He wakes in The Park with no memory of who he is, or why he is outside. All he knows is that the killing machines are close, and that staying still means dying. So begins The Replican, Joseph McCann's dark sci-fi horror novel, set in a world where humanity has been pushed to the edge of extinction and where the survivors are no longer at the top of the food chain. They are the food.

As The Replican flees across the ruined city, a mysterious figure follows: a man in a long coat and grey hat, a cigarette always burning, never far behind. Piece by piece, fragments of memory return, and with each one the question grows heavier. Who is he, what was done to him, and what is he now? The answers pull him toward a choice that no one should have to make, framed by the line that haunts the whole book: if you were me, what would you do?

Fans of Gary Numan will recognize the DNA at once. McCann built this world out of the imagery of Numan's Replicas era: the park, the machines, the man in the long coat, the loneliness of a synthetic mind trying to understand itself. Readers do not need to know a single lyric to follow the story, but those who do will find lines and characters that land with an extra jolt of recognition. The novel is illustrated by the author's daughter, and readers have called it a book of the year and a ten out of ten.

First published in 2018, The Replican now reads, in the author's own words, like a chilling prediction of the pandemic that followed: a society sealed off, hunted, and forced to decide what it is willing to sacrifice to survive. Body horror, chameleon creatures that camouflage themselves against the dead, and a relentless pursuit through empty streets make this a nightmare with a pulse. At its core, though, it is a story about how far people will go to protect their future, and what that costs.

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Excerpt from The Replican © Copyright 2018 Joseph McCann

Chapter Twenty Three

The nauseating smell of blood filled the air, almost drowning out his senses. The Replican placed a trembling hand over his mouth, he was struggling to steady his breath. It was obscene, but for his own safety he pretended not to notice. Although, the creature had already seen his stunned reaction, so it offered him a gaping satisfied grin. “We collect your dead things,” the creature said pointing at the pile of discarded bodies as if they were nothing more than garden waste. And with strange motions, it began to scurry its way up onto the pile of corpses. The way it crept across them was very unsettling.

Only now did the Replican want to make a bolt for the door. His mind was screaming for him to turn and run, though for his own sake, he had to resist the urge. His anger was now reaching a fever pitch, but this was not the time to be overwhelmed by it. The next body he saw was also that of a young woman, sprawled out, though her carcass had been there for quite some time. It was a grisly looking corpse. Her body half eaten away by maggots that were crawling on her legs, covering her torso, and pooling in the crevices of her neck. As the chameleon-like creature climbed up and over the pile of bloated decomposing bodies, the pigments in its skin began to change. Camouflaging itself against the dead. Taking on the pale shades of flesh, the streaks of congealed blood and the deep brown hues of scar tissue. It mimicked their dead bodies perfectly, its legs appeared to be rippling in the light, as if they were now writhing with maggots. Perched on top of the pile of bodies, its taloned feet sunk into the moist corpse beneath it. Its sharp talons dug into the rotting flesh to help steady itself. The Replican tried to block out the sickening sight, but he could now feel his stomach churning. He was repulsed by what he saw, his nausea began to flow through him, carried along by the tide of his fear. He froze completely; his eyes were now fixed on something he could not unsee. It took everything left in him not to scream out loud.

The creature was now standing upright on top of the pile, it felt like a god amongst rotting flesh. The creature was in its element, licking its lips as if it were born to devour.