Villain Academy #JustWriteIt [WATTY AWARD WINNER OF 2015]

+ the 14 with sand in my shoes +

"Why did we stop?" 

I marched over to the railing, watching as the Civilians laid out the plank that stretched across to the sand dune on the other side.

"This is as far as we go with the blimp," Trent answered. 

Shouts to move and pack up rose among the aircraft, Civilians collecting whatever goods they could get their hands on. 

"How come?"  I glanced up as clear skies looked back at me without a cloud in sight.

"Passing Villain territory involves not getting caught, sugar cakes," Trent answered, lugging a rifle on his back. 

I raised a brow and watched the big boned men carry wooden crates on their backs.  "Those crates."  I counted three and laid my gaze over what seemed to be almost a hundred Civilians preparing to depart the blimp.  "That supply is enough food for how many days?"

Trent was already ahead of me, shouting over his shoulder.  "They'll last us about three hours."

"You're shitting sandwiches," Roger said.  The freshmeat stuck his bottom lip out and jerked his head up at me.  "He's shitting sandwiches, isn't he?"  

I tugged on the rope around his waist and yanked him close to my side.  "You don't get to talk remember?" 

"The topic of food is an exception," he answered back, miserably trying to loosen the rope. 

"There is no exception, you backstabbing liar," I snapped and yanked him towards the line of Civilians.  He grumbled a nasty word I refused to repeat, and pulled him even harder to the line.  "You don't get to speak," I ordered.

"You don't get to speak," he mocked in a snobbish voice and snickered. 

"Asshole," I muttered and peered over the line of Civilians.  People began picking up the pace as people paraded off, bags or hands on their head to fend back the sun.  I heard rustling and complaints and I followed the Civilians attention as our eyes drew to the back of the line.  Archer and Lance wrestled against their metal cuffs, bruised and furious. 

I faced forward, keeping them behind me as I moved with the rest.  By the time our sandals sunk into the sand dune, it was still midday and not a breeze blew by.   

The Civilians marched off in a big pack, moving fast through the dunes.  I caught up with Trent who moved in the middle of the pack, asking Civilians if they needed a load off of their backs or needed a drink.

"Who'd think Civilians were kind," Roger said with a harsh laugh.  Lately, his backbone was much stronger, smile more crooked than usual. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"  I returned the glare of Civilians as their tired eyes took in the leash in my hand and Roger trekking behind.

"They're supposed to be monsters like us," Roger replied, kicking the sand under his feet.  "Except poorer.  Crazier.  Dirtier."

I barked a laugh.  "I didn't know such thing existed.  Dirtier than a Villain?" 

Roger shrugged.  "They had nothing after the Heroes and Villains collided in war.  A crazier Civilian lived longer than a sane one."  He paused and shrugged again.  "That's what Villain Academy taught us anyway."

I didn't respond, and searched for Trent again, spotting that slicked back purple hair out of the sea of hats and bandanas.  I tugged Roger to follow—no that he had a choice, snaking through the crowd and touched the Civilian's rolled up sleeve.  "Hey." 

Trent turned over his shoulder and flashed that childish smile.  "Hey yourself." 

"Where are we going?" I demanded.  I spread my arm out.  "There's nothing out here."