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“I don’t have a lead apron,” Walt said. “So everyone get out while this fires.”
Lancelot and Hugo shared a look, and then both stepped closer to Sylvia. “Fires what?” Lancelot asked.
“This is a prototype of the world’s smallest portable, digital radiography system. Backpack-size is the goal. Then soldiers and doctors could carry it with them.” Walt worked methodically as he explained, finishing setting up what looked like a large microscope. He ran a cord from the heavy upper part of the small machine to a socket in the wall.
Oscar had taken the laptop from the bag and was sitting on a chair, frowning as he typed. “You didn’t bring the battery to try?”
“I thought about it,” Walt said. “But didn’t want to make Sylvia wait too long.”
“You just want to experiment on me?” she asked, clearly more resigned than concerned.
“No one is experimenting on her,” Lancelot said. “And what is this thing?”
“I told you already,” Walt said. “Now please, you’ll need to step out of the room while it fires.”
“She’s our kid sister and we’ll experiment on her if we want to,” Oscar said.
“Like hell you will—”
Sylvia touched Lancelot with her good hand. “It’s okay. Walt’s a doctor. He’s actually one of the best battlefield surgeons in the world. He and Oscar team up to develop medical tech.”
“A PDRS is a portable digital radiography system,” Walt said. His voice had taken on that tone that was unique to doctors when they were explaining something. Calm and patient with total authority. “It’s basically a small X-ray machine.”
“You two made it and now…you’re going to test it on your sister?”
“I’m going to use it to check her hand, and then set her fingers properly. Hands are delicate. Tendons, nerves, bones, and lots of small, specialized muscles.” Walt’s expression turned serious. “I know how much being able to write and draw means to you, Sis. I’m going to make sure that hand is perfect.”
Sylvia nodded once. “It got slammed in a car door when I tried to jump out.”
Walt and Oscar both looked grim, and it was a bit startling to see the exact same expression on two different faces. Langston walked back in just in time to hear what she’d said. He looked to his brothers. “I didn’t have time to give y’all all the details.”
“You rescued her, that’s all that matters,” Oscar said.
“Lancelot rescued me,” Sylvia said. “He jumped into the ocean when Alicia pushed me overboard.”
Langston looked a little green. “She was totally out of it. Drugged. I tried to get to her, to get on the boat, but I wasn’t fast enough.”
“We got her back,” Lancelot said. “That’s all that matters.”
The brothers nodded, and Lancelot realized he’d said “we” as if he and her brothers had equal rights to protect her.
He had no right.
Chapter Eighteen
Walt knelt in front of Sylvia and started unwrapping the Ace bandages from around her wrist and hand. The doctor they’d taken her to had used a large plaster pad to form a sort of one-sided cast, molded to the contours of her wrist, palm, and fingers, and held in place by the wraps. Now the reason for this made sense. Langston must have called Walt from the beach, and it was Walt who’d known where to take her, and what to ask for—a temporary cast so he wouldn’t have to worry about cutting it off to x-ray and set her broken fingers.
Once the cast was off, Walt carefully placed her forearm on the table, positioning the upper part of the little X-ray machine over her fingers, which he carefully flattened.
Walt looked up. “Out.”
Lancelot, Hugo, and Langston walked out into the foyer. Walt and Oscar backed up, Oscar still holding the laptop. The machine made several clunking noises. Walt checked the image on the computer on Oscar’s lap, repositioned her hand, then took another X-ray. After ten minutes, they were waved back into the room.
Sylvia looked more awake and aware than she had before, but it wasn’t a good thing. There were bright spots of patchy color high on her cheeks and she was breathing jerkily. He knew that look. He’d caused that look in others.
She was in pain.
Langston and Hugo rushed over to Sylvia. Lancelot wanted to do the same. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her. An utterly ridiculous impulse, and an even more ridiculous feeling. Instead, he went and yanked his knife out of the wall.
