Theodore Boone: The Activist Read online

  The boys took in the scenery as they rested. Hardie pointed to his right and said, “The bypass cuts across the entire valley, one wide gash that begins over there between those two hills and goes through the tallest hill that way.” His right arm swept to his left. “That’s Chalk Hill, and the plan is to level it with dynamite. Just blow it up and flatten it out. Everything else gets bulldozed, then covered with asphalt. Not sure what happens to my grandparents.”

  “How can they do this?” Woody asked.

  “Ask Theo.”

  Theo said, “The law gives the state the right to take anybody’s land. The state has to pay for it, of course, but they still get it.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It really does,” Hardie said sadly.

  They rolled down the hill and minutes later came to a stop in front of the house. Hardie’s grandmother, Mrs. Beverly Quinn, was waiting on the porch with a plate of walnut cookies and ice water. Hardie introduced his friends, and Judge, and she sat with them during the quick snack. Hardie’s grandfather was “puttering” down at the tractor barn, according to his wife. There was no mention of the bypass—that topic seemed too awful to even consider. As Theo ate a cookie and rocked gently in an old wicker rocker, he admired the spotless painted porch, the hanging ferns, the beds of neatly tended flowers, the white picket fence along the front yard, and he tried to envision a bunch of bulldozers destroying it all. The very idea seemed grossly unfair, even cruel.

  When the boys finished, they thanked her and hurried off to go fishing. In a storage shed behind the house, they found a wide selection of rods and reels, along with cane poles, tackle boxes, soccer balls, volleyballs, badminton sets, Frisbees, two canoes, four kayaks, even golf clubs. “We have a lot of fun out here,” Hardie said. He claimed to have eleven cousins in the Strattenburg area, along with aunts and uncles and friends close enough to be kinfolks, and they spent a lot of time on the family farm.

  They picked three rods and reels, and Hardie stuffed a small tackle box into his backpack. They were off again, flying down a narrow dirt trail that wound its way through a patch of thick woods. Ten minutes after leaving the house, they plowed to a stop at the banks of Red Creek. “This is the best spot on the farm,” Hardie said as he unpacked the tackle box. “Some of the best smallmouth bass in this area.” Theo unleashed his dog and Judge jumped into the water. The creek was wide and the water splashed over rocks in the distance.

  “We camp here all the time,” Hardie said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Theo said. “Can we go kayaking?”

  “Maybe later,” Hardie said. “There are some decent rapids just around the bend there, a little too rough for a canoe. We kayak it all the time.”

  As an only child who lived in town, Theo was mildly envious of Hardie and his big family and this tract of land where they had so much fun. The farm was like one big adventure park but with real adventures, not fake ones.

  Hardie was standing on a granite ledge, about ten feet above the water, and he had cast twice into the creek when he suddenly spotted something in the distance. “What is that?” he asked himself out loud.

  “What?” asked Woody, who was nearby.

  Hardie pointed and said, “Look beside those trees down the hill. Some men.” Theo and Woody were climbing onto the ledge next to Hardie, whose voice left no doubt he was concerned. Sure enough, across a narrow valley that bordered the creek, there were several men milling around a pickup truck, probably a half a mile away.

  “That’s our property,” Hardie said.

  “What are they doing?” Theo asked.

  “Don’t know, but they shouldn’t be there,” Hardie said.

  “We should’ve brought binoculars,” Woody said.

  “Better yet, let’s go find out,” Hardie said, and the boys forgot about fishing. Theo could have let it pass; the men did not appear to be doing anything wrong, but he did not understand how much the Quinn family valued their land and its privacy. The boys jumped on their bikes. “Follow me,” Hardie said as they took off. Judge, soaking wet, followed Theo, who followed Woody. They went a short distance and crossed the creek on an old footbridge, one barely wide enough for bikes, then they sped along a dirt road until they approached the men.

  There were four of them, three younger men with an older guy who was probably the boss. Their truck was a large, service-type vehicle with a club cab and the words STRATEGIC SURVEYS painted on the doors. Not far from the truck was the beginning of a line of stakes stuck in the ground with red ribbons tied to each top.

  “What do you boys want?” the older man asked.

  Hardie was off his bike and approaching the men. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Maybe that’s none of your business, kid.”

  “Maybe it is. This is my family’s property. Who gave you permission to be here?”

  The three younger men laughed at this kid with the questions. Theo looked at them—all three were fairly large with dirty shirts and beards and the general appearance of men who lived hard and made no effort to avoid trouble.

  “Don’t get smart with me boy,” the older man said.

  “What’s your name?” Hardie shot back.

  “Willis. What’s yours?”

  “Hardie Quinn. My family has owned this land for a hundred years.”

  “Well congratulations,” Willis said with a sneer. “Ownership is about to pass over to the state.”

  The other three found this funny and they laughed again, and as they did so they inched forward, closer to the rear of the truck where Willis was standing less than ten feet from Hardie. Theo took a step forward and said, “He asked you a question. Who gave you permission to come onto this land?”

  “The state,” Willis growled toward Theo, who quickly said, “Oh yeah, but the state doesn’t own this property yet.”

  “A bunch of wise guys,” Willis said to his men. Then to Hardie and Theo he said, “Look, boys, we’re here doing some preliminary survey work for the bypass, that’s all. Our company has a contract with the state and they sent us out here. Why don’t you boys just relax and go on about your business? We’re doing our jobs and we’re not bothering anyone.”

  To which Hardie fired back, “You’re bothering me because you don’t have permission to be here.”

  Theo, the lawyer, quickly added, “You’re trespassing, okay? And that’s a criminal offense. You can go to jail for it.”

  The shortest of the three younger men took a step in Theo’s direction and said, “Wow, a real know-it-all. You watch too much TV, kid.”

  “That, or maybe I just have the ability to read,” Theo shot back. Shorty’s face turned red and he clenched his fists. Woody stepped beside Theo, and Judge was at his feet. The situation was tense and ridiculous. Three thirteen-year-old boys and a mutt facing off against four full-grown men. There seemed to be a stalemate. The men were not leaving, and the boys were not backing down.

  Theo had an idea, one that would quickly prove to be disastrous. He reached into his pocket, removed his cell phone, and said, “I’m calling 911. We’ll let the police help us out here.”

  Willis yelled, “Put that phone down, kid! You’re not calling the police!”

  Theo said, “I can call anybody I want to call. Who are you to tell me I can’t call someone?”

  “I said put the phone down!”

  Shorty suddenly lunged for Theo. He grabbed him by the arm, shook it violently, sent Theo’s phone flying into the dirt, then shoved Theo to the ground. “Stupid kid,” Shorty mumbled. Woody and Hardie were startled by this act of aggression, and they stepped back.

  Judge, however, never hesitated. He attacked Shorty and almost bit his leg before getting kicked away. Judge growled and hissed and darted again for Shorty, who said, “Get that dog away from me.”

  “Come here, Judge!” Theo said as he
scrambled to his feet. At that moment, he wished Judge could have been a ninety-pound pit bull trained to attack instead of a forty-pound mutt who was afraid of cats. But he was not afraid of Shorty. In a flash, Judge attacked again, and again got kicked to the side. He barked in anger and frustration and bolted again at Shorty.

  As they would soon find out, the third man’s name was Larry, one of Shorty’s sidekicks. Larry suddenly stepped forward with a five-foot, wooden survey stake, and as Judge again went after Shorty, Larry struck the dog on the back of the head. Theo screamed and Hardie yelled and Woody picked up a rock. In the dust and dirt and chaos and horror of the moment, Larry kept whacking away at Judge as Shorty kept kicking him and the boys attempted to react. Woody rushed forward and was tripped by the third man. He fell on top of Theo. Hardie was yelling, “Put the stick down, okay!!”

  Theo finally managed to throw himself on top of Judge, and for good measure Larry popped Theo on the rear end with the stake. The men were laughing; the boys were crying; and poor little Judge was bleeding and whimpering.

  The men backed away.

  Theo cradled his dog and gently lifted him. He had blood all over his head and his body was limp. “Talk to me, Judge,” Theo pleaded through tears.

  Hardie screamed at the men, “You’ll pay for this.”

  Theo began running. He clutched Judge to his chest and ran past his bike, because he knew he couldn’t ride it and hold Judge at the same time. Hardie and Woody jumped on their bikes and soon caught up with Theo, who was jogging in a daze, tears on his cheeks, blood on his shirt, Judge close to his heart.

  Hardie said, “Woody, you stay with Theo. I’ll sprint ahead and get my grandfather.”

  “Good idea,” Woody said, and Hardie was gone.

  “Is he alive, Theo?” Woody asked softly as he rode as close to Theo as possible.

  Theo bit his lip and said, “I don’t know. He’s not moving.”

  Blood was dripping from Theo’s elbow. He was running as fast as he could.

  Chapter 14

  Hardie and his grandfather, Mr. Silas Quinn, found Theo and Woody as they crossed Red Creek. Theo was soaked with sweat and blood and the stress was triggering an asthmatic attack. He was pumping his inhaler as he hovered over Judge, who wasn’t moving. Mr. Quinn quickly scooped up the dog and placed him on the seat of his pickup truck. “Put the bike back there and get in,” he ordered, and Woody tossed his bike into the bed of the truck. The boys crowded into the front seat, with Theo gently cradling Judge, whose eyes were closed.

  “Is he gonna make it?” Hardie asked his grandfather.

  “He’ll be all right,” Mr. Quinn said as he shifted gears and took off. He had already called 911 and requested an ambulance and the police. He wanted the survey crew off his property, and he would have preferred to confront them himself. But, at the moment, there was a badly injured dog to deal with. They were flying along a gravel road, headed for town. Mr. Quinn said, “Who has a cell phone?”

  Woody did not because he was only thirteen and his parents thought he was too young. Hardie had one but he wasn’t sure where it was. Theo said, “I do.”

  “I think you should call your parents, Theo,” Mr. Quinn said. Theo gently placed Judge into Woody’s lap and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Where are we going?” Theo asked.

  “Not sure,” Mr. Quinn said. “Who’s your vet?”

  “Dr. Kohl.”

  Elsa answered the phone at the office. She informed Theo that his mother was in a meeting with a client but his father was not. As he told his dad what happened, he gently stroked Judge between the eyes. He glanced at Woody, the toughest kid he knew, and saw tears.

  * * *

  They stopped the ambulance in the middle of the county road that led to the Quinn farm. At first the crew was not sure how to handle an injured dog, but Mr. Quinn was not a man to argue with. In loud and colorful language, he told the crew to take Theo and the dog to Dr. Kohl’s office on South Clement Street. Mr. Quinn, Hardie, and Woody would follow in the pickup truck.

  Inside the ambulance, Theo watched as the two paramedics treated Judge as though he were a badly injured child. They placed him on a sterile white gurney, cleaned his wounds, whispered words of encouragement to him, and checked his pulse. Though it was obvious to Theo they were trained to assist humans and not dogs, they did a wonderful job of making Judge comfortable, and Theo as well. His shirt was covered with blood and dirt, and one of the paramedics slowly wiped it with gauze to make it somewhat cleaner.

  “He has a pulse,” the other one said as he pulled a sheet up to Judge’s neck. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks,” Theo managed to say.

  “We’ve never hauled in a dog before,” one said. “What happened to him?”

  Theo just shook his head, unable to tell the story.

  * * *

  For almost forty years, Dr. Kohl had mended and healed most of the dogs and cats and other small animals in Strattenburg. His quiet little office was in an old shopping center that had seen better days. His long-time receptionist was Miss Ross, a fiercely efficient assistant known to call and scold clients when their pets’ rabies vaccines had expired.

  Miss Ross was at her desk late that Friday, making things tidy and getting ready to leave, when the phone rang and Mr. Woods Boone explained the family dog was en route and in bad shape. Was Dr. Kohl around? Indeed he was. Minutes later, Miss Ross watched in disbelief as an ambulance roared to a stop at the front door.

  In forty years with Dr. Kohl, she could not remember an injured animal arriving in an ambulance. She knew Judge Boone was a special dog (weren’t they all?) but had no idea he had such respect in the community. Behind the ambulance was a pickup truck, then a police car, then two other vehicles. A paramedic cradled the dog and rushed him inside. The small waiting room quickly filled with a bunch of nervous people—Theo, his buddies, his parents, Mr. Quinn, the paramedics and ambulance driver, Elsa from the office, and two officers in uniform.

  While Dr. Kohl and a technician carried Judge into the back for X-rays, Theo was examined by his parents. He was covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. He was barely able to control his emotions as he told the story, with Woody and Hardie helping with the details.

  “He actually struck you with the stick?” Mr. Boone said.

  “Twice, on the backside,” Theo answered. “And the short one knocked me down.”

  “One of them pushed me down too,” Woody added.

  “This is outrageous,” Mrs. Boone said, staring at the two policemen. One of them said, “We’re on the scene, Mrs. Boone.”

  “I should hope so.”

  “We want to press charges as soon as possible,” Mr. Boone said. “I want these thugs in jail.”

  “So do I,” said Mr. Quinn. “They were on my property without permission.”

  The group quickly agreed that the bad guys must be brought to justice, then things settled down a bit. The waiting began. The policemen and ambulance crew signed off and disappeared. Miss Ross made a pot of coffee and they all drank it from paper cups. After about an hour, Dr. Kohl came out for his first update. He explained that Judge was alive, barely, but in bad shape. He had a faint pulse. He had taken several blows to the head and these had caused a severe concussion. There was no fracture of the skull, but quite a lot of swelling around the brain. His right front leg was broken and several teeth were knocked out. In Dr. Kohl’s opinion, he was lucky to still be breathing and the next twenty-four hours would be crucial. If the brain continued to swell, Judge probably would not survive.

  Dr. Kohl led Theo and his parents into the rear of the clinic, to an exam room where the lights were dimmed. On a small table covered with a sterile white sheet, Judge lay on his side, eyes closed, tongue hanging out, fur shaved from his face and head, an IV stuck to his left front leg, and a splint on his right front leg. He was such a
pathetic sight that Theo immediately began crying. He couldn’t help it and he couldn’t stop. He hated crying, especially in front of a stranger, but, staring at his gravely wounded buddy, he just couldn’t hold back the tears. Mrs. Boone was crying too.

  After they gawked at Judge for a long time, Dr. Kohl said, “There is nothing else I can do. I’ll have a technician here all night to monitor things, but, frankly, it’s now just a matter of waiting.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Theo said, teeth and braces clenched tightly. “I’m staying here all night.”

  “Come on, Theo,” Mr. Boone said.

  “I’m not leaving. When I’m sick, Judge stays beside my bed and never leaves. I can do the same for him. Forget it, Dad, I’m not leaving.”

  Mrs. Boone said, “Theo—”

  “Forget it, Mom. Judge needs to hear my voice and know that I’m here. I’ll talk to him all night, okay? Please.”

  The adults looked at each other, then Dr. Kohl shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he said. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Mrs. Boone said, “Okay, Theo, but let’s go home, have a quick dinner, take a shower, and change clothes.”

  “No Mom. I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave Judge. Never.”

  Occasionally, in the chaotic game of parenting, it was important for the adults to yield and allow the kids to get their way. This seemed like a perfect moment, and Mr. and Mrs. Boone were wise enough to understand.

  Mrs. Boone stepped closer and patted her son on the shoulder. “Okay, Theo, we’re going to run home, get some clean clothes and something to eat, and we’ll be back in an hour. Okay?”

  “Thanks Mom,” Theo said, without taking his eyes off Judge.