Abby bit down on her cracked lip, feeling the split widen and tasting the blood. She stared into the darkness and thought about what to do next. She picked up her paddle. Row. She could only row.

When her arms gave out and she felt barely conscious, she lay down again in the dugout and slept. She woke with the sun, moving her hands to scrape away the feasting mosquitoes. Her arms throbbed. She reached to the back of her head and felt a knot. Her hair was matted with dried blood.

She sat upright and surveyed her surroundings. She had entered a new river: wider, lazier, the color a milky brown. On its sides the trees overhung the water in sweeping arches. Vines, branches, and epiphytes twisted together to form intricate tapestries, often so thick that the bank was hidden from view.

Midmorning the terrain changed. She passed a series of cliffs straddling the river. The current grew swifter. She heard a noise ahead—one foreign to the jungle. The hum was mechanical, an engine of some kind. Whatever it was, she wanted to avoid an encounter with those producing it. She had no idea what tribe inhabited this part of the river or whether they would allow her safe passage.

She steered the dugout to the far side of the river. Looking back across the water, she saw the source of the noise—a motorized boat with two men, idling next to a pier. Behind the pier lay a village of perhaps a hundred wood houses on stilts. Spanning the river, past the pier, was a wooden bridge. She guided the canoe between the riverbank and the curtain of vines overhanging it. The flora would hide her long enough to reach the bridge.

Once she was behind the curtain, vine after vine scraped against her. She heard a thump in the stern and jerked her head around. She heard another thump in the bow and turned back. Two death adders had joined her. She raised her paddle and brought it down upon the second one, killing it instantly. The first flared and struck, biting her left leg. Abby spun around and cried out, the pain searing through her calf. She grabbed the creature, pulled it out of her flesh, and flung it into the water.

She had to get out from behind the vines, but there were no easy exits. She aimed the canoe straight toward the tapestry, bent down low, and crashed through. The impact knocked her on her back. She raised her head and scanned the dugout. No more snakes had joined her. She turned to examine her leg, which had already begun to swell. If she’d had a knife, she would have cut it and sucked out the venom. She bent down and drained as much as she could, wincing and clenching her jaw in efforts to stay quiet.