropping these guys.

  Rick said, “Great shooting Tommy, you can have the Cobb 50 and all my ammo. You are a better shooter than I’ll ever be.”

  “Thanks,” Tommy replied.

  I asked Rick, “How do you feel?”

  “I am ok now. Thanks for telling the Doc what to give me because he had no idea how to treat this. I appreciate it buddy but what are we going to do now?”

  “I suggest we do nothing as there is no urgent need for us to leave the island, so we wait them out. Let’s get some lunch and think about it.”

  We jumped in Tommy’s truck and drove to the bar.

  I felt like something was missing, my shadow. I asked Tony the barkeeper, “Have you seen Mark around?”

  Tony replied, “No, not today.”

  I got on the radio announcing, “All security stations: If anyone has seen Mark, give me a call. I’ve got a job for him.”

  Chris, one of the security guards, clicked his radio and said, “Yeah, a job dumping bodies into the water. Ha, ha.”

  I gave no reply and Rick laughed.

  Mark would disappear for one or two days at a time. He wouldn’t tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing. Mark was like a shadow. He would come and go without anyone seeing him. No one paid attention to him. I was a little concerned because Mark didn’t think like a normal person and if he got some idea in his head he might act on it, even if it put him in danger.

  Rick and I were enjoying a meal of smoked fish and drinking tonic water when Tommy walked in and said, “I suggest we go back to my original plan of sniping them from the back of my truck. I suggest we hit them now. It’s 2 pm and hot as usual, so the scumbags will most likely be inside, out of the sun.”

  Rick replied, “Ok, after we eat and down a few cool drinks.”

  We decided to go snipe after 4 pm. That way the sun’s angle would be to our advantage, if we stayed on the west side of the road, near the mangrove trees.

  We were slowly driving down the dirt strip near the bushes, when Tommy announced, “Is that Mark’s bike?”

  I saw it too and responded, “Yes, maybe Mark is nearby. Get out and look.”

  I drove while Tommy and Robbie paced the roadway, searching through the thick vegetation. Tommy yelled, “Dad, here he is! I think he is dead!”

  I jumped out of the truck, my heart pounding, and ran about ten feet to reach Tommy’s location. Looking down I saw Mark lying in the bushes all cut up in a puddle of blood. His hands and feet were duct-taped and he had a piece of duct tape across his mouth. He was a bloody mess and had a note pinned to his chest by a knife. I recognized the knife, it was Mark’s fishing knife.

  The note read, “Feed your buddy to the fish.” I pulled the tape off his face and cut the tape off his hands and feet. They roughed him up real good, even skinning half his face off; I could see his jaw bone. He was a mess of blood and dirt with black and blue marks, and his face was swollen beyond recognition. I could hardly tell it was my poor buddy.

  I was looking at his beaten face and said, “Hey buddy can you hear me? Who did this?”

  Mark couldn’t open his eyes as they were swollen shut. I gripped his hand and assured him, “Mark you’re going to be fine, we’ll get you back to the Doc and Amy to patch you up.”

  Mark moaned in a whisper, “Jack… they got me buddy … they killed me dead. Get ’em for me.”

  I squeezed his hand as he was coughing up blood. Then Mark whispered, “Fish food.”

  He gasped and took a deep breath and went limp. They cut him all over and he had bled profusely. They left him for dead knowing we would find him. I wasn’t sure if Mark would make it with the extensive body wounds and beating he took. They probably tried to get information out of him but I knew Mark would never talk. We lifted Mark into the back of the truck and drove to the clinic as fast as we could.

  I got on the radio to Amy and instructed her, “Amy, get the Doc, we are bringing Mark to the clinic. He’s been beaten and stabbed.”

  Stab wounds are the worst as you don’t know how much damage has been done internally and we had no X-ray machines or any type of scanners. I know what damage a sharp knife can do. I always carry one with me. Years ago when I lived in Ohio, a junkie broke into our house when we were sleeping. My wife and two kids were sound asleep in the house. I am a very light sleeper and the slightest noise can wake me up. I had heard something. I sat up in bed and listened carefully. I heard the stairs creaking. I knew the sounds of this house like the back of my hand since I grew up in it. I knew every creak a stair would make as my brother and I used to play hide and seek in this big old Victorian.

  I put my hand over my wife’s mouth and woke her up, holding my index finger to my mout
h, signaling her to remain silent. I whispered, “There is someone in the house, call the police and be quiet.” Back in those days we didn’t have 911 so you called the operator by dialing zero and asked to be connected to the police. I didn’t have a gun because my wife did not let me keep one in the house, claiming it was safer for the kids.

  Moving with stealth to my dresser, I pulled out the bowie knife that my dad purchased for me when I was 12 years old to use when we went camping. I kept this knife very sharp and it was the only item that I had of my father’s. I recall us going to the hunting store and he let me pick out any knife I wanted; it was a big deal because Dad never bought us anything. My heart was beating a mile a minute, as I listened again. The creaking was coming closer to the top of the stairs. I slipped on my pants and quietly closed the three bedroom doors. I was now standing at the top of the stairs, out of sight around a corner. I would be able to see his foot when he reached the top of the stairs. That was when I would strike and try to run my knife through his heart or die trying. I was praying he didn’t have a gun. My dad always told me: Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.

  I could hardly breathe and my heart was racing so fast I could hear it. I heard his steps coming up so very slowly, and then I saw his foot touch the top of the stairs. I leaped at him and screamed, plunging my knife into his chest as hard as I could. We both fell back down the stairs and I landed on top of him. My knife was stuck in his chest, all right, but not in the heart, it was in his shoulder near the collar bone, above the heart. I feared he had a gun but did not see one. Looking around I only saw a small pocket knife. He moaned, my wife came out of the bedroom and screamed. I told her to shut the hell up and go open the door for the cops, whom I assumed were on the way. She stepped over us crying while racing down the stairs. I admit; I was upset at my wife for not allowing me to have a gun in the house and it almost got us all killed. I was scared and shaking.

  I sat on top of this junkie holding him down with my knife still in his shoulder. He started to moan; suddenly he opened his eyes and tried to push me off. He was doped up and strong. I punched him in the face as hard as I could several times hurting my hand, while grinding my knife blade around in his shoulder, as his blood pumped out. Finally, he stopped moving.

  The cops took my knife for evidence but I never got it back.

  At the Med Clinic Amy saw Mark and just started to weep. Doc Scott said he never seen anything this bad before. We put him on the table and Doc checked his heart.

  Doc stated with sorrow in his voice, “I’m sorry, Mark has passed. There is no heart beat, no signs of life.”

  The room was silent except for Amy’s sobbing and we hugged each other. Crazy Mark, my shadow, my go-to guy, dead at the hand of those dirt balls. I was the last one to leave the room and I promised Mark I would get the bastards that did this to him. They would indeed be fish food.

  I pulled Mark’s knife out of his chest, wiped off the blade and put it in my pocket, saying out loud, “I will never forget you buddy.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder how Mark got out of the compound and across the bridge without anyone seeing him leave.

  Robbie arranged the funeral and it was held just like the one for Big Dan. Everyone attended and this time I spoke about Mark’s life and so did Robbie. I said the Lord’s Prayer for him. Robbie and I, along with Tommy, took him out to sea for his burial.

  As we lowered his body into the ocean Tommy said, “We’ve got to put an end to these guys.”

  Robbie commented in anger, “If I get one alive I am going to do a lot worse to them than they did to Mark.”

  I replied, “Robbie, we aren’t animals like them. We’ll just kill’em and feed them to the fish. God will give them their just punishment.”

  We arrived back at the dock just as the sun set and headed to the bar to have a drink for Mark.

  Tomorrow we will go hunting.

  APRIL 21, 2025

  Rick called a meeting in the morning to review our plans. It was a heated debate as we do have rules of engagement that should be followed.

  Rules of Engagement: 1. Only shoot someone who has a gun or weapon and is an immediate threat. 2. Never shoot blindly at a target … meaning you must be able to see your target so as not to endanger innocent people. 3. Never take unnecessary risks. 4. Always be sure who you are shooting.

  Deputy Matthews said, “I can’t let you guys blow holes through a wall not knowing who is inside the building. So you can’t shoot anyone without a clear shot and must verify they have a gun in their hand. What if there are innocent people with them?”

  Most of the group agreed with Matthews and so did Tommy and I.

  Robbie said, “That’s bull shit; we know these guys cut Mark up and murdered him and Dan. If other people are in the building with them then whatever happens, too bad for them.”

  Matthews replied, “What if those people have no choice because they were kidnapped? It’s true we don’t know if they have any more slaves with them and thanks to Jack we saved five of them. So those are the rules of engagement we set up and they must be followed.”

  The punishment for not following the rules of engagement is removal from the security team and possible banishment from the compound for life. We do not have jails or a court system and since we are in a war-like state that is the best we can do. Anyone who fights another compound member runs the risk of being banned. The outside world is mean and scary so no one wants to risk that punishment. The jury we use is made up of the Board and the Security Team leaders, a 12-member jury of our peers. Disputes are also settled using our jury system. All-in-all everyone gets along fine most of the time. We maintain respect for each other.

  So it was settled. We would not snipe at anyone we could not see, blow holes in the building or shoot anyone who didn’t have a weapon. This was going to make our job a lot harder.

  The plan was the same as before only this time we took Amy with us. Amy would help shoot using the 308, with Tommy on the big Cobb. Robbie and I would be security. Using a laser range finder we drove down the west side of the road in the dirt to within 600 hundred yards. That way both guns could be put in action. I turned the Tundra around with the bed facing the one building where we believed most of them were staying.

  Robbie and I fanned out and watched the road and large shrubs and trees for possible movement.

  It wasn’t long before I heard the 308 Amy was using fire a round. On the radio she said, “I got one through the window; he had a gun and was looking at us though a scope.”

  No one said a word. Then we heard shots come from the building and we ducked but the bullets were about 200 yards short and landed in the ground with soft thuds. I guess Amy’s shot got their attention. We clearly had them out-gunned.

  About two hours passed. No one else popped their heads up for us to target. I looked down the road and could see what appeared to be a little girl walking towards us. I looked through my rifle scope and she seemed to be about ten years old. She wore a backpack, the kind kids carry their lunch and books in when going to school. As she got closer she began to run towards us but the gang started shooting at her and bullets were dancing all around her. Amy and Tommy began shooting back at heads in the windows. The little girl was about 200 yards away when Amy sprang up and started to rush towards her.

  I screamed, “Amy, no! Wait she might have a bomb planted on her!”

  Amy kept running towards her and I jumped up and ran for Amy; Robbie was right behind me.

  I shouted, “Amy, take her into the water to cover the backpack! Putting it underwater is the only way to block a radio or cell phone signal if she has a bomb.”

  Amy is a fast runner and she scooped up the little girl and jumped into the bay, submerging the backpack while we were all providing cover fire.

  Amy called out to me, “Dad, she has a bomb tied to her, I need a knife!”

  I ran as fast as I could to Amy; I always carry my Black Bear Cold Steel Bowie fighting knife. As I jumped i
nto the water I only had a few steps to get to them. The little girl was crying. While keeping the pack submerged, I cut through the ropes like butter with my Black Bear. I swam with the pack, holding it underwater, for about 50 feet and tried to bury it in the mucky bottom but it wouldn’t sink. Then while trying to dig a hole in the bottom my foot hit an old metal crab trap stuck in the muck. I tied the pack to it hoping it would not surface and swam like hell to shore. Metal crab traps are big and heavy, it was just what I needed.

  In the salt water there are creatures that can hurt you, like sting rays and jelly fish. If stung by jelly fish you need to pour urine on the site to stop the stinging. I know this works well since I have used the urine treatment myself. Sting rays have an arrow or barb at the end of their tail and they swing the tail and stick you with the arrow. It hurts like hell but is not a serious injury. We also have sharks in the shallow and deep water. Years ago a man jumped in the water right off his dock and landed on top of an eight-foot bull shark, which promptly bit him in half, killing him on the spot. I stay away from the water as much as possible.

  I waded out and sprinted to the truck along with the others, jumping in the vehicle, and we all headed back to the bridge. Amy was cradling the little girl in her arms. Amy was never able to have kids but she loves them.

  She was telling her, “You’re ok now, don’t worry. Don’t cry; you are safe with us.”

  The little girl was sobbing, “I want my mommy.”

  When we arrived back at the bridge we took her to the med clinic. She was a skinny little thing, clearly suffering from hunger and Amy gave her fish, beans, and fruit, which she gobbled up in a hurry.

  Amy asked her, “Where is your mommy?”

  She replied, “My mommy is back there,” pointing toward the building she came from.

  “What is your name?”