She grabbed the oar just as she heard voices from the other side of the river. She looked up. The villagers had spotted her. Several men and boys were running toward the bridge on the far bank. Others motioned to the two men in the motorized boat. She glanced upstream and saw the men untying the craft. They backed the boat away from the pier and aimed it toward her. She rowed with all her strength toward the bridge. The villagers had reached it and were crossing toward her. She imagined the shower of arrows that might rain upon her at any moment.

The motorized boat was gaining on her. The men were gesturing frantically, signaling, she thought, the men on the bridge, who were shouting and waving their arms. She didn’t see weapons, but that didn’t assuage her fear.

She ducked her head as her canoe shot under the bridge and out the other side. She looked back. The villagers were still screaming and waving, but none made hostile movements. The motorized boat slowed and stopped next to the bridge.

She breathed deeply. She had survived.

Slowly she turned her face downstream. The current had picked up considerably. She heard a low, rumbling noise like the sound of an approaching drenching rain. The roar grew. Despite her furious attempt to paddle to the shore, the river pulled her inexorably forward.

She entered the rapids between two large boulders on the left side of the river. It took all her fading strength to steer the canoe bow-first down them. The waters churned beneath her as countless rocks passed by.

She spotted a small island ahead. At its tip was a boulder twice her height. She paddled furiously to the right, where the rapids had ebbed, to no avail. The current pulled her to the left. She paddled with all her might as the rock came upon her. The bow of the canoe struck it and flipped her to the left.

Her craft sped horizontally down the rapids. I have to straighten it. She dug her oar into the water. The dugout began swinging to the left, stern first. She thrust her paddle to parry an oncoming boulder. The paddle struck it with such force that it tossed her into the bottom of the canoe and her oar into the air. She bolted upright only to see it hit the water and disappear down a ferocious whirlpool.

Now she was impotent.

She turned to face the onslaught of the river. The canoe bobbed and weaved in the rapids, sprays of water assaulting its passenger from all sides. She became aware of another low, thundering noise. Ahead she saw a violent churning beyond which the river seemed to disappear.

Terror overcame her. She planted her face near the floor of the dugout and endured the battering of rocks, wondering if the canoe would be smashed to pieces even before the falls.