Snakeskins

by Tim Major

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for Tim Major

  By Tim Major and Available from Titan Books

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Also Available from Titan Books

  “Startling imagery, deft storytelling, and assured and engaging writing make Snakeskins simply unmissable.”

  Tim Lebbon

  “John Wyndham meets Black Mirror in Tim Major’s scintillating novel, a parallel world thriller, which takes as its themes duplicity, paranoia and what it truly means to be human. Snakeskins wrapped its coils around me and wouldn’t let go.”

  Mark Morris

  “A premise worthy of Wyndham becomes a twisty political SF thriller in the hands of Major. Snakeskins is full of action and surprise, keeping me reading, but the real hook lies in the rich seam of humanity within.”

  Aliya Whiteley

  “Another great page-turner from Tim Major! We follow Caitlin, a teenage girl, whose ability to produce ‘snakeskin’ clones causes emotional ripples that spread more widely than she’d ever anticipated. It’s a gripping and thought-provoking tale, with Major exploring the wider implications of cloning and extended life-spans in the growth of a corrupt new government which has consequences for all.”

  Alison Littlewood

  “The world-building is subtle and convincing, a plausible alternate UK where isolationist foreign policy has retarded the country's technological and economic progress. A cautionary tale for our times.”

  James Brogden

  “Whether as page-turning thriller, coming of age story, or timely satire on a broken Britain, Snakeskins is a delight.”

  Robert Shearman

  “Tim Major has a talent for combining big ideas to create something exciting. With Snakeskins he gives us an SF thriller brimming with questions about identity.”

  Priya Sharma

  Praise for Tim Major

  “Tim Major is an exceptional writer.”

  Adam Roberts

  “Once I started reading it, I couldn’t put it down until I reached the end.”

  Lynda Rucker on Carus and Mitch

  “That perfect blend of cautionary tale, psychological horror and introspective character study.”

  The Eloquent Page on You Don't Belong Here

  “It has freshness and it’s fluently written entertainment.”

  Rising Shadow

  “Strongly recommended for fans of original and uniquely weird fiction.”

  Ginger Nuts of Horror on Blighters

  BY TIM MAJOR AND AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

  Snakeskins

  Hope Island (May 2020)

  TITAN BOOKS

  Snakeskins

  Print edition ISBN: 9781789090789

  E-book edition ISBN: 9781789090796

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

  www.titanbooks.com

  First edition: May 2019

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 Tim Major

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  For Mum

  ONE

  Caitlin gasped at the cold sting of the wind. Gusts had licked at her cagoule the entire way, but now whistled at high speed through narrow gaps between the rock columns. It felt as though her skin was bare.

  The sky had cleared during the last half an hour as dusk fell. Caitlin enjoyed seeing the stars – low cloud cover made her claustrophobic – but tonight she would have preferred being less aware of the umbrella of bright speckles above. The pale moon and the imagined constellations, planets and distant galaxies all contributed to her sense of being watched.

  Her dad, Ian, turned on the path ahead. His cheeks shone. “It’s just around this outcrop. But we’ll have to hurry.”

  Caitlin jogged to reach his side. She took his hand and squeezed. He nodded and they set off along the gravel track and around the copper-coloured rock formation.

  She had been here before, when she was around seven or eight. Her memories of the rocks were indistinct, but she could recall the gift shop in vivid detail. Her mum had bought her a Red Riding Hood doll which, when turned inside out, became the wolf.

  “There,” Ian said. He raised their joined hands to point.

  Caitlin squinted against the gloom. They ought to have brought torches. When he had grudgingly opened the gates after subjecting their ID cards to absurd scrutiny, the gatekeeper had warned them that there were no lamps to light the paths.

  The Idol was a shocking white as if the moonlight illuminated only that single formation out of all of the Brimham Rocks. It was twice as wide as Caitlin was tall. Its lumpen, curved shape reminded her of an enormous molar. It balanced precariously on a tiny hillock of stone which had eroded over centuries to become an unlikely base for the monolith above it.

  She placed both her hands on the lower, bulbous section of the rock, expecting it to shift under her weight. A single slender cloud knifed across the moon and she drew away sharply. The movement had tricked her. The Idol seemed to be tipping.

  “It’s actually smaller than I expected,” she said.

  Her dad flinched. Immediately, Caitlin regretted her comment. The Idol had been her mum’s favourite. A postcard image of it was still Blu-Tacked to their kitchen wall.

  Ian sucked in air, clapped his hands and spun slowly on the spot. “Strange. She’s not here.”

  “What?” Caitlin said, still lingering on thoughts of her mum. “What did you say?”

  “The lady. Where is she?” Ian said. “And for that matter, where’s your uncle?”

  Despite the circumstances, Caitlin had almost forgotten that they weren’t alone.

  After a minute or so, Tobe emerged from the darkness. He had pulled his sweatshirt hood up; the grey expanse of cotton made him look as though he had been produced by the same weathering processes as the lumpy rock formations.

  Ian bent down. He slung his rucksack from his shoulders and began rifling through its contents.

  “Guys!” Tobe shouted.

  Caitlin winced. She felt instinctively that they ought to keep their voices down. She didn’t reply.

  Tobe plodded over. He glanced up at the Idol, unimpressed.

  “Guys,” he said again, still loud. “There’s a better one back there. It’s up high, as if it’s looking down on the whole place. The map calls it the Eagle and it’s true, it really is like one, ready to swoop down or shit out an egg or something. What could be more rock and roll than an eagle?” He looked up again. “Speaking of which, this rock looks like it’s ready to roll, any second.”

  He launched hims
elf at the Idol. Both of his hands slapped against the stone surface. It didn’t shift.

  Caitlin grinned at his undisguised disappointment.

  Ian stood up, now holding a crimson velour-covered notebook. Caitlin had seen it before, on the shelves in her mum’s old study.

  “No, Tobe,” Ian said. “We’re doing this here.”

  Tobe stretched to his full height, towering over Ian, a visual echo of the Idol. “Because why? This is my night, isn’t it?”

  The notepad shook in Ian’s grip. Caitlin stepped between the two men. Sometimes she had to remind herself that Tobe really was an adult, that he was seven-and-a-bit years older than her. That this was his second shedding.

  Tobe had wanted the ceremony to take place at a stone circle somewhere down south, after he’d seen it on a heavy metal album sleeve. He’d even gone to the trouble of buying a T-shirt with the band’s logo printed on it. Caitlin knew for a fact that he was wearing it today, beneath his hoody.

  “You know why,” Ian replied.

  Tobe’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not right, Janet still getting to call the shots.”

  “Don’t, Tobe.”

  Tobe continued, “If my sister liked all this crap so much, why didn’t she hang around long enough to be here? Some Charmer she turned out to be.”

  “She didn’t have any say about that, did she?” Caitlin whispered. Tobe was always shooting his mouth off. It didn’t mean anything.

  “Dunno,” Tobe replied. He stole a glance at Ian. “Maybe she did.”

  Caitlin grasped at her father’s arm, a second too late.

  “I warned you!” Ian hissed as he threw himself at his brother-in-law.

  Ian Hext had never been a fighter. His first punch missed Tobe entirely; on the second, his hand tangled with the hood of Tobe’s sweatshirt. The third made contact, though. Caitlin gasped as her dad’s knuckles crunched into Tobe’s right eye.

  She pulled her father away. He stumbled, almost toppling on top of her.

  Tobe staggered, too. The back of his head smacked against the Idol.

  She half expected him to attack her father. Instead, Tobe looked as though he might cry. “I’m telling you,” he said. “That’s all. That’s the last time I’m telling you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlin noticed something moving on the path.

  The woman was walking in fits and starts, alternately sprinting for a few seconds and then hobbling awkwardly. Her shoes crunched on the gravel; the sharp sounds echoed from the rock surfaces on either side of the track. Her unbuttoned jacket made dark wings behind her.

  When she finally reached them she was almost breathless. “Toby Hext?” She turned from Ian to Tobe and back again.

  Reluctantly, Tobe raised his hand, as though he were being asked a question in school, as though he was the sixteen-year-old rather than Caitlin. A red swell had already appeared beneath his right eye where Ian had hit him.

  “Blaine,” the woman said. At first Caitlin wondered if she was trying to clear her throat, until she extended her hand towards Tobe. “Ms Blaine. From the department.”

  Tobe shook her hand limply, then jammed both hands into his pockets.

  “You didn’t wait for me,” Ms Blaine said.

  “That’s exactly what we were doing, right here,” Ian said.

  She glared at him, as though he ought not to be there at all. “I mean in town. You were supposed to give me a lift. I told you I don’t drive. Why you people choose such out-of-the-way spots, I’ll never know. I had to get a taxi and of course then there was this whole godforsaken park to tramp around before I—”

  Caitlin glared at her. “What the hell do you mean, ‘you people’?”

  “Cait,” Ian said softly.

  Caitlin wriggled, shrugging him off even though he hadn’t put a hand on her. “No. Seriously. Ms Blaine? Explain to me what you meant by ‘you people’. Right this minute.”

  Ms Blaine looked at each of the men in a silent appeal for help. Neither responded. “I— It’s not that I—” Her face crumpled. “I apologise. I don’t know why I said that. This is my first time.”

  With a touch of guilt, Caitlin realised that she was enjoying this sense of righteous anger. “Yeah, well you ought to know better. And I tell you now, when it comes to my turn to shed, I’ll be making bloody clear that I don’t want a Ms Blaine coming anywhere near me or my Skin. Understand?”

  “Understand. Yes, I do.” The woman shuddered. She turned her attention to the oversized handbag looped over her arm. She pulled out a clipboard with a single A4 sheet attached, though on the first attempt she dropped it through trembling fingers.

  Ian checked his watch. “It’s very nearly time.”

  Ms Blaine came to life again. “The regulations state a minimum of five metres. Mr Hext – may I call you Toby? Where would you most like to be?”

  “In bed.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “I know what you mean. I’ll be over here.” Tobe gestured towards the Idol. “You all piss off over there, on the path.”

  Ian pulled a bundle of dark green cloth from the rucksack. He held it out to Tobe. When Tobe didn’t take it, Ian pressed it into his hands. Tobe pushed the fabric under his arm without unfolding it.

  Ms Blaine’s eyes were fixed on her clipboard. “There are a few housekeeping rules, of course. Have you eaten or drunk within the last hour? Have you relinquished all electronic devices? And, of course, you must remove your clothes before it begins.”

  Tobe brandished a crinkled chocolate bar wrapper and his brand-new pager. “You can fuck off if you think I’m going to do a strip show for you all.”

  “Oh! But you must—”

  Caitlin pushed Ms Blaine backwards the few paces to the path, with more force than she had intended, and had to tug on the lapels of the woman’s jacket to keep her from falling. Something about this whole situation was bringing out the worst in her.

  “Ms Blaine,” Ian said. “It’s straightforward, it really is. I’m sure that most of those rules are only for reassurance. We’ve done this before and none of it matters. More to the point, there really isn’t time.”

  Ms Blaine relented with a deep sigh. “Well, in that case it remains only for me to say—” She peered at the clipboard, raising it to her face.

  “No you bloody well don’t,” Caitlin said. “Dad will take over from here, thanks all the same.”

  Ian nodded. His fingers slid along the edge of the crimson notebook and opened it at the page marked with a ribbon. He cleared his throat and began to read. “Toby Richard Hext, son of Colin and Juliet Hext, grandson of Ezra and Maria and before them Ingrid and Oscar. Then others, all the way back to Madeleine and David…”

  “Faster,” Ms Blaine whispered. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. Caitlin’s mother would have tutted and told her she’d catch her death, coming out into the night dressed like that.

  Ian glanced at his watch and nodded. His finger traced down the page, moving past chunks of notes. “On this, the fourteenth day of June of the year 2020, we witness this shedding of skin, and with it we honour this momentous event, this defining point in your life.”

  Caitlin turned her attention to Tobe. He stood inert beside the Idol, which seemed to totter in the shimmering moonlight. He still had his hands jammed into his pockets and Caitlin could hear his teeth chattering.

  She realised that her dad was nearing the end of the speech. It hardly mattered that she had missed it, though. She’d be hearing it again before long.

  “Any second,” Ms Blaine said.

  “Five,” Ian said.

  Tobe pulled himself upright, having slouched more and more during Ian’s speech.

  “Four… three…”

  Ms Blaine pulled her clipboard close as if it might stop her shivering.

  “Two.”

  Caitlin looked at her father, then at Tobe again.

  “One.”

  Tobe cleared his throat. So did Ms B
laine.

  Nothing happened.

  And then it began.

  All of a sudden, Tobe looked petrified. Was the shuddering part of the shedding? His pained expression made him look as though he was trying to keep his bladder in check.

  A green light appeared behind him. No, not behind. Around. Caitlin had seen pictures and videos of sheddings before, but up close it was different. It reminded her of videos she’d seen of the Northern Lights. The green halo moved constantly, shifting and licking out from Tobe’s body – not flames exactly, more like projected images of flames.

  It lasted for about thirty seconds.

  And then there he was.

  There they were.

  Tobe gazed out at them, then to his right to see what they were seeing. He cleared his throat again.

  Beside him stood Tobe. Another Tobe, naked. Just like the first, this Tobe’s rust-coloured hair was plastered down on one side, sticking up on the other. A red swelling made an island blotch under his right eye. Caitlin looked at the original Tobe. His injured eye was as good as new. The swelling had healed instantly.

  The new Tobe – the Snakeskin – blinked several times. He shivered.

  Caitlin felt suddenly ashamed at seeing his nakedness. She shivered too. Abruptly, she recognised her own fear. Not fear of Tobe and his twin, but fear for herself, for her own future. She rubbed her eyes. Grow up.

  One of the Snakeskin’s hands darted downwards to cover his genitals. The other hand stretched out towards his twin.

  The original Tobe didn’t respond at first. He stared at his Skin, at the grasping fingers. Then he realised what the gesture meant. He passed the bundle of green cloth over, careful not to let his hand touch his twin’s. The Skin let the cloth billow out in the wind, then pulled the thick green cape around his body. It covered his flesh from his neck almost to his toes. He kept shuffling from side to side. The ground beneath his feet was smooth, cold rock.

  Tobe – the real Tobe, the ‘originator’ – pointed at his twin. His top lip curled, perhaps in disgust. “Can I talk to him?”

  Caitlin reminded herself that Tobe had been seventeen the only other time he had shed, only slighter older than she was now. Seven years was a long time. For all his bravado, he must be terrified. Perhaps no Charmer ever got used to it.