THE TOCABAGA CHRONICLES: (BOX SET PART III - BOOKS #9-10)

by Thomas H. Ward

  “Maybe he’s still there and we can buy one from him,” I replied.

  Tony poured us both another drink. Rick commented, “Let’s go tomorrow and check it out.”

  “Ok, sounds good.”

  Tony said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll come along.”

  I replied, “Good, we’ll all go. Let’s leave at 9 am.”

  We all had one more drink and headed home. Before going home I stopped by the main bridge to check things out. Chris was the head man on duty. I walked up and asked, “Everything ok?”

  “Yep, everything is fine.”

  I pulled out two smokes and offered him one. Then wind was blowing from the north and it sent a little chill down my spine. A full moon was shining as I looked down the main road.

  I thought I saw something move across the street about half a mile away. I stared down the road, squinting, trying to see what it was. I looked for a minute or two not saying a word.

  Chris asked, “You see something?”

  “It was probably just a coyote.”

  We finished the smoke and I bid Chris a good night, but warned him. “Keep your eyes open. You know there’s a horde of people out there somewhere.”

  He nodded his head. “Yeah, I heard.”

  My sixth sense told me something was out there lurking in the dark.

  JULY 16, 2025

  We bugged out of Tocabaga exactly at 9 am. I had already informed my family and the bridge security where we were going.

  As we drove down the road, leaving the island, I told Rick to go slow. Approaching the spot where I thought I saw something last night we stopped. I got out and looked around the area. I didn’t see anything in the street so I walked down to the mangrove trees at the edge of the water.

  Rick asked, “What the hell are you looking for?”

  I advised, “I don’t know. I thought I saw someone here last night.”

  As I looked in the soft sand I found what I was looking for. Fresh foot-prints were all over the place. The prints indicated that about four people where here. Someone was checking us out.

  I advised Rick and Tony about the foot-prints. They could belong to Free Roamers or anybody. Just the same, we agreed to put our security on alert. We continued on our way after a brief discussion.

  We were headed to Gulfport which was a 15 mile drive; located in Pinellas County right next to St. Petersburg. It used to be a small middle-class city made up of all kinds of people. Gulfport was primarily noted for being an artist community.

  The last time we went to Gulfport was when we followed the Boko Kang Gang looking for Brogan, who was MIA. At the time, we drove through it and didn’t stop to look around.

  Rick stopped the truck in the middle of the downtown area. We observed a few people walking around the boarded up stores. When they saw our truck flying the Stars and Stripes they shied away from us. None of them appeared to be a physical threat. On the other hand they could have Ebola so we didn’t take any chances and kept an eye on them.

  I asked, “Why are we stopping?”

  Rick replied, “I’m trying to get my bearings. If I remember correctly the breeder’s name was Tummel. I think he lived on 58th Street, on the corner of 11th Avenue.”

  Ten minutes later we pulled up to a house that had large kennels in the fenced-in backyard.

  I said, “Tony, stay with the truck while we go look around.”

  Rick and I jumped out with our M4’s and walked up to the front door. It was wide open so we walked in. Rick yelled, “Mr. Tummel!” There was no reply. He yelled again. “Anyone here?” Again there was no reply.

  I didn’t like the situation so I flipped my safety off. We cleared each room in the little single story house. We found bags and bags of dog food scattered about the entire place. Dog crap was everywhere. The house stunk from the fifthly mess.

  Looking out the back door we spotted the kennels and walked towards them. The entire yard was over-grown with thick, high weeds and bushes.

  I noticed there were trails of trampled down grass that led to the kennels and the back porch. It indicated that someone or something had been regularly moving through this area. As we walked around the kennels we observed the cage doors were all open. No dogs were inside.

  Rounding the corner of the last kennel we found human skeletal remains in the high grass. I saw a wallet on the ground and picked it up. Flipping it open I read the driver’s license. It was Mr. Tummel’s. We couldn’t prove the body was his because it was so badly decomposed, but we assumed it was.

  Rick said, “I wonder what happened here?”

  “It looks like someone killed him. Maybe his dogs got him,” I said.

  “No, his dogs wouldn’t attack him.”

  “Check his shirt for bullet holes,” I replied.

  Rick bent down and looked at his shirt. “There’s not much of it left, but these look like bullet holes.”

  I glanced over at the shirt. “Yeah, it looks like someone killed him and took his dogs.”

  “It seems that way, but I doubt anyone could take the dogs.”

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  “Tummel trained these dogs. They were bred and trained to be guard dogs. They would never go with a stranger. If anything they would chase the person away or kill them.”

  I gave a doubtful look to Rick. “How do you know that?”

  “Tummel trained my dogs and taught me how to train dogs. Tummel’s dogs only understand German. Unless you know the key German command words you’re shit out of luck trying to control his dogs. I spent a considerable amount of time here learning how to train them.”

  Standing there, gazing around, I pointed to the pushed down grass trails. “What do you make of these trails?”

  “It looks like someone comes here a lot,” Rick replied. “Let’s follow one.” Rick picked a trail and I followed behind him. We were about 50 feet from the kennels when he stopped walking. “Here’s another body,” Rick said.

  Rick stepped aside and I saw what was left of the body. “It looks like he was ripped apart,” I said.

  Rick commented, “I guarantee if he’s the man who shot Tummel then the dogs got him.”

  I was looking around the area and saw a severed boney hand in the weeds holding a pistol. I picked up the gun and showed it to Rick. “This has to be the guy who killed Tummel.”

  “Now we know what happen to Tummel, but where are the dogs?” Rick asked.

  We turned around and walked past the kennels to the back door. I was going up the squeaky steps when I heard low growls. Peeking inside I saw two wolf dogs, in a low crouch, coming towards me growling and snarling. They had incredibility large canine teeth. Their black eyes looked evil and seemed to stare right through you.

  Rick heard the growls and softly said, “Don’t run. Don’t point your gun at them. Don’t look directly into their eyes.”

  “They know what a gun is?” I asked.

  “Of course they do. They’re trained to know.”

  Then I heard growls behind us. I slowly, very slowly, turned my head to see two more Shepherds baring their teeth, standing in the yard. They were just a few feet away from Rick.

  German Shepherds were formerly known as the Alsatian Wolf Dog in Europe.

  Rick commented, “Don’t move a muscle, Jack. I got this … I think.”

  “You think? You better know for sure. I don’t wanna get ate by a herd of German Shepherds.”

  I moved my finger to the trigger while holding my M4 in a low ready position. If these dogs charged us I knew we would get bit before we could shoot them all.

  Rick spoke in a deep commanding voice. “Nein!” The dogs stopped growling. They titled their heads while looking at Rick. That got their attention.

  “Sitz!” To my amazement they all sat. A few of them started to whine a little. “Platz!” As if by magic the dogs all laid down while closely watching us.

  One of the dogs, a huge mutt, started to get up. Rick pointed at it and yelled, “Platz, b
leib!” The dog laid right back down.

  Rick said, “Each dog still has a collar so maybe we can find out their names.”

  “You’re doing a good job, so go ahead and check them. I’ll watch you from here.”

  As Rick slowly moved closer to one dog he said, “Remember to speak in German. They don’t understand English.”

  Step by step he approached the big Shepherd repeating the following words, “Braver hund. Bleib. Repeating these words, the dog laid there and let Rick approach him. Rick held out his hand, palm down, for the dog to smell him. Then, not making any sudden moves, he petted the dog several times and looked at the collar.

  The Shepherds looked like fearsome wild wolves. They were dirty and had matted hair. You could tell they’d been running wild for some time.

  “You’re not going to believe this. His name is Adolf,” Rick advised. “Braver Hund, Adolf.” Suddenly Adolf sat up, wagged his tail, and licked Rick’s face. “He remembers me.”

  “Why would you name a dog Adolf?” I asked.

  “He named it Adolf as a joke. Mr. Tummel use to say, ‘I can boss Adolf Hitler around.’ Tummel was German and he hated Hitler. Anyway this is the Alpha male. He rules this pack. If we control him then we control the pack.”

  “Which one is the Alpha female?”

  “I’m guessing this one.” He pointed to the dog next to Adolf and started moving slowly towards it, repeating the words: braver hund, bleib.

  Once again he held out his hand for the dog to smell. He stroked the matted fur and looked at the collar. “This one is Britta.” As he said her name, she licked his hand.

  “Rick, what the hell are we going to do with all these dogs?”

  “You wanted guard dogs. Now we have a whole pack.”

  “Most people don’t know how to speak any German.”

  “I’ll teach everyone the command words. There’s only a few of them. After a month of training the dogs will also understand English.”

  I looked at all the dogs and said, “We can’t let these dogs run around Tocabaga. There’s no telling what they’d do.”

  I know how dangerous big dogs can be if not correctly trained. I was a dog handler in the Military Police. Usually a dog becomes dangerous because the owner doesn’t know how to train or handle them. I’ve owned big and small dogs. I love dogs because they’re man’s best friend, but they are still animals that can turn if provoked. Dogs study your body movements. They can tell by your movements and by smell if you are a friend or not.

  I remember when my daughter was four years old and the neighbor’s German Shepherd got loose. I heard her scream ‘Daddy’ so I ran outside. The dog had my daughter on the ground growling and was getting ready to bite her. I jumped off the porch and grabbed the dog by the throat getting it in a strangle-hold.

  While holding the dog I told her to get in the house. The 70-pound dog was fighting for its life. I squeezed with all my strength while holding it on the ground until it stopped squirming around. The dog finally submitted to me. I had several bites and my arms were bleeding. I took the Shepherd back to its owner. This wasn’t the first time this dog attacked my kids. I warned the owner the next time I’d kick his ass and shoot the dog.

  Another run-in I had was when a Pit Bull attacked my wife’s Toy Poodle. I grabbed the dog but it wouldn’t let go of the poodle. I had to kick it in the head. Finally it let go and ran away. Our little poodle had to have 70 stitches from the mauling.

  Rick said, “Look, the dogs aren’t going to run around Tocabaga. We’ll get volunteers from the security team to train and take care of them. We’ll hold training sessions until the dogs are familiar with their new owners.”

  I said, “Hey, these two dogs just got up.”

  Rick pointed his finger at them and said, “Komm!” The Shepherds hesitated while looking at me and then at Rick. Rick lowered his voice and sternly repeated the word. I moved back, a couple of steps, out of their way. The dogs slinked by me and went to Rick. He ordered them to sit, stay.

  Rick told me, “Look around for some leashes while I put them in the kennels.”

  I went in the house and started to search around. I was looking in the kitchen when I heard Rick yell, “No, down!” He repeated it several times and then he yelled, “Jack, help!”

  I ran to the door and saw the two wolf dogs had Rick on the ground. One was standing right over his chest. Rick was holding the Shepherd back with both hands. The other one had buried his teeth into Rick’s lower leg. It was definitely doing some damage. Rick was kicking the dog to stop the attack.

  The commotion made the other dogs active. They were standing up watching the action. Rick was yelling commands in English trying to get the two crazy dogs to obey. They didn’t listen to him.

  Rick shouted to me, “They won’t stop!”

  I said, “Remember, speak in German.”

  Rick yelled commands in German and the dogs stopped the attack.

  I ran over, grabbed each dog by its collar, and pulled them away while yelling nein. After a little struggle, holding them by the collars, they obeyed my command for some reason to sit and stay. Maybe it was because of the tone of my voice and the fact I spoke in German. Rick quickly stood up.

  The other two animals stood there watching what had just happened. Limping, Rick retreated to the porch, sat down, and looked at his leg.

  “What happened?” I asked, while standing there holding both dogs by the collar, one in each hand.

  “I went to read the name tag and tripped. I fell on him so he attacked me. Then the other one went for my leg. It wasn’t their fault. I forgot to use German.”

  In a stern tone Rick told the two dogs to sit and stay in German. They sat down obeying his commands.

  “How’s your leg?” I saw it was bleeding a little.

  “Not good, but the leather boots saved my foot from some serious bites.”

  I wrapped my bandanna around his ankle. The wolf dogs were sitting there staring at us. “What do we do now?” I asked.

  A dog bite hurts like hell. The teeth are sharp and can easily puncture the skin down to the bone. A German Shepherd has the same bite force as a Pit Bull.

  Rick replied, “If they wanted to they could have done a lot more damage to me. We have to get them in the kennels so we can handle them one at a time. Then we’ll feed them. After that I gotta go see the Doc.”

  I watched while Rick commanded the four dogs into the cages. The two that bit him followed his orders. They actually liked going in the kennel. Rick told me that each dog knows which cage is theirs. Once inside they felt safe because it’s their home. After they were locked up we gave them food and water. Rick stated the dogs probably come here every night to rest.

  We had two males and two females. Adolf and Britta were the oldest. The other dogs, the ones that bit Rick, were Dierk and Freda. As we looked at them Rick said, “I think Freda is pregnant.”

  “How can you tell?” I asked.

  “Her belly is a little larger than it should be.”

  “How far along is she?”

  “Normal gestation is an average of 63 days. I guess she could give birth any day.”

  “How many pups do they have?”

  Rick said, “Usually about four or five.”

  “Shit, that gives us eight dogs.”

  Rick scratched his chin and pulled out two smokes. After lighting up we sat there thinking. I said, “It’s getting late and you need to see the Doc.”

  Rick answered, “Yeah, but we can’t just leave these dogs locked up here all night.”

  Thinking for a minute I answered him. “You’re right they’d be an easy target for Free Roamers.”

  “Exactly. We need to make some kennels on Tocabaga before we move them.”

  “Well, if you can drive, take the truck and leave. Tony can stay here with me. Send Tommy and Mike back with some food. The four of us will guard them tonight. Have some men start making the kennels so we can move the dogs tomorrow.”
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  It was 6 pm when Rick pulled away leaving Tony and me on guard duty. I was a little pissed off about having to stay there all night protecting guard dogs. We walked around the house and went to the kennels. When the dogs saw us they started to bark while wagging their tails.

  I asked Tony, “Do you know any German?”

  “Yeah, a little. Why?”

  “These dogs only understand German.”

  Lucky for me, I knew some German. My Grandmother, on my mother’s side, was German. When I was a little kid she taught me to speak German. Teaching us kids German upset my Dad. He told us to never speak German around him.

  Dad was in World War II. He got wounded and was permitted to return back to the States. By the time he was better the war was over. Dad didn’t like to talk about the war. I only knew he hated the Nazis.

  I took Tony around the cages and we talked to the dogs. Tony was a fast learner and the dogs seemed to like him. They all came up to the wire cage and licked our hands, their tails wagging when we said their names. We gave them all a small piece of an energy bar.

  Tony wanted to let one out. I agreed and let Adolf out. I didn’t have a leash but I didn’t need one. Adolf came out and sat in front of us. We walked to the back porch and sat down. When we sat down he laid down next to us.

  I took out another energy bar for him to eat. He looked at it, but didn’t move. Finally I said, “Komm, essen.” The big Shepherd came over to me and smelled the food. Then in one swift move he ate it in one bite. Adolf was indeed a well-trained dog. We were becoming friends.

  I went in the house to find a hair brush and a leash leaving Tony alone with the big dog. I was coming back outside when I heard Adolf bark. I ran to the back door and saw Tony with Adolf standing there looking into the woods behind the house.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Adolf barked and let out a growl. I think someone or something is back there.”

  It was dusk and more than an hour had gone by since Rick left. I wondered what the hell was taking so long. I phoned Tommy. “Hey, where are you?”