He should have worn better shoes.

Something other than loafers would have suited the walk, but that would have slipped from the image he had worked to portray. Turner had to be fooled at all costs, and blisters on his feet were a small price to pay for success.

The doctor stopped and leaned against a tree near the side of the road.

He had thought he was well clear of the farm and tonight’s activities, yet he was doubting the wisdom of leaving the house without proper surveillance. What if the actors tried to make a run for it and scattered across the expanse of the Barrens?

At the very least, a compromised operation.

What seemed a well thought out plan was crumbling before his mind’s eye. There were simply too many ways this night could go wrong.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

If he went back to the house, he stood a chance of getting taken by the aliens. He had to be honest with himself; no one knew what the aliens were doing with the victims and precious few of them ever returned to talk about the experience.

Fire on the mountain. A man could return and pose a mystery or reveal the truth, any truth. Like the guy in Colorado. There was no way he wanted to get caught up in that type of fiasco.

What could he do?

He pushed his hands against rough bark and walked away from the tree to stand in the middle of the road.

This far from civilization, the night sky seemed to blaze with stars. He was standing in the middle of a road, staring up at the stars, and wondering what they held.

He could as easily be wondering if Bigfoot was watching him from the darkness of the woods.

Go back to the house. He had to know if there was any danger to the project.

There were still a few miles to go to the rendezvous, which would eat some time, then they could wait for another hour before making their way back to the house and see what had become of the actors and Turner.

There would be plenty of weapons in the truck when it arrived.