It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

The Doctor looked back at the well-lit house and felt a certain spasm of pity. Those people had no inkling what was going to happen to them and he supposed they would not believe him if he tried to explain the situation as it really existed.

The direction to go was south, away from the gully and the invited guests. Though he knew they understood his part in the events, this night, the Doctor was unwilling to take a chance they would honor the truce. Too much was still unknown about the aliens to trust their integrity. In time, they would know the aliens well enough to help with the practical abductions, but for now they could not take the risk of project personal disappearing with the victims.

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The rendezvous was five miles from the house at a lonely crossroads in the middle of nowhere. The Doctor set his pace at a fast trot, hoping to reach his ride in a few hours.

Yet he stopped once again and looked at the house. It made a fitting last memory of the place while still inhabited... a mental picture of the night a family disappeared. He would add it to the others already stored in his mind.

The steady slap of shoe leather faded to the south, the runner devoid of human conscience and soul; a part of a machine that dealt in interstellar politics.