The first two pargraphs

I left on the fifty-seventh day. After what I decided was one too many blood draws. At first I was glad to contribute, to keep those in my town from dying. That’s what the people in authority informed me that I had the power to do. A vial a day didn’t seem likely to cause me harm. After all I’m an immune. One of less then a hundred in the country.

After a month I began to feel weak. It’s nothing they told me. You’ll feel better after a good meal and a day or two of rest. Then while I rested in my tiny riverside house I witnessed the bodies offloaded from unmarked vans being carried to a large deep-sea fishing boat tied to a remote access dock. I stopped counting at sixty-three knowing there would be more to come.