His mother, Sandra, fell to her knees sobbing.

“They said nobody could get through. The fire chief said the road was gone. How did you—”

But the biker had collapsed next to Tommy’s stretcher, and that’s when we saw the real damage that was hidden by his leather vest.

Burns covered most of his back. Deep gashes where he’d clearly pushed through barriers of fallen, burning branches. His hands were raw and blistered. But he hadn’t made a sound of complaint, hadn’t mentioned his own injuries until Tommy was safe.

“Sir, we need to treat you immediately,” a paramedic insisted.

“The boy first,” he growled. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. Anyone could see that. But he sat there, blood seeping through his