It Starts With Me: Fight for Survival, #1

By Kati Kirsten

Amity Thorne is not like other nineteen year olds-she's trying to survive in war-torn Western America where fear and loss are no strangers. In a time where normal is gone, she closes herself off from the rest of the world, keeping her head down, and persevering through the oppressive rule of the Guardianship. 

 

When her father's choices leave them in danger, Amity struggles to leave everything behind as she and her faithful wolf-like companion, Sarge, find themselves on a perilous mission to save her younger sister. 

 

Amity tries to prepare herself for the uncertain, but she never imagined that the toughest hardships would come from within. As she navigates through new territory, her resolve is quickly challenged by obstacles that strike deeper than she ever thought possible; sparking a fire within her she thought was long gone. 

 

Amity must risk everything to rescue her sister, but at what cost? Victory means difficult choices; choices that may haunt her for the rest of her life, or worse, strip her of her humanity. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wynd and River Press
• Release date: Jan 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985227420

Kati Kirsten

Kati is an award-winning writer, avid reader, and animal lover. She currently resides in her hometown in Northeastern Pennsylvania with her many pets; including four cats, a business of ferrets, several snakes and reptiles, and her dog, Timber. ​Kati is passionate about her animals, her writing, and her loved ones; all of which have helped her along the way of that crazy little journey called Life. ​She made her break into the writing world with her debut novel, IT STARTS WITH ME, which has since received the honor of the Readers' Favorite Five Star Seal, a BookFest award, and was a finalist in the American Fiction Awards.  Kati plans to continue sharing her words with the world for many years to come. Check out her website for new and interesting content, and follow her on social media for updates!

Book preview

IN MEMORY OF

JAMESON

MY REAL-LIFE SARGE

2016 – 2020

CONTENT WARNINGS

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It Starts With Me is a gripping character-driven survival story about mental and physical tribulations in a brutal dystopia. However, this book is intended for mature audiences and contains adult themes and potentially distressing content for some readers. Blood, character death/dying, death of a family member, foul language, flashbacks to trauma, grief, homophobia, intrusive thoughts, mental illness (depression, anxiety, PTSD), murder, neglect/abuse and death/murder of child characters, sexual acts, systemic oppression, violence, and war are presented on the page. As a reader that may be sensitive to these topics, only read if you feel safe in doing so, and get ready to follow along on Amity and Sarge’s journey...

SEVEN YEARS AGO

I LAY QUIETLY ON THE old, beaten up couch as my mother and father whisper amongst themselves in the kitchen. Emma was put to bed a half hour ago and I feel unamused trying to entertain just myself. The house is dark, and the only sign of life inside is the flicker of the tv light casting its glow across the living room.

Everything is still. I idly strain my ears to listen to my parents and their hushed words. As I do, I hear a dull thump come from outside. Mom and dad’s voices fade into nothing as they quiet themselves. They must have heard it too.

Moments later, loud knocks bark against the front door; a tough hand repeatedly slamming against the chipping paint and hollow metal. Feeling a rise in my anxiety, I sink back further into the cushions and try to disappear. The door creaks open and the silence is broken by my parents’ muffled voices. It’s not long before they are cut off by a deeper tone that booms with anger and unforgiving hatred.

Next thing I know, there are several men stomping through the place I call home. They don’t care that Emma is asleep upstairs or that my mother is crying softly behind them. They don’t care that they are intruding. They don’t care about anything. Each one scatters a different area across the floor, creating their own personal hurricanes of destruction. Papers shuffle, glass shatters— the crashing and banging of our whole life happens all at once. I can hear Emma wailing in her bedroom. She calls for my mother. She calls for me.

The A.L.F. officers are gone just as fast as they’d come, leaving our broken house in their wake. We’re all still in shock as we take in the surroundings of what looks like the aftermath of an earthquake. This is my first memory of the American Liberation Force.

CHAPTER ONE 

o  AMITY  o

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RIDING THROUGH THE TOWN I grew up in, my hope seems to dwindle a little. I can’t recognize the detailed buildings and beautiful landscapes that my father used to tell me about. Too much has changed. Everything is dreary, battered, broken. Barely anyone can be seen walking the streets—with good reason of course. You don’t want to get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As I ride home, I hear the calls of a commoner who’s had enough. He curses the Guardianship with just a small crowd gathering around him. I pedal faster knowing what the sight will soon become.

Rioters, protesters, randoms, innocents. They are shot as a spectacle in front of anyone who happens to be around—even children. Especially children. We all know it’s to send a message: If you want to live, you better comply. Only what everyone is doing can hardly be considered living. We are surviving.

I can recognize a fear hidden in everyone’s eyes because I have the same terror dancing behind mine. We may be surviving, but just barely. The fear seems to be a permanent fixture amongst the commoners. Some fear for their own life, some fear for others. I fall into the latter category not giving a fuck about myself as much as the ones I love.

I pedal my way a few miles out of town and onto Enterprise Drive, still unable to shake the weird feeling that I’ve had all day. My legs burn as I push on, but I want to see Sarge. Everything will be better once I see him. I swing my leg over the seat of my bicycle as I expertly steer into the driveway.

My house has not been left untouched by the dreariness of the town. It was never the flashiest of places, but it’s faded considerably since my parents bought it. Even after sprucing it up eight years ago, it looks like no one has touched it in decades. The paint is peeling off and whatever color that’s left is dulled. The siding hangs off in odd patterns and some of the windows are boarded up. It’s still a place to call home, nonetheless, which is something not many people can say these days.

By the time I walk up to the door, Sarge is already excitedly waiting for me. I gently push through the entryway and he practically jumps into my arms. I happily let him. We both fall to the floor as he covers me in slobbery, wet kisses.

Sarge is by far the largest dog I’ve ever seen. He has stark black features and medium length, wiry fur. His eyes are a golden brown—the only light feature about him. Wolf-like would be putting it mildly. I rarely see that ever-present fear in his eyes, but he is always extremely protective of me. I suppose that him and I are similar when it comes to what we fear most—if he even fears anything at all.

My reunion is interrupted by a loud thud, followed by my father’s muffled voice coming from the direction of the garage. Right away, I notice Sarge’s apprehension.

Dad? I call out. My father appears through the doorway in a huff and a look of relief spreads across his tired face as he settles his eyes on me sitting here.

Oh, M! You’re home, he exclaims. We need to go! His face is etched with terror, causing my anxiety to surge to a new height. Sarge pushes himself into me, giving me some comfort. My forehead creases as my eyebrows pull in. We need to go, Amity! Now, he repeats. I still don’t move, my brain unable to fully recognize the urgency in his tone.

I watch as he shuffles and stumbles past me and into the living room. It’s muted now, getting worse every year since my mother’s passing. My father finds a bag and starts to haphazardly shove blankets into it and I find myself studying him.

His graying hair is short in length and matches the silver coloring of his beard. He’s thinner than normal, the wear and tear of his troubled life catching up to him. His eyelids have a constant droop and the creases around the corners are getting deeper with age, causing him to look more and more exhausted these days. It’s like his decline is following the dreariness of the room. My mother had been the livelihood of the family, giving life to everyone around her. Especially my father.

When he sees I haven’t even attempted to move, he yells. Amity Thorne get your ass up now! My father rarely raises his voice and it catches me off guard. Go pack a bag, we need to leave, he hesitates slightly before continuing, the officers are coming. There’s a mix of anger and desperation in his expression. The seriousness of the situation smacks into me suddenly and knocks the air from my lungs.

I swiftly stand and run up the stairs. Grabbing the first bag I see, I begin packing things for Sarge first. As I scramble around, the small picture frame on my nightstand catches my eye. It holds a picture of my sister. I study it, wondering idly where we will be getting her. The trusses of her caramel hair sit just above her shoulders and her one-of-a-kind smile melts my heart. It’s her first-grade school picture and it’s lovely. Her eyes are as beautiful and bright as ever. She is the perfect little child.

My father calls to me from downstairs, interrupting my reverie. We have to move. I return the photo to its place beside my bed, hurriedly gather all of the things I could possibly think about needing, and run out of my room. I rush to the top of the stairs where Sarge is already waiting for me. We lock eyes.

You ready?

He circles around, coming to my side in a perfect heel position. Sarge stays by me as I take the steps two at a time. My father is standing by the back door, motioning for me to run faster. I sprint through the house in record time and we leave it, and the memories it holds, behind us. We dart into the woods and get just deep enough to be out of sight but close enough to keep an eye on the place. Whether that’s stupid or not, I don’t know. Besides, I want answers.

Our situation isn’t the greatest. Towns and cities had been leveled during the second civil war. America took eight brutal years of back and forth fighting after the Undoing: the cataclysmic natural disaster that obliterated the east coast. Basically everything past the Rocky Mountains was left a wasteland; completely uninhabitable.

A large wall was constructed to the east of the mountains, spanning from the northern section of old Montana down toward the western tip of where Texas used to end. Territories were rearranged slightly and everyone hoped it would be okay. Only it wasn’t.

The surviving citizens weren’t happy with the choices that were made. There was fighting over land, resources, money. It was only a matter of time before war broke out in the streets. People started taking sides, claiming they were the ones that knew best, thus creating the perfect breeding ground for a second civil war. The president had been killed in the Undoing and the remaining Congress and Senate members were way out of their depth; the tension was running too high. We were left without a face to look to. 

Then, eight years later, and a woman comes out of the woodwork promising to help. There weren’t many people who complained about her and the fact that she had the initiative to take charge and be the face we looked to in our terribly deplorable state was enough. Most people were so desperate that they couldn’t even form an opinion on who took over as long as someone did. That was our first mistake.

It took her one year to put an end to the war and start rebuilding. Things were finally looking up. That is, until people began to notice that others were disappearing. No one was able to explain what was going on. Healthy people were dying from sickness, children were being taken from loving parents, the reason for random disappearances made no sense. Eventually, the citizens that questioned too much disappeared along with the rest of them.

It wasn’t until people started rallying together and demanding answers before the executions, beatings, and unlawful rules began happening out in the open. This is what the commoners refer to as the Undertaking; the transition between the old government and the new one they call the Guardianship.

We needed order, stability according to them; we couldn’t end up slipping back into wartime. Shortly after, travel bans and curfews were put into place. Not that it mattered. The rest of the world had locked America up like an errant teenager sent to their room without dinner. We were proper prisoners in our own homes—what was left of them anyway.

Madame Keres, that devil of a woman that everyone loved so much, had fooled us all. Some of the commoners, mostly within the poorer areas called the Slums, refer to her as the Reaver. It’s apt, no doubt, because she’s basically a thief—taking our liberties, robbing us of our freedom. She’ll challenge anyone who stands in the way of ultimate power. While the majority of us are stuck sinking into the deepest pits of hell, she wants it all to herself and only a select few get to bask in the glory. But it leaves me wondering what my father has done to get the damned American Liberation Force after him.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath, but once I do, I begin demanding answers from him.

What’s going on? I interrogate. I love him so much and I don’t want to sound angry with him, but as the look on his face shifts into pain, I know that I’ve failed. He winces slightly at my words and then shakes it off as he begins to speak.

M, he starts. The tone of his voice immediately makes me uneasy. After your mother died, I started secretly publishing propaganda against the Guardianship.

I stare at him, wide-eyed.

I promised her that for as long as she lived, I would keep you all safe. After she was gone... he falters slightly at the thought of my mother’s death, I couldn’t sit around and do nothing! I wanted to leave you and Emma in a better place. You know what I always say. He is referring to his famous statement: The voice of change comes in all different forms.

He speaks low and calm, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head a million times to get it right. The Guardianship found out my identity and I was warned, thankfully. I’ve never been so relieved to see your beautiful face.

I gulp, my mouth running dry. Do they want him dead? He sighs, seemingly getting off track as he raises his calloused hands to circle my face. It’s clear he’s struggling to say his next words.

They sent officers to get Emma at school and to get you in town. He doesn’t have to continue for me to see where the conversation is heading. Students who are taken from school by officers never come back. It suddenly feels hard to breathe. 

His voice fades, cracking under the pressure of the subject. I’m sorry, Amity. I really am, he chokes out the words as his face crumples and a few tears escape his tired eyes. Seeing him so broken makes it hard for me to focus on the imminent danger that we’re in. Poor Emma. My sweet girl, my little M.

It comes as only a slight surprise that my father would be a rebel. My mother was never fond of causing a scene. She always told us to keep our heads down and endure; that there was never a need for extra danger. But my father blames the Guardianship for her death, and he has always fought for what he loves in any way that he can.

I lift my gaze to his red-rimmed eyes with tears of my own threatening to fall. He repeats his apology and pulls me in for a tight hug. Sarge has pressed himself against me to provide comfort once again. I pull myself out of my father’s embrace after a few seconds and wipe the hot tears from my cheeks. What do we do now? What’s the plan? I ask with new determination.

We head to Creyke Point. Canada? I’m completely shocked at his words. It was more like my mother to recede back into the shadows and survive to see another day, no matter how bleak. My father was the fighter. There’s a secret passageway to safety. We can get to a better life.

What about Emma? I’m growing hotter as the anxiety creeps up under my skin. It’s his fault we’re in this mess and he’s just going to shut down and run away?

We’ve got to go, M, he cries. There’s nothing we can do now but save ourselves. He grabs me by the shoulders and studies me with sad eyes.

I shout something incoherent, shoving him away from me. How dare he suggest we just leave Emma like this! I want to scream at him, tell him how awful he is. What kind of father leaves his child?

Somehow understanding my babbling cry, my father answers as if my screeching was as clear as ever. I know, he replies. His words are dripping with sorrow and desperation. But there’s no way to get to her. I’ve never seen my father so full of despair. Not even after my mother died.

Could I really blame him? Of course not. I’m just angry and things are tense. Seeing him so hurt is killing my already-shattered heart. Sarge senses the change in my mood and puts himself in between my father and I, pushing my hand onto his head as he does. My father keeps rambling. He says they’ll separate us if we’re caught; that he’ll be killed. Is that something you want?

How can my father possibly think that would be something I want? I could tell him how ridiculous he sounds but decide against it. I can’t just leave her behind, I finally choke out, tears welling up in my eyes once more. I know that my father is in a hard place. I, too, realize that it’s probably too late to get Emma. But I can’t leave knowing I didn’t at least try.

I understand why he wants to go. In his mind, he’s already lost one child and doesn’t want to risk losing the other. I’m all that he has left. I’m still finding it hard to keep my anger for the situation away. How could he put all of us in danger like this? Wherever my mother is at this moment, I feel as though she would be disappointed.

Sarge’s ears perk up and I immediately drop my thoughts and listen as carefully as I can. Voices. My father locks eyes with me and promptly grabs my wrist to pull me deeper into the woods. I throw my weight away from him, confusing myself as I do. All I know is that I’ve made the decision in this moment to try and save my sister. The love I have for my father is immense and I just hope he knows that.

I yank against his hold once more and Sarge understands what I’m trying to accomplish. He runs around to get behind my father and bites him on the ankle. A loud yelp stumbles from my father’s lips and he instinctively releases his hold on me.

I’m sorry, I barely whisper as I take off in the opposite direction of the only family member I have left besides Sarge. I glance back for a few seconds to see my father hesitate before running away from me. There is no time for questioning plans. Decisions need to be made instantaneously in order to get far enough ahead. This is the way things need to be in order to survive.

So I’m running. And running. I run and run and don’t dare stop for even a second. It dawns on me that my father most likely planned everything out and has gone over it for three years now. He’s probably studied the routes and pathways until he could follow them blindfolded and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I’d been so caught up in the moment that I realize I’ve not thought everything through. At the time it felt like the right decision, so why do I feel so lost?

Thinking now with a clearer mind, I recognize how utterly stupid I am to believe that I can save Emma. Guilt floods into me, clashing with regret, until I’m overtaken and heavy with the weight. As much as it hurts to think of leaving her, I have no reason to believe that I would succeed in finding her at all, let alone breaking her out of a heavily guarded military facility.

I’ve explored these woods when I was younger, before the Guardianship, when the air seemed fresher and the leaves more vibrant despite the ever-present danger of war. I always enjoyed getting lost with my parents, galloping through the trees without a care in the world. Of course, we were never really lost. Or safe, for that matter. But my father always guided the way back home. And now my father isn’t here.

My grandmother used to tell stories that proved my father to be an adventurer, even as a young boy. I, on the other hand, have the directional capacity of a rock. How am I going to find simple things like food and shelter?

My father is a smart man. I’m positive that he packed all of the important stuff in his bags. The maps, the food, the tools. All I have for light is a Relay that’s almost dead and the darkness is practically huddled over us already.

I finally stop after—what feels like—a century. I’m most certainly not an athlete; I never have been. My chest burns as my lungs beg for air and my throat feels as though I’ve been swallowing shards of glass. I duck low and cuddle to Sarge, trying to catch my breath. He hardly seems affected at all. I look up and see a bit of sky between the branches of the trees. The transitions between light and dark are subtly beautiful yet secretly scary to me. Dusk and dawn are calm and peaceful times of day that are just dim enough for your mind to play tricks on you.

Once my breathing is less ragged, I continue to walk, hoping to put more distance between myself and the house. It’s near the end of May and I know I’ll be fine with just the light blanket that I grabbed from my mattress. Oregon weather has always been good to me. It’s not long before I’m clearing a bit of the forest floor and creating a makeshift bed for myself and Sarge.

He’s patient with me as I push away the dead leaves and twigs. Just sitting and watching. Only his teeth and the glint of gold in his eyes are visible as he sits, panting, swathed in moonlight. His black fur blends in with the darkness swallowing us up.

I lay my blanket over the ground and throw myself down onto it. Only then does Sarge get up and come over, pushing as close to my side as he can. I’m glad that I have him with me. He’s been here for me day in and day out since my mother died.

It was my father who, despite reservations, let him stay with us and I feel bad that Sarge had turned against him earlier. I roll onto my side and pull Sarge closer to me, burying my face in his thick, wiry fur. All of my anger, frustration, and sadness takes form in hot tears that bullet down my face. Sarge keeps still and lays calmly in one place while allowing me to get everything out of my system. As my tears begin to cease, I slowly fade into a dismal slumber.

CHAPTER TWO 

o  EMMA  o

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I’M IN A SMALL VAN with a few other kids. Some officers in white uniforms came to my school and took us away. They said not to be afraid, that we were going to a new type of school called Omphalos.

I just want to know when I’ll see M again. Daddy, too. And, of course, Sarge. It’s not that I’ve been afraid to ask, it’s just that I remember M telling me to do as I’m told when the officers are involved and they haven’t told me I could speak yet. In fact, I’m the only one here who hasn’t been told to quiet down. I know M would be proud of me.

The officers said it would be a long drive. They said we’re going to San Francisco—the capital of Western America. That’s where Omphalos is. I’m a little nervous because I’ve never left Oregon and I’m about to go to California without my family.

The car pulls up to the school when it’s dark out. There are more officers like the ones who came to get me, but they are guarding the door. There’s also a man in a dark uniform. He stands out among all the white. His body is big but his face looks friendly. I’m the first one out of the van and he gets down on one knee to greet me.

Hey there. He smiles. My name’s Marcus, but you can call me Giles.

I stifle a giggle. Giles. That’s a funny nickname. I’m Emma Thorne, I introduce myself. His eyes light up and crinkle around the edges like my daddy’s do when he laughs. The thought makes me frown.

What’s wrong, little Miss Thorne? Giles questions.

I’m wondering when I’ll meet my family again.

His smile doesn’t falter as he answers, Hopefully soon.

Giles leads me through the glass doors and puts me in front of a computer. I’ve never seen anything like this before. We don’t get cool technology like this back home. Daddy got a Relay for M not too long ago but she told me I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it. I don’t like lying but M says it’s not the same thing as keeping a secret.

The computer takes a picture of me, and Giles gets me all checked in. Then a woman comes and takes me away, bringing me into another room through a door to the right of the screen. Her face is kind and she smells like flowers. She has a card attached to her shirt, like the one Giles had used to get us into the building. It says her name is Tiffany.

Tiffany helps me out of my clothes and sprays me with a funny white foam that makes my skin tingle. It’s only on my body for a few seconds before she rinses me off. I’m lead to a small chair where there are grey folded clothes waiting for me. I pull them on quickly. The fabric is soft and warm against my skin.

Next, Tiffany massages my scalp as she cleans my hair. I close my eyes and pretend I’m back at home, imagining M is the one who is washing my hair like always. This only makes me sad when I open my eyes to see that I’m in Omphalos instead.

After we finish, Tiffany holds up a needle of some sort. My eyes widen slightly.

It’s okay, she assures me, it will only hurt for a few seconds. She explains to me that it’s a little chip that knows where I am at all times. It’s just in case I get lost and they need to find me again. The thought makes me feel safe.

I nod and wince as the needle goes deep into my arm. When Tiffany is done, the only thing left behind is a small red scar. She was right, it only stung for a short amount of time.

I leave that room behind and find Giles when I get to the next one. Wow! he says. Look at how pretty you are!

I smile despite the weird feeling it gives me. M used to tell me I was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. I hardly look like myself now with perfectly styled hair and skin slightly raw from the scalding water. But maybe this is the way things are supposed to be; maybe this is the way little girls are supposed to look.

Let’s get you to bed. It’s very late.

My brow furrows. I thought I was just going to school, not sleeping here. But Giles takes me by the arm and leads me down the white hallways and up the stairs. I’m staying in room number 204. There’s not much in it. A bed with white sheets, a desk kept perfectly organized. There’s a tiny dresser and as I open the drawers, I realize that it’s filled with the exact same clothes that I’m already wearing. Along the back wall is a curtain and Giles tells me that I’m never to look behind it.