BURL'S RECOVERY
T. Medley Willis


Prologue

The weather was perfect for implementing the killer's plan. Cool dry weather sweeping down from the northwest met warm moist weather moving up from the Gulf of Mexico over west Georgia. In Georgia, this usually means severe thunderstorms sometimes with tornadoes. The storm front roared in over Wellston Lake about midnight. Heavy dark clouds obscured the moon. Strong winds whistled in the piney woods surrounding the lake's headwater fed by Possum Trot Creek. Tall pines blocked the approaching lightening flashes while associated loud thunder muffled the outboard engines of two fishing boats as they crept up the lake without running lights. The two boats stopped adjacent to each other rocking violently in the waves created by the storm winds.

A voice from the boat on the left ordered, "Mike, get in the bow of your boat. Use the flashlight. Ease us up...near the stumps."

"Are you sure! We don't want to be seen!"

"Yes! I'm sure. What other fools would be out here tonight."

Mike, a large silhouette of a man, made his way to the bow of the right boat swearing as he stumbled over fishing rods, tackle boxes, water skis and other items. He beamed a flashlight in front of the boats as they inched closer to the lake's headwater area. Again, the boats stopped adjacent to each other when signaled by Mike.

The left boat's driver threw a golf putter into Wellston Lake while yelling over the wind and engine noise, "Move it! We don't want to be out here when that storm arrives."

An irritated voice from the right boat exclaimed, "Steve, hold your horses! We can't see a damn thing. I sure as hell didn't want to come out here tonight."

As he talked the voice and Mike lifted and wrestled a corpse into the driver's seat. The body was cold and stiff but they had already positioned it to simulate a person sitting in the driver's seat by sitting it in the driver's seat earlier in the evening. They forced the body's head back against the seat. One of the figures picked up a half-empty whiskey bottle wrapped in a towel. The used whiskey had been forced down the corpse's throat while the body was still warm. Earlier the bottle had been wiped clean and the corpse's hands pressed around its surface. The figure shoved the bottle into the corpse's mouth for a few seconds. He then removed the towel while wedging the bottle between the corpse's legs.

Mike, holding the flashlight, reached over and pulled the left boat close to his boat. He gave his flashlight to Steve in the other boat. As Steve and the remaining figure in the right boat held the two fishing boat's together, Mike climbed with effort into the left boat and picked up a life preserver attached to a rope. The right boat's living driver engaged his boat's forward gear and gently eased it ahead of the left boat aiming his bow toward the dark headwaters of Wellston Lake. Mike cast the life preserver to the right rear of the forward boat.

Steve cautioned, "John, be careful!"

In the darkness of the approaching thunderstorm the ugly jagged decaying tree stumps ahead could not be seen although the live figures knew they were there. John, the forward boat's real driver, pushed the corpse's left arm inside the steering wheel and the rest of the cold stiff body against the steering wheel hoping its weight would hold the steering wheel straight. Then, groping around blindly as his boat rocked violently, John carefully perched on the forward boat's transom, grasped its throttle, and almost instantaneously rammed it to full speed while springing backward into the cold dark lake.
The corpse's boat roared away into the darkness while Steve beamed the flashlight on the life preserver. John struggling in the cold lake water desperately grabbed the life preserver with both hands. Mike frantically pulled John to and into the stationary boat. Wet and cold, John screamed as Mike plopped him onto a large tackle box. Ignoring John's painful cry Steve exclaimed, "It's done! Let's get the hell out of here!"