Wyatt Wingfoot in…

THE THING THAT SHOULD NOT BE

By Desmond Reddick

“—remember that it is education that will help you get to where you want to be in life. Your family, your school, your community is always there for you, but you have to be the one to make a difference in your life.”

Wyatt Wingfoot ended his speech to this year’s graduating class with a nod and a smile. He turned to meet the Keewazi Reservation School principal Mary Silverhoof with a handshake. Many in the small gymnasium clapped, though the students he spoke to – the graduating class this year was large, topping off at 14 – were largely unimpressed.

It had been a long road of red tape to manoeuvre through, but they had finally begun to lay the foundation for the new schoolhouse on the lot adjacent to the current, dilapidated building. This one would be bigger and offer separate learning environments for high school students and elementary students. Wingfoot, himself, promised to teach until a suitable teacher could be hired.

“That’s bullshit, man.”

It was faint, but Wingfoot heard it over the rustling of community members in the room. It came from one of the young men up front.

“I’m sorry, young man. What’s that you were saying?”

Wingfoot moved toward the small congregation of Keewazi youth. In them he saw the future of his tribe, and that worried him. The Keewazi were by no means a poor nation thanks to the oil deposits their land held, but apathy was rampant among the younger generation.

“I said it’s bullshit,” a buzz cut sporting boy said, puffing his chest out. “It’s not like you are one of us. Your dad was in the Olympics, your grandfather is like the only thing our grandparents talk about. What makes you think that, just because you talk to us, that we can be like you when you fight robots and shit and bang a huge green chick?”

Some of the kids laughed and others nodded their agreement.

Before speaking, Wingfoot had to remind himself that kids were different now. The boy was clearly showing off to his friends, and Wyatt was a target. He knew that his past would be constantly scrutinized when he took the job as Chief.

“You’re right; Thomas, right?” Wyatt wanted to make sure the boy knew that Wyatt knew who he was before continuing. “I am lucky. My elders instilled in me the importance of education, and I am only trying to do the same.”

The kids were quiet.

Wyatt continued, “And when I am on an adventure, it is my mind and not my body that gets me through the toughest of challenges.”

Satisfied, Wyatt smiled at the kids before finishing: “If you keep that in mind, you will always –“

KA-TOOM!

The wood panelled wall of the gymnasium exploded inward, shattered scantlings raining down on the community members nearest the wall.

Wyatt put himself in front of the kids, sloughed off his sport coat and lowered his body into a ready stance. He wanted to see what he was facing before springing into action. See it, he did.

The lumbering orange lizard shrieked as it stepped through the hole it had made. Its spiked tail crushed flat a pile of wood at the new threshold of the hole in the wall. The beast was squat and probably eight feet tall. Spiked horns, as orange as its scaly skin, protruded upwards from its jaws and head.

It looked about the room until its eyes fell upon Wingfoot and shrieked again. The shrill yet forceful noise echoed through the large square room. Wyatt leapt forward as his people scrambled out of the way.

With a foot barely touching a bench that had been sat on by adoring elders moments before, Wingfoot propelled himself into the air at the lumbering beast. He brought a double axe-hand chop down onto the collarbone of the thing, but it did no harm. What it did do was allow the thing to catch Wingfoot and wrap its huge arms around his chest.

All of the air left Wingfoot’s lungs with an enraged howl that almost matched the beasts roar with volume. It was all for naught as his ability to struggle against the crushing grasp of the monster waned with each moment. Stars came to his eyes quickly as consciousness began to escape.

“Zzutak! Stop!”

The monster, now named, spread its arms, and Wingfoot collapsed to the ground beneath it.

As Wyatt struggled to get to his feet, he was helped, all of a sudden, by a strong gust of wind. It lightly pushed him to a standing position all while hardly shaking the grass around him. When Wyatt, got his bearings, he looked in front of him to see a large, muscular man, naked but for a loincloth, a black feathered cape and various gold bands around his limbs and neck. Atop his head, an obsidian and gold headdress jutted out in all directions above him.

“Be at peace, mortal,” he spoke. For a moment Wyatt was at peace until he realized the man before him spoke Keewazi.

It’s a projection, he thought. Wyatt knew somehow that the man before him was communicating with him in the language he was most comfortable with. While English was his first language, Wingfoot often talked for hours in the Keeewazi dialect of the Comanche language. From childhood, he was fluent, but the easiest language he knew was English.

Wyatt wondered if it was the emotional connection to the language that caused the projection, or if there was something more to his visitor than meets the eye, or ear as the case may be.

“I am Quetzalcóatl, God of the Winds.”

“Aztec, right?” Wyatt said to a guarded nod. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I have come to test the mettle of an Aztec champion.”

“I think you’re off by about a thousand miles, Que…erm…oh Great God of the Winds.”

“I know where I am, mortal, and to whom I am speaking.”

“I am Wyatt Wingfoot, a Comanche, and Chief of the Keewazi Tribe,” he said. Wyatt stood proudly before his people and the god and his pet monster before him. “I will, with great honor, help you in any way I can, but please, let no harm come to these people because of a misunderstanding,” Wingfoot said gesturing to the assembled members of his tribe.

“There is no understanding, Wingfoot. You are the champion I speak of.”

Wyatt was at a loss for words. He knew from his own studies that there were linguistic ties between Comanche, Aztec and about a dozen other indigenous cultures, but he was most certainly not Aztec. He was silent for a moment and then bit the bullet.

“What is the challenge?” Wyatt asked. He decided, after all, that contradicting a God was never a good idea.

“It is simple. Best Zzutak in battle and prove the worthiness of this age of man.”

“And if I fail?” Wyatt had a solid feeling that he already knew the answer to his question.

“Fail, and you and this entire world dies screaming as a sacrifice to the new age of man born from its ashes.”

“I figured!” Wyatt hadn’t finished the word before he flung himself at the orange beast again. His solid kick knocked the beats off balance and it stumbled backwards.

“Kill him, Zzutak!” Quetzalcóatl commanded.

Wyatt’s plan to follow up the kick with another was interrupted by a swipe from the beast’s large spiked tail. Thankfully missing the thorny protrusions, Wyatt tumbled to the ground.

As he pushed himself to his feet, Wyatt saw behind the beast that the entire community had begun to gather at the schoolhouse to watch the altercation. He was embarrassed. Not once had he ever advertised himself as a warrior. He was an adventurer, that much was true, but the last thing he wanted to do was promote solving problems with his fists. Especially since the entire future of his tribe was watching him.

Zzutak stomped heavily on the ground as it walked towards him. Over one shoulder, the assembled Keewazi tribespeople watched it stamp towards its prey; over the other, the construction workers for the new schoolhouse had abandoned the work site while pouring the new concrete foundation.

…it is my mind and not my body that gets me through the toughest of challenges…

His own words, meant as advice against the youthful disdain for education running rampant through the young generation of Keewazi, now ran through his mind.

Practice what you preach, old man,” Wyatt whispered to himself through clenched teeth.

He broke out in a sprint towards Zzutak. The beast swung its arm at him but he quickly ducked and punched it very quickly and powerfully under each armpit, hoping to get him in weak points. He ran underneath the opposite arm of the creature and dove over the swinging tail that barely missed his knees.

Enraged, Zzutak shrieked once again and took off after his prey, shaking the ground with every step.

Wingfoot ran to the edge of where the ground had been dugout and partially filled by wet concrete and turned. Beside him was a large pile of wood pulled from the old field shed that stood on the grounds of the proposed new schoolhouse. He leapt to the top of the pile and stabilized himself.

Wingfoot crouched as Zzutak charged him. He bided his time until the orange lizard was just out of range and hoped to hell he’d be in range by the time his jump was completed. Leaping towards Zzutak, Wingfoot focused on its head.

The beast reached up at him, but Wingfoot was too quick for it. With two hands landing on one of the spikes protruding from the creature’s jaw, he pushed down and used his body’s momentum to flip over the head of Zzutak, still holding on to the spike.

Zzutak’s head twisted backwards and to the left as its forward momentum pushed him clumsily into the pit, now two thirds full of wet concrete. Grey sludge splashed fifteen feet into the air, and before it landed, Wingfoot was already scrambling up the side of the dugout embankment.

Exhausted, Wyatt made eye contact with Thomas, who stood only feet from him and said through gasped breaths, “Chute! Now!”

The youth quickly pushed the still spewing chute of concrete from the back of the cement truck so that it dropped pound after pound of wet concrete on top of the flailing Zzutak.

The Keewazi people who had gathered, before and during the battle, erupted in cheers of joy and pride as their Chief, their hero, rose to his feet.

“Please,” Wyatt said raising his hand to the crowd of admirers, “someone get my phone out of my coat pocket. I need to call the Fantastic Four to get this guy out of here.”

“There is no need, Wingfoot.” Quetzalcóatl’s voice boomed over the din of the crowd. He raised his hand palm down and spread his fingers. A profane sucking sound echoed through the valley as Zzutak was pulled out of the wet cement by Quetzalcóatl’s wind vacuum. The orange lizard was launched into the stratosphere and, presumably, back to where it came from.

“Your valor and strategy impresses me,” Quetzalcóatl continued. “It is for this reason that I am sparing you and the people of Earth until which time your kind needs to be tested. I will now make my leave.”

Wyatt wanted to warn him not to come back lest he face super-powered opposition. He wanted to tell him that he was only a man. He wanted to tell him that humans would rise up to protect their homes and communities. He wanted to tell him that he wasn’t a damned Aztec!

Instead, he stood in silence and watched Quetzalcóatl float up into the sky and follow Zzutak into nothingness.

Wyatt ran his hands through his hair and exhaled as the din of the crowd got sparser. Thomas, who still stood at his side, was smiling.

“That was pretty awesome,” he said to his Chief.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Wyatt shot back, “because it was all physics and trigonometry. Hit the books!”

Wyatt wanted to look back and see the face of the youth he’d just saved. He wanted to point, wink or smirk his approval. Instead, he kept walking and thinking that the future might be okay after all.