Aztec Treasure
Border Run

My cat woke me as the door opened, but she relaxed when we scented Concita coming in. It was still dark out. “It’s time to get going, Sofia,” she said to her, using the fake name Maria had given her. “Eduardo will be leaving in fifteen minutes.”

I thanked her and got up, my motion causing Maritza to awaken and start crying. I gathered her things and changed her before going out to the kitchen. Concita handed me a sippy cup of goat milk, and I started feeding Maritza with it. “My husband is outside loading the truck. Take this,” she said as she gave me a shopping bag. Inside were some clothes, a container of goat milk, water, and a breakfast burrito. “Eat on the way there. May God bless you, Sofia.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Concita,” I said as I hugged the matronly woman. “May God bless you both.” She walked out of the small house and over to the old flatbed truck. The rails were in place, and a cage holding two pigs sat in front of the baskets of produce. I settled Maritza into the sling for the drive, as the old truck didn’t have seatbelts.

Eduardo pulled out into the pre-dawn darkness, heading southwest to the markets in Culiacan. I ate my breakfast while Maritza finished the milk, then nodded off to sleep again. “Where do you need to go in town,” he asked me as I washed down the burrito with the water.

“The bus station,” I told him.

“It is not far out of my way. Will you be all right alone?”

“I will be fine. I have family in Tijuana waiting for me.” We talked about his market stall and his farm as we drove; he didn’t pry for information, and I didn’t volunteer. We passed through a military checkpoint on the way out of the mountains. The soldiers were looking for drugs and paid little attention to a farmer and his family.

Eduardo turned on the AM radio to listen to the news and weather as we drove. The story of a missile strike by a CIA drone on the leadership of the violent Sons of Tezcatlipoca motorcycle gang dominated the broadcast. The Mexican military confirmed the strike killed forty-seven people, including ten women and six children. The spokesman and blamed the deaths of the women and children on the CIA. Authorities were still looking for two people who escaped the drone strike but gave no other details. The cleanup in Mexico continued with raids at Sons of Tezcatlipoca clubhouses across Mexico.

The news only confirmed my isolation. The Sons of Tezcatlipoca Motorcycle Club is gone; we’d fled the raids in the United States, and Mexico was no sanctuary. The American government was now cooperating to mop up whoever the Sinaloa cartel did not get to first. There was no hiding with the human members of the Sons in Mexico. Showing up at a clubhouse now would get me arrested.

It was as we approached the bus station that he said something that made me freeze. “Your accent is American.”

“I grew up in Nebraska, where my mother worked in a meatpacking plant,” I quickly lied.

“The police last night were looking for Americans. Am I in danger because I helped you?”

If he turned me in, I was dead. “I’m just a young girl with a baby, trying to survive with my husband dead. Nothing more needs to be said.”

“The baby is not your own. Does she belong to someone they are looking for?” I didn’t answer, and that was enough. He shook his head. “It does not matter; the sins of the fathers do not pass to their offspring. The children of God are innocent, Sofia, and must be protected. I can tell that you are innocent as well. Do not lose that. Your secrets are safe with us.” He stopped in front of the deserted bus depot and handed me a four-inch knife with a bone handle. It hung from a leather thong. “Be safe, child of God. The roads are a dangerous place for the young and beautiful.”

I hung it over around my neck, the blade tucked under my dress between my unbound breasts. I leaned over and embraced the man who showed me such concern. “Take care, Eduardo.” I jumped down and grabbed my bag, closing the door and watching him drive away. The sun was just above the horizon, and shops were opening up. I walked over to find what I needed before the buses started.

Twenty minutes later, I had filled the bag with diapers, food, underwear, a blanket, and a change of clothes. I pulled the underwear on in the bathroom of the bus station. It was no wonder Eduardo and Concita figured out I was lying about being a mother; my breasts were high and firm, with no sag from breastfeeding. I checked myself in the mirror, thankful the bra hid my nipples from sight under the thin sundress. Heading to the counter, I bought a ticket to Nogales. The bus would depart in twenty minutes, and I had two connections to make. The trip would take two days.

Why the border town of Nogales? I didn’t have much choice. I had my American passport in my fake name that I’d used to enter Mexico, but I had no passport or birth certificate for Maritza. I couldn’t apply at the Consulate for a replacement because I wasn’t her mother, and using her real name would tie the baby to the dead parents in the drone strike. Legal entry wasn’t going to happen, not with the two thousand cash I had in my purse. It wasn’t near enough to buy her a new identity.

Our family had traveled to Arizona many times on “vacations.” The trips were a way for the Sons leadership to meet secretly with their Mexican counterparts. The American jaguars would meet up east of the border town of Nogales in a remote camping area. The Presidents would shift and cross the border at night, returning the next night. Our Moms made it a fun trip, and it was a chance to play with my cousins and explore the arid desert in our cat forms together. If I could make it to Nogales, I could jump the border and maybe even find Dad’s Prius still in the lot. I looked in my purse, keeping that car key and tossing the rest of my keys in the garbage. Our home was gone now, and Mom’s car was at the Mexican compound. I took out some of my cash, moving it inside of my bra, then walked back out of the bathroom. I had a few more minutes, so I bought a romance novel, A Snickers bar, and a newspaper at a stand near the entrance.

The bus to Ciudad Obregon pulled out ten minutes later. I had a seat near the driver, my bag and my baby keeping others away. As we left the city, I opened the newspaper and my Snickers. “Not going anywhere for a while?” My cat chuffed in amusement and went back to watching for threats. It was going to be a long trip.

I didn’t learn much more from the newspaper than I had heard on the news. Most editorials railed against the CIA’s interference in Mexican affairs and how the President allowed them to kill Mexican citizens on Mexican soil. The administration characterized the strike as a ‘cooperative effort to take out a violent drug gang’ responsible for dozens of law enforcement deaths. Left unsaid was the Cartel involvement; the Sinaloa cartel had cut ties with the Club too.

It wasn’t much fun traveling with a baby, although Maritza was a good one. Diaper changes, feedings, and playtime in between naps kept me busy while she was awake, and I read or looked out the window while she slept. The eastern shore of the Sea of Cortez was hot and received little rain. A few of the men on board made me nervous, and I felt the knife on my chest for comfort. Dad made sure I could defend myself with my hands, knives, or guns.

I bought tacos at a stand in Ciudad Obregon while I waited for my connecting bus to arrive. The bus to Hermosilla was more crowded, and I sat next to another mother with her child. Luckily, the ride only took three hours.

The bus to Nogales would leave in the morning, so I found a cheap hotel and crashed for the night with a chair wedged under the doorknob. Maritza woke up once, and I changed and fed her before going back to sleep. The bus ride north took most of the day, and then I had to take another local bus to the edge of Benito Juarez, on the northeast corner of the city near the border.

I needed to get into the mountains along the border, so I started walking. I’d hide by the road as cars and trucks passed, traveling for miles until it was time to leave the road. After dark, I stopped to get my gear straight. I couldn’t take a big shopping bag, so as Maritza laid on the blanket, I went through my things. My shoes, purse, sippy cup, milk, food, diapers, and baby wipes went into the sling. I took off my clothes and folded them on top, then donned the sling. I picked up Maritza, pulled off her diaper, and set her back on the blanket.

Standing naked, I gazed up at the moon just over the horizon. “Protect us tonight, my Goddess,” I prayed aloud to Tezcatlipoca before I shifted into my cat. Maritza changed into her cub form after I did, her instinct being to match her parents. I rubbed my cheek against hers as she sat on the blanket, comforting her and strengthening the tie between us. The cub followed me off the trail as I emptied my bladder, copying me to put her urine in the same area. When I laid down and chuffed, she crawled into the sling and settled down while I stood on all fours again.

I made my way north through the jagged hills, turning east when I saw the border fence ahead. Lights, patrol vehicles, and cameras made crossing difficult in this part of the border. Dad said their crossing point was in a spot where the rugged mountains made the fence impossible to maintain, so I kept going. I’d gone about seven miles when I smelled it.

Urine on a tree. Cat urine. Trotting over, I scented it, recognizing one of my uncles. Even though it had been weeks, the lack of rainfall meant there was enough of a trail for me to follow in spots. It led to a ridgeline, the steep terrain making the wall impossible to put in. Instead, the area had camera towers and signs.

I worked my way through the rocks and scrub until the border was only twenty yards ahead. I paused to listen and look, sensing no humans nearby. I chuffed at Maritza as I stood, then made the border run.

I ran for over a mile over the rocky ground, using what cover I had. I recognized the camping area at the National Forest land in the distance and turned towards it. I finally reached the parking lot just before sunrise and shifted next to Dad’s Prius. “I made it,” I said as Maritza changed back in the sling. I dug around for the key, opened the door, and sat inside with her on my lap. I left her there as I started up the car and drove out of the lot.

“Thank you, my Goddess,” I said as tears flowed down my face. I’d made it back to America, and I could get what I needed now at the Wal-Mart up ahead.

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