Hugging her knees, Sherry was reminded of her helplessness so many years ago back in Raccoon City when all of those terrible monsters created by her parents had wreaked havoc on the small suburb. Huddling in the corner of her prison cell, she could almost hear her father's ghastly voice once again as he cried out her name…the thought made her shudder.

She hated being locked away, certain events months ago had revived that particular fear though at least she was safe from whatever was happening outside of her confinement. She'd been hearing screams and gunfire for a very long half hour but then it ceased, merging into an eerie silence.

The chill that wafted through the bars of her cell filled the small space with a rotting and rancid odor that stung her nostrils with its familiarity: death.

Pressing herself into a tighter ball, she couldn't help but yell at how stupid she'd been to fall for something like this. The information she'd collected had certainly seemed legit but clearly she'd been set up and it pissed her off that she'd allowed this to happen.

What would Jake think? she thought shaking her head and pushing her fingers through her locks. When she noticed that she held a handful of hair as her hand rested on her shoulder for a moment, she wondered just how long she'd been locked away. Last time she remembered it, she'd been keeping her hair in that stylish short cut Claire had recommended.

The sound of a door opening broke her thoughts and she stood up, moving against the far wall when she heard a series of approaching footfall.

A tall, brown haired man appeared around the corner, his hands cuffed in front of him and his blue shirt stained crimson.

Sherry wearily watched as one of the hooded guards who'd shoved her down here followed behind the man and stopped at her cell. He opened it and gestured for the man to enter.

"You'd better watch your back," the new prisoner said as the guard locked the door and promptly left. He glanced at her and flashed a half grin. "How ya doing?"

Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, Sherry looked away.

He shrugged as he lowered to the floor and began struggling against his binds. "I always knew airplane rides were a terrible way to get places and this proves that. I tell you one thing I am never getting on a flight ever again."

Curiosity stabbing at the back of her neck, she looked back at him and asked, "What's wrong with airplanes?"

"They never go the way you think they will," he said as he gave up on the cuffs. "Either they crash or there's a delay or, in my case, it stops on some strange landing area and you and everyone aboard are being shuffled somewhere like cattle. Apparently if you fight back though, you get thrown into…whatever this is. Too bad they took my damn gun."

Reminded of the sounds of gunfire earlier, she said, "Was that you then? Causing all that commotion?"

He nodded, shrugged and the nodded again. "Me and another guy though I don't know what happened to him. One moment him and I were letting loose hell with double pistols and the next thing, well you see where it got me."

"What was going on up there? I mean, where are we?"

Examining the cuffs, he replied, "We're somewhere where this is a hell of a lot of sand, a desert maybe." He glanced at her. "So what's your name?"

She rubbed her arm as goose bumps pricked her skin. "I'm Sherry Birkin."

"Well nice to meet you, too bad it isn't under different circumstances. If it was I might be tempted to buy you a drink."

Dressed in a neon pink tube top and yoga shorts, Sherry felt her face heat up and returned back to her huddled position. She'd been at her apartment in Florida, about to go out for a swim in the complex pool when she'd heard something crash and everything went black. Thankful she hadn't chosen to wear her bikini, Sherry shot a quick glance at her cellmate and stifled a sigh when she saw that he seemed more concerned with his handcuffs than her attire. Course she should probably be more concerned about her surrounding and how she was going to get out; not that she hadn't been giving that thought but nothing she'd come up with had been a good plan.

Completely gearless and unable to work up the courage to attack armed men with the fighting skills she'd been taught, she once again felt like that little girl hiding from monsters. But what else could she do?

"Something!"

Sherry looked over at him. "What did you say?"

"Don't mind me," he said. "I'm just trying to think of something, anything really to get out of this…wish I hadn't let my lock pick in my suitcase."

Her brow furrowed together. "Who are you anyway?"

"The name is Billy," he said with a quick glance in her direction. "Billy Coen."