Bleeders Read Online Free

way through the crowd. It didn't take much effort- most of the spectators hightailed it the moment they saw a cop uniform, as anyone did in that neighborhood.
    With the crowd thinned out, I got a good luck at the fighter who was making a mess of the Purple Palace's security. He was a big bastard, probably six-three, with layers of worn-out clothes. He had the homeless look that if you've seen once you've seen a million times- sun-dried hair, bronzed skin, though he obviously took better care of himself than most. He didn't look like a junkie or a drunk, just like someone who spent his days on the street, and his nights God-knows-where.
    On the ground a few feet from him, another homeless man was being held to the ground by a second bouncer and two more guys, probably good Samaritans, though they struggled to keep him down. He had some harder miles on him than the first guy, but he also had a deranged look on his face that was all too familiar to me. He looked so much like Peter, the way he'd charged at me in that office, that a chill ran down my back. He gnashed his teeth at the men holding him down as they screamed at him to calm down. One of the men had a bloody hand where I assume the homeless guy's gnashing teeth found their mark.
    I could barely hear what was going on through the car window, but I made out Officer Miller shouting at the crowd to back up. At the same time Diaz approached the fighter and told him to stop, but the man yelled back at him, saying something like, "Tell them to let him go!" while swinging wildly at anyone who got near him. Diaz reassured him that his friend would be safe, but the guy didn't believe him. He didn't make the mistake of trying to lash out at the officers, but he also didn't let the men get close to him, either. He didn't look deranged, though, not like his friend on the ground.
    He looked scared.
    My eyes started to feel puffy and heavy with fever, and my skin felt burning hot one second and ice cold the next. All of a sudden I wanted to drink something with ice in it more than I ever had in my life. Maybe it was because my throat felt like I'd swallowed a bag of rusty needles. As the two officers closed in on the fighter, my vision began to tunnel.
    There was no ignoring it anymore, something was seriously wrong with me. This wasn't just simple blood loss like I kept telling myself- it was an infection. I took long, deep breaths and fought the urge to pass out. My face, my back and my chest instantly became covered in a film of cold sweat. Bile rose up in the back of my throat.
    I don't know how, maybe sheer stubbornness, but I managed to keep from passing out. With slow breathing I brought the light back into my eyes and felt the nausea subside. My hands shook as I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
    When I finally felt mostly back to normal, I looked out the rear passenger window to see what was going on with the fight. I was surprised to find the crowd was completely gone, including the two homeless guys and Miller and Diaz.
    "How long was I out of it," I asked no one.
    BANG. Something crashed into the other side of the car. I jumped, and nearly cracked myself in the face with my bound hands. It sounded like a psychotic animal, a ram or something, butting the cop car.
    Even that would have been better than what it really was.
    A man's face was smashed up against the rear window on the driver's side, staring at me with wild eyes that were the same red as Peter's, each one a violent hemorrhage. I met his stare uncomfortably, frozen in my seat out of pure fear, though if I even could move, I don't think I would have tried.
    The way he looked at me was inhuman.
    He leaned back and smashed his face into the glass. CRACK. His nose broke. CRACK. He smashed into it again, this time leaving behind a smear of blood. Still he didn't break eye contact as he did it again.
    Behind him I became aware of Diaz trying to regain control of the crazed man. Most of the crowd had gotten into the