Aztec Treasure
Club Run

Maria Meztli’s POV

Arrowhead Pack House

“You want us to get tracking devices implanted in us?” I looked around the table at the Pack leadership, along with Colletta Grimes, who had just returned from Washington. Her husband Frank was remaining there indefinitely to assist in uncovering the conspiracy behind Julio’s attacks on the President.

“You would wear a tracking device while the implant would be a distress beacon,” Chase replied as he passed two bracelets down the table to me. “These necklaces are the latest technology. It transmits your location to nearby cellphone towers every fifteen minutes. With no tower in range, it sends a pulse detectable by satellites. Since they aren’t active all the time, typical scanners won’t pick them up unless they are lucky enough to be nearby during a pulse. The battery can operate for over a week without recharging.”

I looked at the larger ring as it came to me. It was brushed silver, as thick as a straw, and hinged in the middle. I put it around my neck and closed it, but it opened back up. I looked for a latch but found nothing. Lance took a tool out of his pocket, and I noticed he was wearing a matching necklace. The resemblance to a collar was a little offensive. “The latch is magnetic. Place this over the female end, and press the ‘L’ to lock, ‘U’ to unlock.” I pressed the button and could feel something moving; when it stopped, the ring locked tight. It was tight around my throat, enough to stay in place without being uncomfortable. “Unlock it and remove the tracker, then change to your jaguar form so we can make sure it won’t be a problem if you shift.”

I took it off before I shifted. Lance put it back on as I sat in front of him, and since it fit, he locked it in place. I changed back and pulled on my dress. “Anyone who takes me will cut this off in a heartbeat.”

“It’s made of titanium. If you don’t pick the right place to cut, it won’t be easy,” Chase replied. “Maritza would get an ankle bracelet. You can remove them every three to five days, placing them on a charger to top off the battery.”

“Pretty cool,” I said. “Who else is getting these?”

“Rori and the girls already have them. As you said, they’re an obvious place for a tracking device. By giving up the obvious, we’re hoping they miss the implanted distress device.” Lance took out a small plastic bag from his pocket; inside was a quarter-sized metal disc. “We would implant this on your hip, over the bone above your left buttock. In an emergency, you activate the distress signal by pressing hard onto the center of the disk. It will buzz to tell you it is activated; press hard again to stop transmitting. The signal pulses out every five minutes for six hours and is strong enough to be picked up by satellites.”

“Why there?”

“You can activate it even if your hands get cuffed behind your back, and it will stay in place when you shift,” Lance replied. “It also transmits the distress signal if your body temperature drops below eighty degrees.” My eyes got wide as I realized why; at that temperature, I’d be dead. “This is only for adults; it’s too big for Maritza.”

If it gave me a longer leash, I was up for it. “Fine,” I said. “When do you put this thing in?”

“Doc Olson is waiting now. It’s a simple surgery, a local anesthetic, and a small incision with a few stitches. He’ll put them all in.”

It turned out I wasn’t the only one; Chase purchased six dozen of these devices, and almost all the adults in his Pack volunteered to have the implant. It made sense; we were still under threat, and it was a simple way to protect ourselves from kidnapping or worse. I didn’t have the Pack Link, so it was even more critical for me to have a way to raise the alarm. It only took a few minutes for it to go in.

That was six days ago, and my skin had nearly healed under the bandage. The road by the Pack House was full of motorcycles, thanks to an invitation Possum and Roadkill had sent out to the Steel Brotherhood. It was a weekend before Memorial Day and the peak riding season, but our Pack had more to offer than just scenic motorcycle rides. This weekend was to honor the men and women who helped us defend the Pack after the Great Unveiling.

I was in my leathers with warm clothes underneath. I’d taken Lance’s advice, packing a wide range of clothing in my bags and dressing in layers. I played with my cut, feeling the stiff leather. I’d been shocked when Three Tequila and Howler pulled me to the head table on Friday night and presented me with a Steel Ladies cut. “Welcome to the club, Murder Mittens,” Possum told me.

“I didn’t apply, and I didn’t prospect,” I protested.

“The Ladies recognize one of their own. We’re not the Brotherhood, so we can do what we want. You don’t have to put it on if you don’t want to,” Three Tequila told me.

“No, I want the cut,” I said as I put it on while everyone applauded. I wiped away tears as I embraced the ladies who ran the Ladies in the Orlando and Manchester chapters.

When I finally sat down, I looked down at the cut. Such a thing was unimaginable in the Sons of Tezcatlipoca. They had vests for their women with the Club logo, with “Property Of xxx” around it, and they did THAT primarily to prevent fights from breaking out at parties. Even as the Old Lady of a Club President, I was property to the Club, just like his motorcycle.

Now I was wearing it for a Club run and not as a seat decoration behind a member. Hell, I had a higher status than Lance did! He’d ride farther back in the formation since he wasn’t even a Prospect. I smiled at my boyfriend as Lance walked to his Harley. “It looks great on you,” he said. “You’re lucky. A few Presidents pulled me aside and asked if I was interested in prospecting, but there isn’t a chapter up here.”

“Yet,” Chase said as he walked up in his Steel Brotherhood cut. “If we can get enough members to meet the Chapter minimums, I’ll get the support to start a chapter here. I’ve got a few leads, mostly members who are retiring or looking for a change in scenery.”

“Does membership include access to the pool?”

Chase laughed at Lance. “Access to our facilities is a big draw, and not just for werewolves. The short season is a bigger problem. I tell them we double as a snowmobile club, so it’s a two-for-one deal.”

Chase was at the front, riding next to Roadkill and Possum. Roadkill had the front left spot as the Road Captain for this run. The visiting Presidents and their old ladies were behind him, followed by the lower-ranked members of the Brotherhood and the Ladies. The guests rode in the back of the formation, which had almost fifty motorcycles in it.

I screamed in joy as we headed out the front gate and accelerated onto the road. There was something primal about riding at high speed in close formation. You felt invincible, the roar of the engines and the sight of traffic moving aside to let you pass.

We headed east to Two Harbors, then headed north along Lake Superior on Highway 61. We’d lucked out on the weather; it was sunny and warm, with a breeze out of the west that kept the lake chill at bay. My new ride was sweet, and I enjoyed every part of the ninety-minute ride north to our first stop in Grand Marais.

Our group parked along the road before going into the famous Sven and Ole’s Pizza. Roadkill rented the entire dining room for us, set up in one long table with overflow in the booths. Three Tequila waved Lance and me over to sit with her and Mongo near the head of the table.

The tables were ready for us, with pizzas and pitchers already out. I took a few pieces of sausage and mushroom, then tossed them on Lance’s plate. That was my favorite pizza, but now the mushrooms were making me a little nauseous. I ended up eating pepperoni pizza while trying to keep my hands clear of Mongo and his appetites.

I had a great time hearing about Rori and her time in the Orlando clubhouse while answering questions about my upbringing in the Sons. Three Tequila was a riot and had me laughing the whole time. I don’t know how many pizzas disappeared in the forty-five minutes we were there, but it was a lot.

I felt better as we continued north, stopping at the rest area and visitor’s center just before the Canadian border. Most of the group went through the checkpoint, headed to a biker bar in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Chase didn’t want me out of the country, and my guards couldn’t carry pistols into Canada. Others without a passport or enhanced driver’s license, or those with DUI’s on their record, stayed on this side too. Two dozen of us were going to hike in to see the falls on the Pigeon River.

I packed away my chaps, wool sweater, and leather jacket, keeping my jeans, T-shirt, hoodie, and the Ladies cut. The hike to the High Falls was pretty easy, with paved trails or decking the whole way. I took lots of photos with my phone from the different observation decks, most of them with Lance’s arm around me. The High Falls are the biggest in Minnesota at a hundred-and-twenty-foot drop.

We had plenty of time before the rest of the group returned, so we continued on the trail another two miles upriver to the Middle Falls. The river was wild up here, with some channels narrow enough I thought I could leap into Canada if my jaguar had a running start. The waterfall was much smaller at a thirty-foot drop, but the volume of water and the proximity made it even more exciting. There were no other people around, so the werewolves and I stripped and shifted rather than get our clothes soaked. It felt great to be sniffing around and playing near the rushing rapids.

I didn’t want to change back, so when it was time to go, I let one of the guys carry my clothes in his backpack. I wasn’t the only one to stay in animal form as wolves raced around in the trees and played. We were nearly back to the trailhead by the High Falls when I heard a woman screaming for help.

We took off running, although the wolves were much faster than me. The mom was screaming for her young boy as the river carried him downstream towards the falls. The poor kid couldn’t swim, and the rocks in the river might kill him before the falls had a chance to finish the job.

“GET BELOW HIM AND GET READY TO GRAB ME,” I screamed in my head to Lance as I ran full-speed for the river. With a graceful leap, I splashed into the river and started swimming towards the helpless child. I reached him quickly, my teeth grabbing onto the collar of his jacket as I turned back to shore.

The fast spring currents swept me farther downstream as I fought to get us back to the riverbank. I looked around frantically for a fallen tree, a flat rock, or ANYTHING to get out of this current. I didn’t see anything, and my paddling wasn’t getting me anywhere.

This was going to hurt.