*For acts I, II and II click here (~2m each)
“Well, this sucks,” N muses, standing over our second grave stone of the night.
I light a cigarette and look up at the stars.
“Maybe it isn’t all bad,” N says.
I look at him. “Yep, you’re right. All bad,” he agrees.
“Wait, I have an idea.”
I pull out my phone to call M.
He picks up.
“Hey, do you have The Water of Life?”
“Yeah, about that, I have something to tell you,” M says.
“Do you have it or not? We need it.”
There is a pause.
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Good. I’ll send you a ping. Bring it here.”
I hang up.
N looks at me. “Bad idea to mess with that stuff. Especially if they’ve been dead this long.”
“I’m too young, too stupid and too irresponsible for a wife, never mind a baby. I’ll take the risk.”
N shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Probably not, but, at least I’ll be something other than married. Now, where can we get a shovel?”
I follow N out of the graveyard.
Two hours later we stand over two fetid corpses. I take a seat and let my feet dangle into one of the graves. N sits next to me and pulls a bottle of vodka from somewhere.
We drink in silence.
M comes running out of the darkness. I stand up.
“Yes!” I walk to him. “Let me see.”
He holds up a vial of light blue liquid. I snatch it.
“But, dude—“ he starts. I’m not listening. I walk over to the corpses and sprinkle the water of life on their chests. Just a few drops. I close the vial and toss it back to M. We stand and watch. The process is revolting. Like watching vomit transform into a crisp salad.
One of the men opens his eyes, then the other. One starts screaming. I reach down and put my hand over his mouth. I turn to N.
“Tell them what is going on.”
N nods. He starts speaking in Russian. He tells our story to the dead men. The dead men stay silent, listening. When he finishes, one man smiles, the other frowns.
“Well, problem solved,” I say, smiling.
M gives me a strange look. I glare at him.
“Well, I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
He looks to N, then back to me.
“Your wives are gone.”
N and I stare at him a moment.
“Yeah, they watched a few episodes of Orange is the New Black with me and then stood up and said something in Russian, then, just, left.”
M shrugs guiltily.
“What did they say,” N asks.
M says something in Russian. N laughs.
“What?” I ask.
“They said,” he smirks, “men are weak now.”
I look at M. “Couldn’t have told us before?”
“I tried,” M says, “you didn’t want to listen. You were so desperate to raise this guy.”
He motions to the air right beside me. I turn. One of the dead men stands right beside me. He grabs hold of my hand. He says something in Russian I don’t catch. His breath is awful. He smiles.
I turn to N. “What did he say?”
N gives me a pitying look.
“What did he say?” I repeat.
“He said,” N swallows, “since you brought him back to life, he is bound to you now.”
“Oh, come on!”
M steps forward. He places his hand on my shoulder, comfortingly.
“At least he isn’t pregnant.”