I couldn't believe it; I was free, totally free and clear. I savored the thought: I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want to do. I saluted Lt. Strait and shook her hand, thanking her for everything.

"Best of luck to you, Agent Valentine," she said, and turned to leave.

I turned to see Chris standing there waiting for me. I just threw myself into his arms for a hug, squeezing him tight.

Laughing, he said "Okay, okay," giving me that unconvincing manly protest at overt shows of affection.

Releasing him, I said: "Redfield, let's get the hell out here."

"You got it, partner. We just have to hit BSAA headquarters for a bit of paperwork. I have to sign off on the final West Africa report, and now that you're both alive and vindicated, we need to get you on the inactive roster so you can collect benefits. You up for that?"

"Sure," I said. "Let's get it taken care of."

It was about twenty miles from the courthouse to BSAA headquarters. Like the West African BSAA headquarters facility, the North American headquarters was out in the Nevada desert, miles from nowhere. I find cruising down an empty highway on a hot desert morning to be a great excuse to zone out. I pushed the seat back and enjoyed the soothing purr of the engine, grateful to have a partner that knows when to be silent.

Chris and I were snapped out of our reverie by smoke on the horizon. We knew it could be anything – car fire, burning tires – but we both got that feeling that we were about to get pulled in to something bad. We don't cut and run, though; we didn't have to discuss what we were going to do, we just cruised right along to find out what was going on.

We found the source of the fire; the road, cutting through a rocky desert hill, was blocked by a burning APC. It was army issue.

"Not good," muttered Chris, expressing what we both felt. We parked and got out, warily eyeing the burning wreck. No bodies littered the road. This smelled of a deliberate blockade.

As I kept a careful eye on the transport and the surrounding area, Chris went to the trunk of his car. God bless him for coming prepared; he came back with weapons and supplies. For himself he kept a Hydra shotgun, two flash-bang grenades and a canister of first aid spray; he handed me a small backpack, three explosive grenades, two remote explosive charges and accompanying detonator, another canister of first aid spray, and…

Oh, Chris, you shouldn't have. A Samurai Edge with a full clip. And no question on his part of whether I was fit or ready to handle a sidearm.

Stuffing the grenades and first aid spray into the backpack, I shrugged off my jacket, slipped the pack on and clipped the holstered gun to my belt. Flipping open the snap, I drew the gun. It felt good and cool in my hand. I'll take a Samurai Edge over any other sidearm; she fires true and straight, she'll never give you a hint of a problem, and she has a way of giving you a lucky shot right when you need one. I popped the magazine out to inspect it, slapped it back in and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. I was good to go.

Holding the gun to my side at the ready, I nodded to Chris and he nodded back. We slowly approached the wreck.

"Hello?" Chris cried out. "Is anyone here? Do you need medical attention?"

We got close enough to the transport to see the smoldering interior of the vehicle. Unoccupied.

Yeah. This was a trap.

The funny thing is, I didn't see or hear anything, but what tipped me off to the fact that we were not alone was a very familiar smell. It smelled like rotting meat and fertilizer.

It was the smell of the Las Plagas infection.

Whipping around, I saw a figure lurch from behind a rocky outcropping.

"Get down!" I cried, shoving Chris behind a boulder for cover. The interloper came into view, pointing an assault rifle right at us. I took him down with three shots and dove for cover opposite Chris, who looked at me with a nod that said, "I owe you one." And you best know I'll collect, Redfield, I responded with a smile.

The smile faded, though, as I heard more grunts and groans. We both knew there was no way our friend had been alone.

And me still in my nice, clean BSAA dress uniform. Just a bit too impractical for this kind of a scenario.

"Hey Chris, I don't suppose you have an extra pair of pants on you," I joked.

"Nope. Fresh out."

Oh well. I rolled up the sleeves of my blouse, loosened my tie and undid my top button. My real problem was the knee-length skirt, which was far too restraining. I looked down at myself and sighed. There was nothing for it. I tore the slits on either side all the way up to my waist. Chris looked over, unable to restrain a smile from his face.

"I don't want to hear it, Redfield."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Valentine. The last thing on their minds is how much leg you're showing."

I resolved to get us through this alive just so I could give Chris a hard slug on the arm.

I was about as ready as I was going to be. It was showtime. Readying my sidearm, I leaned out of cover and scanned for hostiles.

I saw three men. Three soldiers.

Three U.S. soldiers.

Chris saw them too. "Christ, Jill, they're army!"

"I know!" I said. One of them made a lurching move for us; I took him down with a lucky head shot. Bullets whizzed past my cover as another opened fire. We heard the tell-tale click when his clip was spent. I provided cover fire while Chris leapt out and caught the target with a full Hydra blast to the chest.

But where was our number three?

I soon got our answer. He'd managed to flank Chris and was charging at him from behind. My clip was empty and I didn't have time to slap a new one in.

An impulse flashed into my mind. Jill, are you insane? I thought to myself, but it was too late – I was making my move.

It wasn't as fast or as graceful as it might have been under P30, but it still came to me somewhat naturally. I leapt into the air, using one leg to bound off of my boulder and gain even more height. I landed kneeling on the soldier's shoulders, both of us facing forward, his head gripped between my thighs. By now Chris had turned to face his attacker, so he got a full view of what happened next. I tensed all my muscles and gave one huge, hard twist of my hips – breaking the soldier's neck and instantly killing him. As he fell, I rode him to the ground and jumped off of his back to land on my feet. I stumbled a bit more than I might have otherwise, but overall it was a clean and efficient kill that might have saved Chris's life.

Chris just stared at me, dumbstruck, as the fallen soldier sizzled into a puddle next to me.

"Jill… what the hell was that?"

I just shrugged. I'd thought anything like that would have vanished with the P30. I wondered what else I'd get to keep. "I guess I've picked up a few new moves."

Chris just shook his head, impressed and bewildered. "That's putting it mildly. Just remind me not to get on your bad side."

I smiled, ejecting the spent magazine from the Samurai, slapping in a fresh clip and holstering it. Any worries either of us might have had about my ability to handle myself in the field were now put to rest.

The rush of our victory dissipated very quickly as the implications of the encounter hit us. Chris started looking around at the aftermath of our small battle.

"Chris, these guys were army."

"I know," Chris said. He was kneeling, examining a dog tag he fished out of a puddle that had been a soldier. "What does this mean? How did Las Plagas get here? How widespread is it?"

"I don't know," I replied, grabbing one of the soldiers' assault rifles, "but I guarantee you this was a welcoming party especially for us. Which means…"

Chris finished my thought: "…we'd better get to BSAA headquarters ASAP."

I nodded, and we bolted for the car. Chris peeled out in a cloud of dust as I used his two-way radio to try and contact someone – anyone.

My first attempt was to get through to the BSAA.

"Same frequency usage?" I asked. Chris nodded. I tuned to the BSAA main frequency.

"This is Jill Valentine, inactive BSAA operative, identification number One-Niner-Three-Seven-One-Zero-XRay-Bravo, requesting response from BSAA headquarters. Repeat: This is Jill Valentine, inactive BSAA operative, identification number One-Niner-Three-Seven-One-Zero-XRay-Bravo, requesting response from BSAA headquarters."

Nothing but static. Next I tried the Edgewater army base – it was a good bet that's where those soldiers were from. Nothing there either. No frequency yielded any results but static.

"Cell phone?" I asked Chris. He fished in his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I started to dial, but I realized that there was no signal.

"Chris, I think someone knocked out the communications grid for the vicinity."

"Shit!" he said, hitting the wheel. "Could be just the two of us going against God knows what. No back-up."

"Just like old times," I answered. He looked to me, the hint of a smile creasing the side of his mouth. Whatever lay ahead, we were in it together, until the end.