Ashley's Evolution , The Chronicles of Ashley Stone Vol.2: The NOSOI Virus Saga A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series, #2

By Ashley Stone and Ben Stone

America's deadliest bio-weapon, the NOSOI Virus, is accidentally set loose upon the world. As the pandemic erupts, America descends into chaos; our cities become war-zones. However, NOSOI was designed not to kill its victims. Instead, the virus turns the infected into something much worse; crazed psychopaths, super-aggressive, with heightened strength, and nearly impossible to kill. And killing them is the only answer, once infected there is no coming back….
The struggle for survival continues for our heroes from Volume 1 in this viral outbreak thriller series. In the life and death challenges of a post-apocalyptic plague world, you never know who your enemy truly is. It's not just about survival; it's about the hope for a better future. While fighting to protect each other and rebuilding their small town, the zombie-like plague victims of the NOSOI outbreak are a threat, unlike any other. It's not a bite that will kill you; it's catching the virus. How do you defend yourself against something as easy to contract as the common cold?
Set the small rural town of Concrete near the Cascade Mountains of Washington state, a small group of survivors continue to fight for their lives in the apocalypse..

Follow Ben, a former Special Forces Green Beret, and his wife; Ashley, an MWD K9 handler along with their dog Thor as they try to save their small town. Fighting for their lives while waiting for their military teammates to arrive from the heart of the outbreak. All law and order have disappeared, and the threads of society are disintegrating. Ben and Ashley will have to use all of their military training to save those they love as well as each other; not realizing the plague victims are not their worst enemy…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Stone
• Release date: Jul 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393701477

Ashley Stone

The real Ben and Ashley are avid competitive shooters; USPSA, 2-Gun, 3-Gun, and IDPA. They also do Schutzhund with Large breed import German Shepherds and work for a large military/LEO provider. Enjoy motorcycles and have a real sense of adventure. Past that if we told you, we would have to ___, well you know….. Feel free to contact us for gear questions or feedback. Facebook @AshleyStoneTacticalFiction [e-mail] Instagram Ashely_Stone1911 Go to our website www.nosoiproject.com and sign up for our newsletter

Book preview

PROLOGUE:

It was cold in the back of the derelict work van, laying in my gear vest for hours on end was miserable. The hard corners and edges of the tools of war wearing away at me as the time past. Hopefully, their scavenging convoy should be coming sometime soon. Thor and I have been watching, and it is usually a few minutes after dark when they pass this way. The windows of our hide are covered in leaves, dirt, and soot, leaving only a small place where I can see the marker, that is all I needed.  I watched as the small strands of light from outside began to fade away, the time was coming soon.

I held the Vietnam era clacker in my hand, hoping, praying it will work. Ben never taught me any Demo skills, it was always hand to hand, knife fighting and gun craft, those I had in spades. Awaiting the moment of truth; I knew that was an unfortunate oversight, we should have done better.  But who knew the world would end and I would need to blow up shit...

I had found some Special Forces improvised Demolition manuals in the bunker. They were the real deal, not the reprinted stuff that would get you killed. Ben had brought those home from the service, if he had them, I trusted them. Lady luck had given me some actual pelletized ammonia nitrate, the old stuff, back before the government changes took effect. We had scavenged them from a garden shed. I cleaned the material with denatured alcohol adding in Nitro Methane and powdered aluminum. The aluminum came from a fiberglass boat repair kit, it’s not like I could run down to the hardware store anymore. Mixed in the appropriate amounts and packed it in plastic bags, Voila, homemade explosives.

Finding compound blasting caps was a bitch, this stuff required a lot of bang to get the reaction going. For that, I was trying some suped-up blasting caps, built from the detonators found in late model vehicle airbags. I had no idea if this was going to work. I had always been a good cook, but far from a domestic goddess. You weren’t going to find this recipe in a Betty Crocker cookbook. I would have liked to try it out, but there was so little, I decided I would have to field test it. This way, there would be enough for two strikes, not just one. If this one didn’t work, nothing lost, I would figure it out later. But, I just don’t know if I’m willing to come back and try to retrieve the stuff. I’ve heard so many horror stories of amateur bomb makers blowing themselves to hell in the sandbox.

As my doubt’s roll through my mind, I see Thor liven up. His ears stand up erect, eyes brighten, and that thick ruff starts to perk up. He’s giving me the silent alert. They're coming, right on time. Shortly, I can see the soft glow inside the van, as the column’s lights illuminate the interior. Come get some assholes. I charge the clacker, once, twice, time the spacing. Now, they are at the marker, three. Nothing, seconds pass then a massive blast fills the street. The results are devastating, much more than I expected.

The windows of my cover vehicle shattered, even though I’m almost forty yards away, it was all the cord I had. Even with Thor and I wearing ear protection, it makes my ears ring, and he howls out in a brief spike of pain. It takes us a little bit to recover, then we de-ass the van, time to make our escape.

I had used three separate half-pound charges, each located in a different abandoned vehicle lining the road. I had planned to catch the lead portion of the column. I can’t help but to stop and survey the damage, I live for this, it is the purpose of my being. As I look into the carnage created by the blast, amidst the torn wreckage and burning debris, my mind cries out in horror. No.. The outriders on the Harleys are utterly destroyed, bike and body parts mixed in with the vehicle debris. The box trucks packed with scavenged supplies have been torn open, the precious goods plastered all across the scene. Food cans, tools, and other hefty items becoming lethal projectiles.  While the vaporized paper goods continued floating through the air. The 4X4 trucks that carried the foot soldiers were on the far side of the blast radius, but they were still overturned.  Reapers spilled out in the roadway damaged, dazed and confused from the massive overpressure event. I’ve managed to kill more than a few, and for that, I cheer.

But my horror is from the prison van that carried the slaves. It took the brunt of one blast, dead on. I can barely identify what the vehicle had been. There is so much carnage, bodies were torn completely asunder, I can only tell that some parts are smaller than others. Children, I realized, Oh, God, I did this. It was the delay, I don’t know what caused it. It would have made the difference. It would have taken out the 4x4s, leaving the bus on my side, allowing the slaves to escape. That had been the plan. I begin to doubt myself, then my hardened edges take over, I’ve seen worse. War is hell, shit happens, better dead than a slave to the Reapers.

My reverie has cost me, the surviving Reapers have seen me, they are pointing to Thor and me across the blast field. I grasp my Kriss carbine tight in my hands, the race is on. Come and get some motherfuckers. I have more surprises in store, party favors for tonight’s event. We leave the scene in a sprint.

No plan survives contact with the enemy, I know this from experience. We make our first objective, the gap between two storefronts. The red brick buildings are empty of anything of value. The front windows glass glitter on the concrete now, removed from their panes, scattered. The shadows of the interior, revealing only empty shelves. I stop, face my pursuers and shoulder the Kriss. The Trijicon red dot sight glowing like a beacon in the freshly fallen night. I pause my breath as the dot settles on the closest one and gently squeeze the trigger. Ben’s ammo works flawlessly, and the 200gr subsonic hollow point flies straight and true, finding it’s home center mass in my latest victim. He grasps his chest and plows face-first into the asphalt. Hey, here I am.  My action spoke louder than the words I thought. They all see me now and head my way, as I lead them down the narrow channel.

Not a shot is fired in my direction. I don’t care what stupid idea’s they have, I’m going to take advantage and make them pay. One day, one of them is not going to play by the rules, I think. That will be the day that I die. So be it. One thing I have learned is that a true warrior gives up his or her fear of death. You accept that you will die, the time and the place are all that is in question. It’s how we live that matters. In my case, it’s how I fight; I’m already dead inside anyway.

I am nearing the alley behind the stores and time my jump. I can’t see the wire, but I know where it is. Thor makes the leap with ease. I worry about him, but he was trained by the army as a bomb dog, he seems to innately know these things, and how we avoid them, I still worry. If it was of my doing, I don’t know if I could go on without him, it would kill the shadow of the soul left inside me.

We turn left and make our way towards our next marker. Racing down the alley, I hear the twin blasts behind us. Pipe, shotgun shell, rat traps and fishing line, Party Poppers. I’ve still got it, who says the girl can’t throw an evening Soiree. I giggle as I hear fresh screams echo behind me.

Thor and I stop at another gap between two other buildings. My pursuit is slowing down. Thor is my constant companion, protecting me from anyone who might get close, but he knows this game and patiently waits by my side. There is another gap ahead in the same direction, it is closer to them, a short cut. I’m hoping they know about it, it’s fairly obvious. I shoulder the Kriss again and wait for a sight picture, calming my breathing, there it is. Dot crosses center mass, and I gently milk the trigger. The shot is good, and I am rewarded with more screaming, another Reaper down. Come on boys, let’s keep the party going, you’re disappointing me, all talk and no endurance, typical for these types.

They continue to press onward, but the group is smaller, maybe five or six now left in the hunt. I sprint down the gap. The next few surprises aren’t really mine. They are leftover from Ben’s efforts to clear the infected from concrete. They worked well for us then, I hope they will serve me now.

I am rewarded with more screams from those smart enough to try and cut me off. The cries are music to my ears, and they warm my heart once again, even if only for a moment. The trap was a classic from the Nam, a spring-loaded board with sharpened spikes set at waist height, hidden in the shadows of the path. I would like to see the result of my handy work, but the last few are right on our heels. That tripwire was head high, knowing they would be looking low after the party poppers. Things are going very well tonight, I think the evening’s festivities are definitely a big hit.

Last trick up my sleeve as I run down the sidewalk next to the open road. The narrow confines are gone from us, it’s a wide-open street, we had cleared this one before. Thor and I run with a small lead, but they think they can catch me, that they can kill the dog and finally capture me. God only knows what they have been promised for that deed. Leaves and dirty snow line the road, level against the sidewalk. I dare not step into that morass. Finally, the clutter recedes, and I make a hard right, crossing the pavement to the other side. Those few left, cut earlier to shorten my lead, straight into that mushy soup, that’s it guys, perfect. They find the plywood embedded with 3" nails, sharpened to impress. Men love spiked heels.

My pursuit falters to a stop, the party is almost over. I turn and shoulder the Kriss, settling the dot on each one as they try to release themselves from the embrace of my trap, serving up a quick controlled pair. Tap,tap...tap,tap...tap,tap. The smoke rises from the end of the suppressor. They go down like tops, it’s the final dance. The last one only feet away, struggling to get within arms-reach, trying to grapple with me. Thor has been patient, steadily at my side. TOTEN, I scream the command. It is our kill command, although I’m not sure that Thor could scale back to anything less now. It’s all that we do.

He goes low, biting just behind the knee with tremendous force, dragging the Reaper to the ground. I can’t help but notice the expression of terror that crosses his face, he knows this is it, his miserable life is finished. Scraggly hair, a poor attempt at a beard and thin pleather jacket, he’s young, not quite yet a man, clad in shoddy clothes and cheap Converse tennis shoes. He must be a new recruit, we’ve been hitting them hard lately.

In the blink of an eye, he is on his back, trying desperately to block Thor’s attack, with empty hands and arms. That is no defense, and I hear the ulna or radius snap, maybe both, it makes me wince, just the depth of the hollow sound, but not out of pity. Now Thor has broken through to the face and throat beneath, screams turn to gurgles as he finishes the kill. The whole encounter passing in a few dozen seconds. When the death tremors cease, so does Thor. GOOD BOY, LET’S GO, and we're off. I change my mag on the fly, refeeding the Kriss with more 45ACP rounds. Dropping the partial in my dump pouch. We need to travel south, recover the Razor and layup. We will cut back north to the mountain later and make our way home. Then a small respite while we plan the next party...

A few more turns and we will be away from the downtown area. Concrete turns into rural country very quickly, and my hide is still a few miles away. I can’t go straight for it. I have to make turns and wait and watch, it’s going to take us a while. I can’t let them catch me when I’m down in a rabbit hole, that will probably be how I lose at the end.

One more building and I’ll break into the residential area. I pick up my pace and prepare to sprint into the more open terrain ahead. I turn the corner, the Kriss braced in the pocket of my shoulder, muzzle slightly down. Then suddenly, I smash directly into a mountain of a man. He towers above me by a full foot and a half. With my slight frame, it is as if I have run into a stone wall.

He grabs me by the shoulder and neck, his massive paw encompasses both, it begins to squeeze. I feel tremendous pressure and start losing my forward grip on the carbine. He looks down on me with cold black eyes. I can smell his breath, it’s foul and laced with alcohol. I can sense that he is not alone, there are others. They did find their way around. They were playing the long game and set a trap of their own. I fear this is the end for us. All this playing across my mind in a single moment.

I feel the Kriss being pulled away from me, the giant's other hand grasping the end of the suppressor, jerking it forward. I’m trapped by the forward momentum, tethered to the carbine by my single point sling. No time, no thought, just reaction, my free hand still on the grip, I flip the safety and burn the mag. It’s not full auto, but my splits are blistering, and I have more control. His massive paw is obliterated, the fingers blow free, I sense them flying through my vision, now my muzzle is loose again. I guide it to the center of mass as I continue to burn the mag, it levels with the monster’s crotch, and I dump seven more 200gr bullets in a single second, as fast as I’ve ever run a trigger.

The monster pulls back, fighting to break free of the buzz saw I have become, faltering from the loss of control in his lower body, falling backward hard. The hand on my shoulder loosens then clutches hard again during the topple, now grasping at my sling, pulling me with an un-resistible force, straight down, face-first onto his chest. There’s still fight in him as he tries to pummel me with that hand-wound in my sling. The carbine is trapped between us. I consciously jam the muzzle deep into gaping wounds, pointing it up to his spine, towards his head. Let’s see how far these bitches will go? Then I burn the rest, emptying the mag, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, the bolt locks back.

The fight slowly drifts away from him, and I struggle to gain my knees, attempting to stand, everything is slippery, slick with blood from heads to toe, gallons of it. JUST FUCKING DIE! I scream with all the fury in my heart.

My situational awareness comes up for the first time, realizing the events on the edges of my periphery. I see Thor locked in a death match with two Reapers, bad odds for my boy. Shit, and another Reaper sprinting at me at full force, there are only seconds. I drop the carbine, it’s dry, and transition to my sidearm, a Glock 21 with threaded barrel. I chose it for the commonality of magazines, ammo, and suppressor to go with the Kriss. As I draw the big bore handgun, I instantly regret my decision. It’s big and slippery, covered in blood too, cumbersome to bring onto target. Ben had ground down the grip, removing the finger grooves and slimming it, then stippled the front and back straps. The added traction saves the day, and I fire off two 45s in quick succession, putting both rounds on one of the fuckers attacking my pup. These are not suppressed, and the sound is thunderous to my ears. Maybe that will help him, crosses my mind as my newest aggressor knocks me back to the ground, the blood-slick G21 flying from my grasp.

Fuck, I’m on my back, hands-on again, I’m too small for this shit!

The Reaper grabs my left hand and leaves my right free. He’s driving my weak hand into the ground, trying to control it with both of his. I don’t know why but take advantage of the stupid move. I’m trying to reach the knife mounted on my calf. Finally, the Gerber MKII pulls free of the sheath, and with all my strength, I jam it into the small of his back. The kidney blow instantly paralyzes him, so I pull it out, then sink it home again, over and over till he falls clear of me. Only now do I realize the intent of his bizarre actions. He has cuffed his wrist to mine. I am now permanently bonded to him with my weak hand. I can tell Thor is still in a fight. Keys, I think. No, that will take too long. Knife, maybe, then I spy the G21 at my feet. Yes, that will do.

I grab the pistol, lining it up with the arm and squeeze the trigger, working my way from the top to the bottom of the limb, until it finally pulls away. I’m free, the separated hand falls to the ground.

I sprint to where Thor is locked in battle. The one I shot earlier is down, but not out. The other on his knees, grasping Thor by his head, twisting hard while trying to avoid the snapping jaws. I line up the tall iron sights, the tritium capsules glowing brightly in the darkness as I squeeze off a perfect shot, danger close, right in the ear hole. You’re done, I scream inside. Thor has pulled back, I can tell he’s hurt, but he’s moving. The last member of the ambush is on his back. It’s dark, but I can tell he is another young recruit. I carefully line the handgun up for another headshot, my body trembling from the effort.

He looks at me directly, his eyes connecting with mine. I can see them pleading for mercy.

Freya, Freya! He cries out, blood pouring from his lips with the effort. Take me, take me, I am worthy, I will be yours!

What the fuck, what is with these insane assholes. This must be some more Norse religious shit.

YOU ARE NOT FUCKING WORTHY!!! I scream back at the Reaper and erase his face with the blast of a .45 round...

Thor is moving with a heavy limp, even with his body armor, he’s taken wounds in this fight. We have to go now, I know the sound will draw them in like flies. It will carry far on the winds of a calm evening, but I can’t carry him, he’s just too big. He’ll have to follow on his own. I top of the G21 as I run to the remains of the mountain man. There it is! I see the Kriss, it’s still slick with blood, congealing into sticky muck as I pull it from the body. The sling is broken, it must have been torn free, trapped in front of the muzzle during the final mag dump. I recharge it with a fresh mag and pocket the empty.

Then I see it underneath the monster’s body, an AK. I can’t leave it for them to use again, so I fight to break it free. I end up cutting the sling with my blade, and I’m finally able to get it out from underneath the giant body. A quick search yields four more loaded magazines for the rifle and a 1911 handgun with several mags for it. I can use the ammo the most.

Come here, boy. I Unload the pistol and place it in one of the molle pouches on Thor’s body armor. Then put the loaded mags on the other side to balance the load. I tie down the AK on my back, managing the best I can. I have to keep my hands free to hold the Kriss now that I’ve lost my single point. This is just a mess, trying to carry all this shit. But I know I can’t leave it behind. I think about searching the other bodies, then I hear the sound of approaching Reapers in the distance.

Ok boy, let’s go. Together, we limp off into the darkness. I realize now that I have wounds of my own.

The sky is quickly becoming overcast as the moon hides behind the clouds. I pull my PVS14 from its pouch to place it onto my bump helmet. As I work the knobs, attempting to turn it on, it dawns on me that it is fucking toast. The tube has been shattered, and the gasses have leaked away. Fuck, it’s not like they will make another one of these in my lifetime., I think, Shit. I have one more in the bunker, but it is the last one. Such a precious resource, gone. At least we’re alive. My thoughts working through the important things.

We work our way slowly through the darkness. While we wait and watch for anyone who would be tracking us, I