Aztec Treasure

The roads were nearly empty on Christmas Day as I left a Wal-Mart near Denver. I’d spent almost all of my emergency money to buy a carload of food and other supplies, enough to last me several months on my own without going into town again. The news was full of stories about the destruction of the Sons of Tezcatlipoca Motorcycle Club and the massive search in progress for the rest.

I needed to lay low before I made my next move.

Mom and Dad had a cabin west of Denver, a few miles west of Empire along Highway 40. He’d been careful to hide the ownership; the property was in our late Grandmother’s name. Our lawyer managed it using a separate bank account that automatically paid the taxes and utilities. The Sons chapter was in the southwest corner of the city, near the Lakewood border. As much as I liked the Club Princess life, our cats needed to roam and hunt. Thus, the cabin that backed into the forests and foothills of 13,362 ft Engelmann Peak. We’d spent a few days there every few weeks. The backyard was my playground and my schoolyard. I learned how to hunt and use my cat in the wild, and it was the place I felt safest in the world.

I made the turn onto Highway 40 and passed through the small town. The weather helped out with clear skies and cold temperatures.

The Prius was no four-wheel drive.

I turned into the short driveway leading to the one-car garage. We paid for snow removal, so I could pull right into the empty bay and close the door. Maritza woke up as the garage door closed, looking around and starting to cry. “I’ll get you settled first,” I thought to myself as I got out. I put on the sling, placed her in it, and grabbed my bag of clothes and my purse.

The key was still in its hiding place, and I opened the door to the kitchen. My cat was forward, looking for threats, but the air was stale and the room cool. I turned up the thermostat and opened some of the drapes on the side away from the road to let light in as I checked the cabin out. It wasn’t that big, just over a thousand square feet, with two small bedrooms, a kitchen, a small dining area, and a living room. Maritza was sleeping again, so I left her on my bed as I went to unload everything I had bought.

The frozen meat and other foods I split between the chest freezer in the garage and the kitchen. I carried in box after box of canned and boxed goods, adding them to the food already stored in the house. I stacked all the baby food, powdered milk, and formula on the dining room table and used the counters for cans and bottles once the cupboards were full.

I’d just sat down after finishing that job when I hear Maritza stir. I went and retrieved her, holding her on my hip as I heated dinner for us. I listened to the news on television as we ate.

I was safe here for months, I figured. This place was no hunter’s cabin with an outhouse and a barrel stove; it was a small home with all the modern conveniences, just a hundred feet back from a paved road. The television and old laptop kept here were tied into the fiber-optic lines that ran along the highway. I couldn’t access my old accounts and would have to stay off social media, but I could access the news and the Internet. That, taking care of Maritza and the wilderness at my back door would make up my life until spring.

Over the next few days, I cleaned and organized the cabin. My twin bed wasn’t big enough for us both, so I bit the bullet and cleaned out the Master. It was hard for me to work around the scent of my dead parents, but they were gone now. I boxed up the clothes and belongings I couldn’t use and stored them in the garage.

The other project I had was trying to figure out if any other members of my family survived. I made a list of all the other Jaguars I knew of, using Mom’s birthday book as a resource. The ones announced as deceased I lined out in red; the ones missing and presumed dead, blue lines. After a week of work, I was down to only three members of my extended family who might still be alive. The American and Mexican authorities had done a thorough job.

Two of those were inside the home in Mexico during the drone strike. I was pretty sure those two didn’t make it.

The only known living Jaguar shifter on my list, Julio Salazar, was in Federal prison in Oklahoma. He was the Master at Arms for the Dallas chapter and crashed his motorcycle into a roadblock trying to get away. The cops tasered and cuffed him before his head cleared up.

As January moved into February, then March, I fought boredom by two things. One was training Maritza in her jaguar form. Every afternoon after her nap, we’d shift and take a trail into the woods behind the cabin. I couldn’t link with her because she wasn’t my immediate family, but I could use vocalizations and posturing to let her cat know what I wanted. I taught her cat how to hide, climb trees, and stalk prey. By March, make her first kill, a meadow vole Maritza stalked and jumped on before it could get back to its hole. She tore into the warm flesh, hardly a meal, but it was a milestone.

We didn’t have any human contact during those months, not until the eleventh of March. Maritza was playing with a ball on the living room carpet when I heard a car pull into the driveway. “Shit,” I said as I picked her up. I moved quickly to my bedroom and set her into the crib I’d made her using a cardboard box and blankets. “Don’t make a noise.” I closed the closet door and ran back out as someone knocked. I prayed to Tezcatlipoca it wasn’t a cop or a nosy neighbor. I’d die before I’d let them take us to prison.

I snuck a peek out the living room window, barely moving the drapery aside. The man knocked again, and I recognized him. “Christian,” I said softly. I walked over to the front door, released the deadbolt, and pulled it open for him. “Please, come in.”

Mr. Portman’s eyes got wide as he saw me, then he pulled me into a hug as soon as the door closed again. “Thank God you survived,” he said.

Christian was Daddy’s lawyer, and I had known him my whole life. Dad trusted him with everything, and I trusted him with my life. I would have contacted him earlier, except I didn’t know if the FBI would be watching him or tapping his phone and emails. It was just too dangerous. “How did you find me?”

“Utility bills,” he said. “They all went up; gas and electricity use doubled or more. I figured it was you, or someone was squatting on the property. I had to check myself.”

That made sense; the bills still came through his office. “Were you followed?”

“No, all that ended after the first few weeks. The Chapter is gone, all the members dead or in prison. Since I am a civil lawyer, I’m not involved in their defense. I’ve focused on liquidating the Club’s remaining property before the Feds can find and seize it.”

I heard Maritza fussing and left him sitting in the living room as I went to get her. “You weren’t pregnant the last time I saw you,” he said as I brought her in on my hip.

“She’s not mine. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got no other plans today, Maria. I’m still your lawyer; anything you tell me I can’t disclose. Your father would want me to help you now.” He was right. I told him about everything that had happened since the Feds started cracking down on the Sons. He knew some of it; Dad’s head hanging from a border fence was big news, and names of the drone strike victims were out. The Mexican government identified Mom’s body in the rubble. “The police listed you as missing after your house burned down and you didn’t show up at school. They don’t know you were in the drone strike.” That was good news. “Who is she?”

“Maritza was Hector’s daughter. I was out by the cars with her when the drone strike hit. When I couldn’t find anyone alive, and I heard the Mexican military coming, I took Maritza and ran.”

“You were the only ones to survive the strike and the manhunt,” he said. “It must have been horrible.”

“I still see them in my dreams.” I was glad I didn’t take the time to look for victims; the body parts and bodies I saw still haunted me. “I made it to a village, then to a city where I could catch a bus to the border.”

“Did you cross at a checkpoint? That might raise flags.”

“My passport is under my new identity, Maria Gonzales, but that doesn’t matter. I didn’t have Maritza’s papers, and I couldn’t bring her into the country without a passport. Even with a passport, I wasn’t a parent and didn’t have permission to cross with her. I remembered where Dad used to cross the border when he had business in Mexico and went there. I made it back to the camping area he’d parked at and brought the Prius back up.”

We talked about my current situation; I told him I had enough food for another month, although I wouldn’t mind fresh fruit, dairy, and McDonald’s if he could do that. “You were right to hide, and you should keep hiding as long as possible. I can arrange to drop off supplies for you, and there are a few other things we need to do. I need to transfer this property into your name, along with the money and properties in your father's accounts.” He took photos of Maritza along with my passport, birth certificate, driver’s license, and social security card with my new name. “I’ll get these to our forger and build her identity. I assume you want her to be your daughter?”

“Yes. For the birth certificate, list the father as unknown.”

He also took the Prius’ title, and he signed as the buyer. “You don’t need this for a while. I’ll get a new title in my name, then trade it in on something better for you to drive. I’ll return for my car when it’s ready in a few weeks. Don’t worry about the cost; your father had accounts the Feds haven’t found, and they are all yours now. There is enough left for you to make a new life somewhere far from here.”

“Bring me junk food and real milk,” I said as he walked to the door.

“You stay hidden, Maria. It could be months before it’s safe to move. The FBI would want to talk to you, and they will seize anything they find that belonged to your father. I’ll return when I have what you need.”

I hugged him before he put his coat on. He went outside, moving his Lexus SUV to the side and pulling the Prius out. I laughed as I saw how the tall lawyer squeezed into the small car; I was sure he’d trade it in as soon as possible. He parked his Lexus in the garage and departed shortly after.

I was alone again, but I had an ally and hope that things would get better.