Kili's face was etched with pain, and he looked to his godmother helplessly as she lead him towards the edge. "You're hurt," he protested, unable to tell that the blood on her face was black, a telltale sign of orc blood. Wincing, he bit down onto the fabric as firmly as he could, suppressing a scream from the removal of the shaft. The arrow came out in one piece, and for that he was fortunate.
Once Kili got to his barrel, he sank down to the bottom, eyes squeezed shut. This was going to make the rest of the journey very, very difficult. Much of their travel had been on foot. 

The river raged rampant, and the waters swirled around them. The barrels were headed towards a waterfall, and Bilbo clung to Nori's barrel for dear life, drenched clean through with water. Orcs pursued them on either side of the river, and the company worked to fight them off as best they could.

Using a sword he'd taken from an orc, Thorin tossed it to Bofur who tossed it to Dwalin. Together, they killed one orc, and then Dwalin used his axe to split the log crossing over them. All the while, Tauriel ran to keep up, shooting and cutting down any orc in their path.