The Demon Crown: A Sigma Force Novel

by James Rollins

  As the trio neared the island, the two flanking aircraft split away to right and left. The center plane continued its trajectory straight for their cove. Gray took in several details at once. The aircraft weren’t Cessna Caravans, but the company’s sleeker and smoking-fast single-piston brothers, a model known as the TTx. Each of these hellcats also carried large barrels fixed to their undercarriage.

  Before Gray could fathom what was happening, a black-gray mist jetted from those tanks, streaming out under high pressure and leaving a thick contrail in each plane’s wake. It built into a wide, dark cloudbank hanging over the water. The strong trade winds rolled those heavy mists toward shore, toward their tiny cove.

  The centermost plane continued directly at them. By the time it cruised over the seawall in the bay, it had expended the last of its load. It continued to shore and screamed low overhead, not slowing. Gray expected it to bank up and over the heights of Ka’uiki Head behind them.

  Instead, the aircraft smashed nose-first into the forested red cliffs.

  The explosion shattered trees and blasted rocks high into the air. A fireball rolled into the sky, carried aloft by a column of oily smoke. Gray huddled with Seichan, using their beach blanket like a makeshift shield against the rain of flaming debris and hail of pebbles and sand.

  Echoes of other crashes reached him, marking the demise of the other two aircraft. Closer at hand, a large boulder struck the water near shore, casting up a high flume.

  Still, Gray ignored the immediate danger and kept his attention fixed on that wide black cloudbank rolling toward them, driven by the prevailing trade winds.

  A single white-plumed egret, frightened by the crash, took wing from the neighboring forest to the right. It fled from the smoke and fire, heading out toward the bay. Still, it must have sensed the menace posed by that ominous cloud. Wings beat faster as it strove to climb above it.

  Smart bird.

  It successfully crested over the mists—but not high enough. A dark gray tendril wafted skyward, as if sensing the passing prey. The egret’s path jerked violently as the bird brushed against that threat. Its wings flapped in a panicked beat. Its body contorted, wringing a cry from its neck. Then it plummeted in a tight spiral toward the sea. Its body vanished into the thick of the cloudbank.

  “Poison,” Seichan said matter-of-factly, recognizing the reality of the situation.

  Gray wasn’t so sure of her assessment. He pictured the coil of mist seeking out the bird. But no matter the true threat, they were in trouble.

  He searched right and left. The trio of planes had left a swath of mist across the eastern shoreline, at least a mile wide, if not more.

  And we’re at the center of it.

  As the dark fog rolled closer, a faint humming drone rose above the crash of waves. Seichan cocked her head, plainly hearing it, too.

  Gray frowned.

  What the hell?

  He squinted at the threat. As he watched, the buzzing cloud appeared to shift and billow independently of the prevailing trade winds . . . revealing it to be a living thing.

  A swarm, he realized.

  Taking this new detail into account, he weighed their options. Even if they could traverse the precarious trail along the cliffs, they’d never reach cover before the swarm swept over them. They’d be swallowed up as surely as that unlucky egret.

  Gray had to accept the inevitable.

  They were trapped.

  SCOUT

  With a sleek body built for speed, it led the others toward the coastline. Small wings beat frenetically at the air, but it was instinct that truly drove it forward. Mindless to all else but what was written in its genetic code millennia ago, it raced toward the scent of green leaf and fresh water.

  Purpose defined its form. It bore the longest antennae of its brethren, splaying out at the ends with friable hairs, better to pick up the slightest vibrations. Its faceted eyes encompassed most of its head, staring unblinking toward their objective. While its wings might be shorter, its thorax was larger, more muscular, granting the scout greater maneuverability and agility in the air. Behind the thorax was a smaller-than-normal abdomen, packed with pheromone glands, but bearing no stinger, for it was no fighter.

  Its short existence had one goal: to absorb sensory input. Fine hairlike sensillae covered its entire body, making it acutely sensitive to chemical changes and temperature fluctuations. The hairs even assisted with hearing, though large membranes stretched over a hollow cavity on either side of its head served that function better. Additional sensillae in its mouth absorbed odors from the air, sniffing out food or water, along with monitoring the flow of pheromones from those around it.

  As it flew, it sensed those nearest neighbors, fixing their position in its brain.

  It absorbed more and more information until a threshold was reached. Unable to contain it any longer, data blasted out of its body. It transmitted to its closest neighbors, communicating via bursts of pheromones, then further refining the information through changes in cadence of its wings or by sawing its hind legs noisily.

  Information quickly flowed back to others, where it was absorbed, shared, and spread in a growing cascade.

  Soon, what it knew, they all knew. But it was rewarded for its efforts, as information flowed back to its body, molding its awareness to a finer edge. After a time, the scout’s body was absorbing as much as it was transmitting.

  It began to lose any sense of individuality.

  As it winged onward, the outpouring and feedback accelerated, becoming a torrent that flooded throughout the swarm, binding it together, building toward a perfect harmony of intent.

  As the swarm swept over the rolling water, the goal ahead grew into focus. Details filled in, piece by piece, dot by dot, coming from its own sensory apparatus and those around it. Viewed through thousands of eyes, the coastline’s image grew clearer. A wall of rock rose from the pounding waves.

  The scent of leaf and rot grew stronger as the swarm descended toward its new nesting ground. Other life roosted there already, evident from their movements, their calls, even their breaths. But they were no threat.

  This certainty was as much a part of its genetic code as its wings or antennae.

  With its role and purpose ending, the scout slowed its path and began to falter. It drifted back into the swarm. Several of its smaller brethren, spent by their duty, tumbled into the salty water.

  They were no longer needed.

  As landfall neared, the next line of workers drew forward, filling the leading edge of the swarm. This new caste had their own genetically driven purpose: to assess any dangers and clear the way forward from here.

  One of the new workers buzzed past overhead. It was far larger, its abdomen already menacingly curled, exposing a jagged stinger and the ripe venom gland at its base.

  The duty from here fell to this new class of hunter/killers.

  The soldiers.

  4

  May 6, 6:34 P.M. HST

  Hana, Island of Maui

  Seichan recognized they were out of time.

  “Forget the wetsuits,” she warned, tugging up the bottom half of her bikini. Her eyes remained fixed on the swirling swarm as it swept shoreward.

  Gray dropped the suit he had been about to climb into. He already had his swim trunks on. After the past weeks under the sun, his skin glowed with a rich tan, while his ash-brown hair—unkempt and long to the collar—had bleached shades lighter, accenting the brightness of his blue eyes. He also hadn’t shaved in a few days, leaving the hard planes of his face roughened by shadowy stubble.

  His eyes flashed at her as he hauled up a scuba tank from the sand. It was already strapped to its buoyancy vest. He hung the gear over one shoulder, then picked up the other set.

  Seichan hurried toward him. She nabbed her mask from the sand and snugged it atop her head, then took the second tank. She hefted the equipment to her back and climbed into the vest. The weight dug into her bare shoulders as she rushed acros
s the red sand with Gray.

  Out in the bay, the swarm crested over the seawall. The black cloud rose high, filling the breadth of the cove. The droning had grown into a low roar. The winds carried a strange, sickly sweet scent to the beach, like lavenders growing in filth. She tasted it now as much as smelled it.

  An inadvertent shudder of revulsion shook through her.

  At her side, Gray flinched, ducking his head and swatting at the air.

  Something struck Seichan in the upper arm. It hurt like being snapped by a rubber band. She glanced down. A wasplike insect clung to her bicep, wings fluttering to a buzzing blur. It was huge—as long as her thumb. Its black, glossy abdomen bore jagged stripes of angry crimson. Momentarily shocked by the monstrosity of its size, she was slow in reacting.

  It stung her before she could knock it away.

  The pain was immediate, like someone drove a lit match into an open cut.

  Then it got worse.

  She gasped, dropping to a knee. Fiery agony exploded up her arm. Muscles tore off bone—or at least it felt that way.

  To the side, Gray tried to stamp the wasp into the beach with his heel. He managed to break its wings, but its hard body merely sank into the sand. The stubborn wasp immediately scrabbled free and raced overland toward Seichan. She lurched back, but Gray kicked it into the water before it could reach her.

  By now, Seichan’s arm had gone limp and hung uselessly at her side. Still, the pain spiked higher. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She had never experienced such agony. If she had an ax, she would have chopped off her own limb.

  With trembling lips, she forced out a breath. “Gr . . . Gray . . .”

  He hauled her up, tank and all. “We have to get underwater.”

  That had been their plan: to use their scuba gear to escape the threatened cove.

  She wanted to obey, but her legs refused to cooperate. She wobbled, growing disoriented. The world wavered. She felt the first convulsion as she toppled face-first toward the sand.

  Gray caught her and dragged her quaking form into the waves.

  More wasps suddenly fell out of the air, raining down like fiery black hail.

  Their tiny bodies struck the sand, shot past her face, and pelted into the bushes and leaves. To escape the onslaught, Gray wrapped her in his arms and flung them both underwater.

  But even in the cold depths, her body continued to burn.

  6:37 P.M.

  C’mon, baby, hold on . . .

  Gray tugged his mask in place and rolled Seichan under him as he kicked for deeper water. The weight of their combined gear pulled them down along the seabed. Desperate and fearing the worst, he used his free hand to secure her mask over her nose and eyes. He then scooped up her loose regulator, tilted the lower edge of her mask, and blew a blast of air under there to clear it before securing it in place again.

  Seichan’s body tremored beneath him, but the worst of the spasms seemed to have subsided. He studied her face as he worked the regulator’s mouthpiece between her lips. Her eyes were open, but her pupils rolled. She was plainly still dazed.

  He reached to her hand and was relieved to feel her fingers squeeze back.

  She was coming around.

  He shifted her hand up to her regulator. Can you manage on your own? he asked with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows.

  She seemed to understand and nodded.

  Good.

  He swung an arm to hook his regulator and bring it to his mouth. Once breathing on his own, he glanced up. The sun was near to setting, but the sea was bright enough to discern small black dots peppering the water. Eddies marked where several bodies squirmed. Most appeared tiny, but a few were larger, marking the presence of those monstrous wasps.

  Growing up in the hill country of Texas, he had his share of run-ins with bees and heard stories of neighbors dealing with Africanized swarms. The latter species would notoriously hunt you down if you disturbed their nest. Even jumping in a pool or lake was no guarantee of safety. The bees would hover over the water, waiting until you popped your head up, then attack again.

  He stared at the swarm.

  This species seemed to be following the same game plan.

  But luckily we don’t have to come up for air.

  At least, he hoped that was true.

  Before he continued, he adjusted his float position in the water by filling the air bladders in his buoyancy vest, then helped Seichan do the same. He kept them hovering six feet below the surface. Satisfied, he herded Seichan farther out into the cove, while keeping a close watch on her. He didn’t know what other surprises might be lurking in the wasp’s venom.

  He remembered Seichan’s agonized expression. In the past, he had seen her shot, knifed, even pierced through the gut by an iron spear. Nothing slowed her down. For the pain of a wasp’s bite to bring her to her knees, the bastard must be packing some potent venom. He suspected a few more stings and her heart might have stopped.

  Respecting this danger, he continued away from shore. He passed the seawall and aimed for the brighter water beyond the cliffs of Ka’uiki Head. He periodically checked over his shoulder. Through the diffraction of the water, he could still make out a shadowy haze of the swarm up there. While the mass had made landfall, the bulk seemed to be hugging the coastline, hanging back cautiously.

  Maybe they were letting the big wasps clear the way first.

  Gray had to admit the tactic worked on them.

  He continued straight out, trying his best to escape the swarm’s shadow. Unfortunately, the sun eventually set. The resulting twilight made it difficult to tell if the horde still churned overhead.

  Gray considered surfacing and using his LED dive light to scan the skies, but even if he had cleared the swarm’s edge, he worried the shine might draw its attention.

  So he kept going, using his wrist compass as a guide.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Still, he couldn’t continue this way forever. Without wetsuits, the chill of the water would wear them down, especially Seichan. She had been steadily slowing, her left arm dragging behind her. He needed to get her out of the ocean and someplace warm. Knowing that, he turned them in a southerly direction, aiming for the beach a mile away where their seaside cottage stood atop a volcanic cliff.

  As he pressed on, the waters slowly darkened. Soon he could barely see his hands, let alone Seichan. He finally relented and tugged out his dive light from a vest pocket and squeezed its button. The brightness through the water was momentarily blinding. Inwardly, he winced, fearing he was lighting a beacon for the swarm to follow.

  No choice.

  As his eyes slowly adjusted, the midnight world beneath the waves revealed itself. Ridges of reefs stretched below and outward. Everything seemed to be in motion. Bright yellow and red anemone waved in the current, while the prickly black spines of urchins shifted slowly below. Ahead, a school of blue Hawaiian flagtails fled from their path, skirting around a slower-moving eagle ray. As he crossed a wall of coral, a white tip reef shark suddenly darted away with a muscular flick of its tail.

  Beyond the light’s glow, other larger shadows moved.

  He imagined they were sea turtles, which were abundant around Maui, but he kept a wary watch for some of the true predators that prowled these waters. Tiger and bull sharks occasionally attacked swimmers or snorkelers around Maui. He didn’t intend to become one of those statistics.

  He glanced to Seichan. She had fallen farther behind. He slowed and drew alongside her. He raised a hand and inquired about her status by signaling her with an okay sign. She lifted her stung arm enough to return the sign, but she did so weakly. The worst of the poison must be clearing, but it had plainly taken its toll, as had the long swim.

  She waved him on, grimacing at him—not in pain, but in irritation.

  Her stubborn determination was easy to read.

  Keep going already. I’ll keep up, goddammit.

  He shifted around and continued, but he stayed alongsid
e her now. Stubbornness only got you so far.

  Slowly, each kick and paddle propelled them farther from the beleaguered section of shoreline and closer to their destination. He periodically checked the compass strapped to his wrist.

  Shouldn’t be much farther.

  Still, it took them another thirty minutes to finally reach the shallows of their beach. Gray popped his head up first. They were nearly out of air. The gauges on their tanks were deep in the red zone. He checked to make sure the skies were clear, then helped Seichan clamber up to the thin rocky beach. They happily shed their tanks at the water’s edge.

  With an arm still around her waist, he felt her shiver. He had to all but carry her toward the cliff face ahead. Their cottage perched at the top, where a glowing window beckoned.

  Seichan pushed out of his grip and sank to her knees in the sand. She lifted an arm toward the cottage. “Go . . .” she gasped out.

  “I’m not leaving you. I’ll haul you the whole way if I have to.”

  It was a promise he didn’t know if he could carry out. His own legs felt like rubber.

  “No . . .” She scowled at him, breathing hard. She waved an arm toward the north. “Ball . . . ballpark.”

  He shook his head, not understanding—then it struck him.

  Oh, no.

  His body stiffened. Adrenaline pumped steel back into his legs.

  This morning, they had parked their Jeep along Uakea Road, between a community center and the Hana Ball Park, which consisted of a freshly mowed baseball diamond, a soccer field, and a couple of tennis and basketball courts. Seichan had commented on a sign posted outside the park, announcing a Little League tournament set for this evening. She had suggested grabbing hot dogs and watching the game.

  He pictured its location.

  As a crow flew, the park was only a quarter mile inland from the red sand beach.

  He imagined the commotion from that game.

  All the music, cheering, lights . . .