True Heroes Page 2

  “That’s it!” shouted the boy on the sidewalk. He clapped his hands in merriment as Korbyn carefully set the kite in the basket beside him.

  “Happy to help!” Chief Korbyn shouted. But before he could tell Spotto to bring down the ladder, the boy on the sidewalk shouted again.

  “While you’re up there,” he said, “if you don’t mind . . . could you rescue my shoe?” The boy on the sidewalk stuck out his foot. Korbyn hadn’t noticed before, but now he saw that the boy’s left foot was covered only with a sock.

  “How did your shoe get into this tree?” Korbyn asked, suddenly noticing the dangling shoelace among the branches.

  “Before you got here,” said the boy, “I thought I could knock down the kite. So I threw my shoe into the tree. But it got stuck.”

  Leaning as far as he could, Korbyn stretched out his fingers, grasped the tip of the shoelace, and gave it a tug. The shoe swung free, and Korbyn dropped it into the basket beside the green kite.

  “I remember something else that got stuck up there,” called the boy on the sidewalk. “Do you think you could rescue my cat?”

  “How did your cat get up so high?” Korbyn asked. He’d rescued cats before, but not from such a height as this.

  “You see,” explained the boy on the sidewalk, “I threw my cat into the tree, trying to knock down my shoe.”

  Now that was an unusual use for a cat!

  Korbyn turned his head, listening carefully beside the thick branches. All at once he heard it.

  “Meow!”

  “Come here, little kitty,” Korbyn soothed, reaching into the branches until he felt the trembling furry pet. In no time, Korbyn was setting the orange cat safely into the basket next to the white shoe and the green kite.

  No sooner had Korbyn set down the cat, then he heard an unexpected sound from the depths of the branches.

  “Woof!”

  His fireman helmet nearly toppled off as he leaned back in astonishment. “Is there a dog in this tree?” Korbyn shouted.

  “Oh, yeah!” answered the boy on the sidewalk. “I threw the dog into the tree so it would knock down the cat!”

  Korbyn shook his head in wonder, rising to his tiptoes and wrapping both arms around the shaggy brown dog. The animal was whimpering, terrified at such a height. Not Korbyn. He was used to being high in the sky on his fireman’s ladder.

  He scratched the shaggy dog behind the ears and placed it into the basket next to the orange cat, the white shoe, and the green kite.

  The basket was filling up!

  “You’re doing great!” shouted the boy on the sidewalk. “I just remembered something else. Do you see my bike up there?”

  Korbyn blinked his eyes in disbelief. Above his head, he saw the back wheel of the boy’s bike spinning gently as a breeze passed through the leaves. Why was there a bike in the tree?

  “Before you got here,” said the boy on the sidewalk, “I was trying to knock down the dog, so I threw my bicycle into the tree.” He shrugged helplessly. “And now it’s stuck too!”

  Chief Korbyn knew the bike was too high to reach from his current position. Whistling down, he shouted a few commands to Spotto. The loyal dog used his expert paws, maneuvering the telescoping ladder a little higher into the oak tree.

  Korbyn had the bike. It was a shiny red one, and there was barely room in the basket next to the shaggy dog, the orange cat, the white shoe, and the green kite.

  Chief Korbyn made it fit.

  But the boy on the sidewalk wasn’t finished. “Do you see my uncle up there?”

  “Your uncle?” Korbyn shouted.

  The boy below nodded. “I threw him up there to get my bike. But he must have gotten stuck.”

  “Yep,” said a new voice from behind the leaves. “I’m stuck.”

  Korbyn parted the branches and saw a balding man propped sideways in the tree limbs. “I’m so glad you’re here,” the uncle said as Chief Korbyn helped him into the basket next to the shiny red bicycle, the shaggy dog, the orange cat, the white shoe, and the green kite.

  The moment he saw that his uncle was rescued, the boy on the sidewalk shouted again. “Don’t stop now! You’re almost to the top! Tell me if you find the car up there!”

  There was a car in this tree? “Unbelievable,” Korbyn muttered.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” said the uncle from the basket. “He only threw the car to try to knock me down.”

  Korbyn saw the automobile in the tree, but he couldn’t reach it from where he was. A short whistle later, Spotto had once again maneuvered the ladder into the perfect place.

  It was tricky to pull the car out of the branches, but Korbyn was an expert at such things. With just a few tugs, the vehicle came rolling down, balancing precariously on the edge of the basket next to the balding uncle, the shiny red bicycle, the shaggy dog, the orange cat, the white shoe, and the green kite.

  Korbyn was exhausted, and he leaned down to see what the boy on the sidewalk might say next.

  “You’re really good, Mr. Fire Chief!” he said from below. “There’s only one more thing stuck up there.”

  “What is it?” Korbyn asked.

  “It’s just an elephant.”

  “Just an elephant?” Korbyn shouted. In all his years at the fire department, this was the strangest rescue mission he’d ever attempted. An elephant? In a tree?

  “I threw the elephant to knock down the car,” explained the boy on the sidewalk. As if that were logical!

  Korbyn saw the gray elephant perched in the topmost branches of the giant oak tree. Spotto raised the ladder to its highest height, but it wasn’t high enough.

  Chief Korbyn would have to climb.

  Stepping off the ladder, Korbyn’s tough fireman boots gripped the branches as he climbed toward the stranded elephant. His task seemed impossible, but Korbyn was an expert rescuer.

  Taking the elephant gently by the trunk, he coaxed the big animal down through the branches until it landed in the basket next to the balancing car, the balding uncle, the shiny red bicycle, the shaggy dog, the orange cat, the white shoe, and the green kite.

  Korbyn paused in the treetop, sitting in the highest branches and wiping sweat from his forehead. What a day!

  He was just about to climb onto the ladder when he saw something far off in the distance.

  Smoke!

  There was a fire in the hills at the edge of town! He never would have seen it if he hadn’t climbed so high into the oak tree.

  Whistling to Spotto, Chief Korbyn leaped onto the ladder, and the faithful Dalmatian lowered him to the ground. There wasn’t time to empty the basket or talk to the boy on the sidewalk.

  In seconds, Korbyn was driving down the street, his overloaded basket of passengers bumping along in the afternoon sun.

  Spotto honked the horn as the red truck screeched to a halt at the edge of the fire. Korbyn leaped into action, grabbing the hose and spraying a powerful stream of water into the bright wildfire.

  Nobody was better at putting out fires than Chief Korbyn. He raced back and forth, spraying the hot flames until almost all of the fire had dwindled down to wet ashes.

  There were only a few flames left, but Korbyn knew he had to extinguish them all. As he ran toward the remaining fire, his water hose snagged on the edge of a sharp rock, ripping it open and spraying water in every direction except where Korbyn needed it!

  There was no way to put out the fire now! He needed a new water hose, but the truck didn’t have a spare. Korbyn rubbed his chin in thought.

  He knew just what to do.

  Chief Korbyn raced back to the fire truck, climbing into the overflowing basket at the end of the telescoping ladder. Pushing past the green kite, the white shoe, the orange cat, the shaggy dog, the shiny red bicycle, the balding uncle, and the balancing car, he jumped onto the elephant’s back.

  They leaped from the basket and, at Korbyn’s command, the elephant slurped up all the spilled water with its trunk. Then the little fire chief ur
ged the huge animal forward. They raced bravely toward the flames and Korbyn shouted, “Now!” With one mighty blast, the big elephant sprayed all the water from its trunk.

  The fire went out.

  Korbyn leaned down and patted the elephant on the head. As he turned back toward the fire truck, he saw the boy standing on a sidewalk across the street. He must have followed them to the scene of the fire.

  “That was wonderful!” the boy exclaimed. “You rescued my kite from the tree, and you put out a fire! Thanks for helping!”

  Korbyn jumped down from the elephant and tipped his helmet at the boy. “A fireman always helps.”

  “Then maybe you could help me with one more thing?” The boy on the sidewalk rocked back on his heels. “While you were out here fighting the fire,” the boy said, “I was playing with a paper airplane, and it got stuck in that big oak tree at my house. Could you help me get it down?”

  Korbyn took a deep breath and straightened his fireman helmet. He nodded. “A fireman always helps.”

  Tyler Whitesides

  Tyler Whitesides has always loved to write stories. He graduated from Utah State University with a degree in music. In addition to writing and music, Tyler enjoys fly fishing in the mountains, cooking, and vacuuming. He lives with his wife in Northern Utah. Tyler is the author of the Janitors series.

  http://www.tylerwhitesides.com

  William

  “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” —Neil Gaiman

  Jacob

  (Neurofibromatosis Type 1)

  Meet Jacob! I first met Jacob in California at the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles. Jacob’s tumor is located on his optic nerve, so unfortunately they cannot operate on it for fear of blinding him. They are monitoring its progression, however.

  When I met Jacob, I was immediately struck by how confident and outgoing he is. His dream to be a motocross racer seemed to be very attainable for him. Jacob has an unconquerable spirit, and I have no doubt he will accomplish great things. If fact, he already has. Use the QR code below to find out more!

  www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2014/12/9/jcfsvaes5hsr35xcmnl9f7gb5l627z

  A Good Day for Victory

  Jennifer A. Nielsen

  Jacob! Jacob!” What had been a steady chant grew to a roar when Jacob’s bike rolled into Dodger Stadium.

  Dodger Stadium had hosted Supercross races before, so Jacob wasn’t surprised to find himself surrounded by fifty thousand screaming fans. He also expected the five hundred truckloads of dirt that built up the jumps that would send his bike thirty feet into the air. Jacob planned to stay attached to his bike for all of those jumps. If he was lucky.

  But this year’s race was different. It was Dodger Stadium’s first ever Mega Supercross, with a final lap designed to challenge the best racers in the world.

  Jacob barely dared to look up at the final track, so maybe it scared him, just a little. But it scared him in the best way possible. His heart pounded with every second he had to wait to begin.

  Jacob revved the engine as he smiled at the crowds. This would be a tough race, no doubt, but he’d fought battles harder than this before, and won. Yeah, he knew how to win.

  Twenty other racers were here today, but as Jacob looked around the stadium, the signs being held by the fans all had his face on them. Everyone knew his name. They had all come to see him ride.

  Colored flames burst around the stadium, signaling the countdown for the race. If it was possible, Jacob’s heart beat even faster than before. This was the moment he had dreamed of for years. When he was younger, and things were at their hardest, Jacob used to close his eyes and think of the sharp smells of dirt and gasoline. The sound of the cheers and bike engines blurred together in his ears. And the rush of blood through his veins told him the countdown was on.

  Three . . . two . . . one! Applause erupted as Jacob’s bike raced forward. The track was always crowded at the beginning, and three bikes to his right crashed together in one spectacular mess. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure everyone was safe. Luckily, they were all moving, and one big guy in green even waved a hand to tell Jacob to keep going.

  Jacob took the first curve easily. It was a tight turn, requiring him to pivot the bike hard, but not hard enough to crash. He was younger than most of the other competitors and in fifteenth place. That wasn’t a problem, though.

  Words ran through Jacob’s mind of what his family would say to him right now. “Just keep going forward,” they’d tell him. “No matter what, you keep going forward.”

  And he did. The track had plenty of tight turns and a few great jumps, but Jacob sailed right through his first lap. He was getting close to another rider when he hit his first big challenge—a jump that required a sharp turn of the bike immediately upon landing.

  Jacob drew in a breath. The nearest bike slid into the jump, and its rider rolled over the top. Jacob swerved to avoid him and launched awkwardly over the jump. His bike came down heavy on the right side, and Jacob’s whole body lurched forward. The crowd gasped, certain that Jacob was about to fall, but he planted a leg down on the dirt and let the bike rotate around him. As soon as he was steady, he flew back into the race.

  Jacob could barely remember the first time he raced. He was seven or maybe eight years old, but he took to his bike like he was born with a helmet on, ready to go. To him, motocross was freedom. It was raw power and strength and energy. It was victory.

  When his bike surged past a couple others on the straight track, Jacob caught his first glance of his hero, nicknamed Stormrider. He was one of the greatest motocross racers in the world! And if Jacob wanted to know what it’d be like to race with Stormrider, then he needed to push even harder! That would take more than just speed. It required an uncommon courage. If there was any word Jacob understood, it was courage. He knew it; he’d lived it.

  With the roar of the crowd surrounding him, Jacob began swerving in and out of the other bikes. Tenth place. Eighth place. Seventh. Fifth.

  The other bikes in the lead were crowded together. Sure enough, Stormrider’s black-and-white jersey was clearly visible, but there were plenty more bikers Jacob had to pass if he was going to take the lead.

  One of the racers was a mountain of a guy almost as big as his bike. He wore a yellow uniform with a drooling bulldog on it. Mud spat out from Bulldog’s tires and went everywhere. No, not everywhere. Pretty much just all over Jacob. The biggest splat went straight into Jacob’s face and tasted gross.

  Lesson learned: Don’t smile while racing through mud.

  The next part of the track had three jumps in a row, each one a little higher than before. Jacob was lighter on his bike than Bulldog and planned to use the jumps to get ahead.

  Bulldog was first off his jump, but Jacob arched his bike high enough to get at least five feet of air. He came down only inches behind Bulldog. When they ramped up for the second jump, Bulldog swerved in front of Jacob, so even though it was a much higher jump, Jacob still only had enough speed for ten feet of clearance, not much different than Bulldog. The third one was the tallest. A long ramp could send Jacob as high as thirty feet. If he made it, he would come out ahead of Bulldog—and within reach of Stormrider!

  Jacob grinned (and got a little more mud in his mouth), then revved his speed. A thirty-foot jump. He’d done his share of tricks before, but this was the biggest.

  Ahead of him, Stormrider made a clean landing—of course. Two other bikers landed well too. Then there was Bulldog.

  Jacob pushed his bike forward. He was already going fast enough to make the jump, but it wasn’t about that. This jump was about landing ahead of Bulldog. Their two bikes left the ramp at almost the very same second.

  “Aren’t you afraid?” Bulldog shouted across at Jacob.

  Jacob’s grin widened. “I don’t waste my life with fears. I just find the next challenge to conquer!”

  And c
onquer he would.

  Bulldog flew off the ramp and landed hard. His bike sank beneath his weight—literally sank into the mud about five feet short of the track and about halfway up his tires. He was out of the race.

  Jacob made a smooth landing and revved his bike again for the next lap and the one after that. After a while, he lost track of how many times he’d been around the track, but it didn’t really matter because he was slowly getting ahead of the others.

  Suddenly, he was coming up on the last lap before the megacross track. Only two riders would be able to take it. Stormrider would be the first. Jacob planned to be the second.

  He was already racing fast—they all were. What Jacob needed now was some old-fashioned muscling his way forward. Only one biker was between him and Stormrider, a guy with blond dreadlocks under his helmet and a Giants logo on his uniform. Jacob shook his head, more determined than ever. No way was he going to let anyone wearing a Giants logo win in Dodger Stadium!

  Jacob’s front wheel was nearly even with the other racer’s back wheel. He edged to the right, forcing the nearest competitor over. Then he edged even farther right.

  “You’re gonna run me off the track!” Dreadlocks cried.

  Jacob’s grin widened. “Not off the track. Just into the ditch!”

  And with one more nudge sideways, Dreadlocks was out of the race.

  Stormrider glanced back at Jacob, and their smiles matched. “I knew it’d be you and me for the final lap,” he called. “Are you up for it?”

  Jacob revved his engine. “Bring it on!”

  The final lap would first take them up a steep ramp to the upper level where the cheap seats were. Then it became a high-speed track around the perimeter of the upper stadium seats. The track was at a slight angle, meaning they’d have to keep their bikes going as fast as possible so they didn’t roll off. Fire flares would ignite every twenty feet they rode, and at the end, the winning racer would have to jump his bike off the track, through a flaming loop, and land back on the ground.

  Land safely back on the ground, Jacob reminded himself. His parents really wanted him to remember that safely part.