In the rain-soaked remnants of Hunt, Texas, where the echoes of a catastrophic night still lingered. The Texas Hill Country, once a haven of rolling hills and serene rivers, had been transformed into a landscape of despair by the relentless floods that began on July 4, 2025. Among the hardest-hit sites was Camp Mystic, an all-girls Christian summer camp in Kerr County, where 27 lives were lost, including co-owners Richard “Dick” Eastland and Jane Ragsdale, and five campers, with 10 still missing. In the midst of this tragedy, a 13-year-old survivor, Mia Thompson from Austin, emerged with a harrowing account that captures the terror and faith of that fateful night. Her words—“The whole cabin was praying a lot and terrified”—paint a vivid picture of a desperate evacuation, a moment of collective fear and hope that has left an indelible mark on her young soul. As rescue efforts continue and the community grapples with loss, Mia’s story offers a window into the chaos and courage that defined Camp Mystic’s darkest hour.

The Calm Before the Storm

Camp Mystic, a century-old institution along the Guadalupe River, had welcomed girls aged 7 to 16 for a summer of faith, friendship, and outdoor adventure. Mia Thompson, a soft-spoken eighth-grader with a love for nature and choir, arrived on June 28, 2025, eager for her first time away from home. The camp’s rustic cabins, shaded by towering oaks, and its nightly prayer circles had quickly become her sanctuary. On July 3, the air carried a hint of rain, but the forecast predicted only light showers—nothing to suggest the deluge that would soon engulf the region. That evening, Mia and her cabin mates, a group of 12 girls aged 12 to 14, gathered for vespers, their voices rising in hymns under a sky tinged with orange. “It felt peaceful,” Mia later recalled, her voice trembling as she spoke to a local reporter on July 9. “We were laughing, talking about the canoe races the next day.”

The night deepened, and by 1:00 AM on July 4, the first drops fell, a gentle patter against the cabin roof. Mia, bunked near the window, watched the rain with curiosity, unaware that the Guadalupe River, just 50 yards away, was swelling beyond its banks. The camp’s counselors, including a young woman named Sarah, checked in periodically, reassuring the girls that all was well. But by 2:00 AM, the patter turned to a roar, and the cabin floor began to feel damp. Panic stirred as water seeped under the door, and Sarah’s voice, usually calm, took on an urgent edge. “Girls, get your shoes on—we need to move,” she called, her flashlight cutting through the darkness as the storm intensified.

The Onset of Terror

At 2:15 AM, the true scale of the disaster became clear. The Guadalupe River, swollen by over 12 inches of rain in mere hours, burst its banks with a force that shook the earth. Mia’s cabin, one of 10 scattered across Camp Mystic, was suddenly inundated, water rising to ankle depth in minutes. The girls screamed, their voices a chaotic chorus as they scrambled for their belongings, guided by Sarah’s frantic shouts. “The whole cabin was praying a lot and terrified,” Mia said, her eyes wide with the memory. “We were holding hands, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, but the water kept coming, and I could hear things breaking outside.”

The prayer, a reflex born of the camp’s Christian ethos, became their lifeline. Mia, clutching her rosary, led the group in a shaky rendition, her voice quivering as the cabin walls groaned under the pressure. The floorboards creaked, and a window shattered, sending glass and water spraying inward. Sarah, now wading through the flood, urged them toward the door, where the water was chest-high for the younger girls. “We were so scared,” Mia recalled. “I thought we were going to drown, and I kept praying for my mom to know I loved her.”

Outside, the scene was apocalyptic. Cabins collapsed like dominoes, their wooden frames splintering under the current. Camp co-owner Richard Eastland, a towering figure known for his booming laugh, emerged from the administration building, his flashlight beam cutting through the chaos. He and Jane Ragsdale, his co-director, had been coordinating evacuations, their silhouettes visible as they carried younger campers to higher ground. “Mr. Eastland was yelling for us to follow him,” Mia said, her voice breaking. “He saved so many, but the water was too fast.”

The Desperate Evacuation

By 2:30 AM, the evacuation was a race against time. Eastland and Ragsdale led groups toward a hill 200 yards away, where counselors had established a makeshift refuge. Mia’s cabin, one of the last to be reached, faced a harrowing journey. The water, now thigh-deep, pulled at their legs, and the darkness was pierced only by sporadic flashlight beams. “We were holding onto each other so tight,” Mia said. “Sarah was in front, pulling us, and I could hear her praying too.” The girls’ prayers mingled with cries, a desperate plea for salvation as the current threatened to sweep them away.

The hill, a muddy incline dotted with trees, offered temporary safety, but the ascent was treacherous. Mia slipped, her knee scraping against a rock, but a counselor hauled her up, her rosary still clutched in her hand. Eastland, carrying a 9-year-old girl, shouted instructions, his voice hoarse but commanding. “Keep moving, girls—God’s with us!” he called, a mantra that steadied their nerves. Yet, at 3:00 AM, a massive wave surged through, separating the group. Mia watched in horror as Eastland and Ragsdale were swept under, their figures vanishing into the torrent. “I saw him go under with that little girl,” she sobbed. “I’ll never forget it.”

The remaining girls, including Mia, reached the hill, where 15 others had already gathered. Counselors counted heads, their faces grim as they realized the full extent of the loss. The water continued to rise, and the hill became an island, isolating them until rescue teams arrived at dawn. Mia, shivering and tear-streaked, clung to her cabin mates, their prayers now a quiet murmur as shock set in. “We just kept praying,” she said. “It was all we had left.”

Rescue and Aftermath

At 6:00 AM, military personnel and local firefighters reached the hill, airlifting the survivors to safety. Mia, among the last to be hoisted into a helicopter, looked down at the devastation—cabins reduced to matchsticks, the river a churning beast. The rescue operation, ongoing as of 04:55 AM on July 11, has recovered 27 bodies, including Eastland, Ragsdale, and five campers, with 10 still missing. The Texas National Guard, deployed under Governor Greg Abbott’s emergency declaration, continues to search, their efforts hampered by the flood’s scale.

Mia’s family, reached in Austin, rushed to Kerr County, where she was reunited with them at a relief center. Her mother, Laura Thompson, described the ordeal: “She called me at 7:00 AM, crying, saying they’d prayed all night. I’ve never been so scared.” Mia’s account, shared with a Kerrville Daily Times reporter on July 9, has become a focal point for the community’s grief. “The whole cabin was praying a lot and terrified,” she repeated, her voice a mix of trauma and resilience. The phrase has resonated on X, with posts like “13-year-old Mia’s story from Camp Mystic breaks my heart. #TexasFloods” garnering thousands of reactions.

The Emotional Toll

Mia’s recollection reveals the psychological weight of the night. The constant praying, a coping mechanism taught at camp, offered a thread of hope amidst terror. “It felt like God was listening, but I didn’t know if we’d make it,” she said, her hands fidgeting with her rosary. The loss of Eastland and Ragsdale, figures she’d come to trust, deepened her trauma. A child psychologist at the relief center noted that Mia’s repeated focus on prayer suggests a need to process the fear through faith, a common response in crisis.

The camp’s Christian framework, with its emphasis on prayer and community, shaped the girls’ reactions. Counselors had drilled emergency drills, but nothing prepared them for the flood’s ferocity. Mia’s cabin mates, now scattered across Texas, share similar accounts, their stories weaving a tapestry of survival and loss. The community has rallied, with vigils held on July 10 at Kerr County’s courthouse, candles flickering for the fallen, including Eastland, whose sacrifice Mia credits with her survival.

A Lasting Impact

As of 04:55 AM on July 11, 2025, Camp Mystic’s future hangs in the balance, its physical and emotional scars deep. Mia’s story, captured in her raw honesty, has inspired a GoFundMe raising $200,000 for survivors and rebuilding, with donors moved by her courage. “She’s a hero in her own right,” a donor posted on X. The floods, claiming 82 lives statewide with 41 still missing, have prompted calls for better flood preparedness, with some blaming the camp’s riverside location.

Mia’s words—“The whole cabin was praying a lot and terrified”—encapsulate a night of terror turned to survival, a testament to human spirit amid nature’s wrath. Her memory of Eastland’s final act, guiding them to safety, and the prayers that sustained her, offer a beacon of hope. As Hunt rebuilds, her story will linger, a reminder of resilience forged in the darkest hours, where faith and fear danced in the floodwaters of Camp Mystic.