My Parents Raised Us for the Apocalypse… When I Turned 16, Their “Final Test” Turned Into a Real Hunt – Part 2

The SD card slides out easily and I hold it in my palm for a second. This tiny piece of plastic that might save our lives. I tuck it into my sports bra and snap the elastic tight. Even if they catch me and search my pockets, they won’t find it there. Whatever happens now, there’s evidence.

Men hunting children with rifles. All recorded in perfect digital clarity. I climb back down and head northeast, moving fast despite the pain in my leg. I know Luna’s patterns from years of training together. She always chooses dense cover over open ground. She moves slow and careful instead of fast and loud. If she’s following her instincts, she’ll pass through the area near the old creek bed where the brush grows thick enough to hide in.

I find a spot where three large rocks form a natural shelter, and I cash half my remaining water there. I use a piece of chalk from my pocket to mark the largest rock with three dots arranged in a triangle. It’s our secret sister code. Something we made up when we were little and kept hidden from everyone else. Three dots means safe or from me, depending on context.

Luna will know I left this for her. She’ll know I’m trying to help, even if I can’t reach her directly. I cover the water bottle with leaves and moss so it’s hidden but findable. Then move on before anyone can spot me lingering. 20 yards later, I stop at a birch tree with smooth white bark. I pull out my knife and carve a small arrow pointing northeast toward the logging road.

Below the arrow, I add our family code. three short lines that mean safe path. Dad created dozens of these codes for navigation and communication during training. He never thought we’d use them to escape from him. If any of my siblings find this mark, they’ll understand. They’ll know which direction leads away from danger. My hand is cramping by the time I finish, and I have to shake it out to get feeling back.

The carved arrow looks obvious to me, but I’m hoping the hunters won’t notice it or won’t understand what it means if they do. I hear heavy footsteps crashing through the brush behind me. Someone’s coming fast and not bothering to be quiet about it. I drop into a crouch and grab a rock the size of my fist. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

The footsteps get closer and I can hear the person breathing hard from running. I wait until they’re maybe 30 ft away and then I throw the rock as hard as I can into the brush off to my left. It hits something solid with a loud crack and the hunter immediately changes direction, crashing toward the noise like I knew he would.

I slip away to the right while he’s distracted, moving fast on the balls of my feet the way mom taught us. The misdirection buys me maybe 2 minutes before he figures out the trick, but 2 minutes is enough to put distance between us. Through a gap in the trees, I catch a glimpse of movement and my breath catches. It’s Gabe.

He’s maybe 40 yards away, moving with a bad limp. That means he’s hurt. His shirt is torn and I can see blood on his arm. Even from this distance, every instinct screams at me to go to him, to help him. But I can’t. If I call out, the hunters will hear. If I run to him, I’ll give away both our positions. The best thing I can do for him is leave a warning he’ll recognize.

I break three leaves off a low branch and arrange them in a specific pattern on the ground. Points all facing down. It’s another one of dad’s codes. This one meaning danger close. Stay hidden. Gabe will see it and understand. I watch him disappear into the trees and force myself to keep moving in the opposite direction.

Cold rain starts falling and within minutes I’m soaked through. My teeth start chattering and I can feel my core temperature dropping. Hypothermia is a real danger now. Maybe more dangerous than the hunters. I know I need heat, but building a fire is risky. The smoke will give away my location to anyone within a half mile.

But if I don’t warm up soon, I won’t be able to move well enough to evade them anyway. I find a rock overhang that provides some shelter from the rain and gather dry tinder from underneath where it’s protected. Mom taught us this method years ago, building a tiny fire that produces more heat than smoke. I arrange the tinder carefully under the overhang and use my knife to strike sparks off a piece of flint from my pocket.

It takes six tries, but finally the tinder catches. I feed it carefully with small dry twigs, keeping the flame small and hot. The warmth feels incredible against my frozen hands. I know I can only risk this for a few minutes before the smoke becomes too dangerous. But those few minutes might be the difference between keeping my ability to think clearly and losing it to the cold.

I’m about to put out the fire when I hear someone moving nearby. Really nearby. Close enough that I can smell his sweat mixing with the rain. My whole body goes rigid. One of the hunters steps into view, maybe 10 ft away, and his eyes lock on me. For a split second, we both freeze. Then he lunges forward and grabs my jacket with both hands.

The training kicks in automatically. The wristbreak escape dad drilled into us hundreds of times until it became muscle memory. I twist my body hard to the right while bringing my arm up and over his grip, breaking his hold. But he doesn’t let go fast enough and I hear something crack in his hand. He screams in pain and stumbles backward.

I stare at him for a second, horrified. I actually hurt someone. I broke something in his hand. The sound of it cracking replays in my head and I feel sick. He was trying to catch me, but I never wanted to actually hurt anyone. The man is cradling his hand against his chest and cursing, his face twisted in pain.

I should run, but I’m frozen, watching what my training made me capable of doing to another person. Then he reaches for his rifle with his good hand, and survival instinct finally kicks in. I turn and sprint into the trees, leaving him behind with his broken hand and his anger, my stomach still churning with guilt and fear.

I duck behind a fallen tree to catch my breath, and that’s when I see dad standing maybe 50 yards away with one of his buddies. They’re both laughing and dad slaps the other guy on the back while saying something I can’t quite hear. The buddy nods and grins and dad points toward the east where I know Luna ran.

My chest gets tight watching them joke around like this is some fun weekend activity instead of hunting their own kids with real bullets. Dad checks his watch and says something else that makes them both laugh harder. I press my hand against the rough bark of the fallen tree and feel something inside me crack apart. Not break exactly, but shift into a new shape that I know won’t ever fit back together the way it was before.

These are the people who were supposed to protect us. And instead, they turned us into targets for their sick game. I force myself to look away and keep moving because watching them enjoy this will only make me freeze up when I need to run. I push through thick brush until my legs burn and finally stop when I’m sure they can’t see me anymore.

My calf is still bleeding through the makeshift bandage from the barbed wire. And every step sends sharp pain up my leg. I need to do something about it or I’ll leave a blood trail they can follow. I’m searching the area when I spot something metal half buried under leaves and rotted wood. I dig it out and find an old Trail Crew lock box that’s rusted orange and covered in dirt.

The latch is stuck, but I pry it open with my knife. And inside there’s a few bandages still in sealed packages and some antiseptic wipes that are dried out, but might still work. My hands shake as I unwrap the bandage on my calf and see how deep the cut actually goes. The edges are ragged and dirt is already getting in there.

I rip open an antiseptic wipe and press it against the wound and have to bite my lip to keep from making noise because it burns like fire. I clean it as best I can and then wrap it tight with the new bandages. My hands moving steady even though my heart is racing. The bleeding slows down and I can move better without leaving drops behind me.

I shove the extra bandages in my pocket and keep going north through the densest part of the forest. Something nags at my memory and then I remember the prepaid phone I hid 6 months ago when mom sent me to town for supplies. She watched me the whole time. But there was one moment in the store when she was arguing with the clerk about prices and I grabbed a cheap phone and stuffed it in my jacket.

I paid for it with money I’d been saving from odd jobs and hid it on the way home. My heart starts pounding as I try to remember exactly where I put it. There was a hollow tree near the old deer trail, maybe a mile from here. I change direction and start moving faster, even though my leg screams in protest.

It takes 20 minutes of searching before I find the right tree with the hollow at chest height. I reach inside and my fingers close around the phone wrapped in a plastic bag. I pull it out and power it on and watch the screen light up. One flickering bar of signal appears in the corner and I almost cry with relief. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone steady.

I dial 911 and wait while it tries to connect. The call goes through and I hear a woman’s voice say something, but the connection is terrible and cutting in and out. I try to talk fast and tell her kids are being hunted with live ammunition, but the call drops after maybe 10 seconds. I frantically type out a text message with kids hunted with live ammunition and add our approximate location based on the landmarks I can see.

My finger hovers over send and I hit it and watch the little circle spin while it tries to go through. The signal drops to nothing and I don’t know if the message sent or not. I stare at the phone willing the signal to come back, but it stays dead. I don’t know if anyone got my message or if help is coming, but it’s the only chance we have.

I’m about to try calling again when I hear something that makes my blood go cold. Luna is crying somewhere to the east and the sound carries through the trees. Every instinct in my body screams at me to go to her right now. She’s only 12 and she’s out here alone and scared and I promised myself I wouldn’t let them hurt her. But going to her means abandoning my plan to reach the main road where I might be able to flag down a car or find help.

I stand there frozen for maybe 5 seconds, weighing my options. Then I hear her cry again, and the decision makes itself. Luna needs me more than I need escape. I shove the phone in my pocket and start running toward her voice. I find her huddled under a deadfall with her knees pulled up to her chest and her whole body shaking.

She’s soaking wet from the rain and her lips have a blue tint that means she’s getting too cold. I drop down next to her and pull her into a quick hug and feel how small she is. I give her my water bottle, even though I only have a few sips left and she drinks it all without stopping. I whisper instructions as fast as I can about following the creek bed west until she hits the logging road and then waiting there because help might be coming.

I try to sound confident like I know exactly what I’m doing, even though I’m just as scared as she is. She nods and grabs my hand and I squeeze back before letting go. I tell her to move now and stay low and she crawls out from under the deadfall and disappears into the brush. I wait 30 seconds to make sure she’s clear and then I start moving in the opposite direction.

I deliberately break branches at shoulder height and leave deep footprints in every muddy patch I can find. I even drop my compass on the ground where they’ll see it if they’re tracking me. If they follow this trail, then they’re not following Luna, and that’s all that matters. I keep making noise and leaving obvious signs for maybe 10 minutes until I’m far enough away from where Luna went.

Then I hear a man yelling in pain somewhere behind me, and the sound is raw and shocked. I freeze and listen and realize he’s caught in something. My stomach drops as I remember the snare traps I set in this area months ago during one of Dad’s training exercises. I was supposed to check them and take them down, but I forgot.

And now someone’s caught in one. The guilt hits me hard because I never meant to actually hurt anyone. I just wanted to slow them down or make them think twice about coming after us. But now someone is in real pain because of something I did, and I feel sick about it. I force myself to keep moving because I can’t help him without getting caught myself.

His yelling gets quieter as I put distance between us, but I can still hear it echoing in my head. I’m moving through a drainage ditch when I spot a culvert running under what used to be a logging road. I crawl inside and press myself against the concrete and try to control my breathing. That’s when I hear the radio chatter above me.

Two men are standing right on top of the culvert and their voices carry down through the metal grate. They’re coordinating search patterns and calling out time checks and one of them says they need to sweep the eastern section again. I memorize every detail I can about their positions and timing because it might matter later if we survive this.

They mention checking the creek bed and my heart stops because that’s where I sent Luna. I grip the phone in my pocket and silently beg them to go a different direction. After what feels like forever, they move on, and I wait another 5 minutes before crawling out. The phone battery icon is flashing red, and I know it’s almost dead.

I power it down completely to preserve whatever charge is left, because those 911 text logs are the only proof of what’s happening out here. If anyone ever needs evidence of what our parents did to us, then that phone has it saved. The evidence matters, even if I don’t make it out of these woods alive. I crawl out of the culvert, and the rain hits my face hard enough to sting.

Through the gray sheets of water, I can barely make out the old logging road about 200 yards away. A truck moves slowly along it, and the sight makes my chest tight because this might be our only chance. I push up from the mud and start running toward the road with no cover and no plan except getting help right now.

My legs burn and the gash on my calf tears open wider with each step. But I keep going. The truck is getting farther away and I wave my arms over my head and scream even though the rain probably swallows the sound. The brake lights flash red and the truck slows down and I run even harder. I reach the edge of the road just as the driver rolls down his window and his eyes go wide when he sees me.

I know I look bad with mud covering my clothes and blood running down my leg and my hair plastered to my face. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off and point back at the woods. I tell him men are hunting kids with guns in those woods and my voice comes out shaky but clear. His face changes from confused to angry in about 2 seconds and he pulls out his phone.

He tells me to get in the truck, but I shake my head because I need to do something first. He’s already dialing 911 and talking fast while I back away from the truck. I hear him say something about armed men and children in danger and the words make it feel more real. I run back toward the culvert area because the phone and SD card are still there and I need to hide them better.

My hands shake as I dig under the concrete edge and find the phone where I left it. I look around for a rock formation that I’ll remember and spot three boulders stacked in a weird way about 30 ft from the culvert. I shove the phone and SD card deep into a crack between the bottom two rocks and cover it with smaller stones and dead leaves.

If they catch me now, at least the evidence stays safe and someone will find it eventually. I turn to head back to the truck and almost trip over Gabe crouched in the brush. His face is pale and his hands are shaking and there’s a cut above his eye that’s still bleeding. I grab his arm and tell him to come with me right now because help is coming and we can get out of here.

He pulls away and shakes his head hard. He says he can’t fail the family by giving up and the words sound like they came straight from dad’s mouth. And I want to scream at him that this isn’t about passing some test, but I keep my voice low. I tell him the family already failed us by doing this and going to live with relatives isn’t failure.

I tell him it’s escape from people who hurt us on purpose. His eyes flicker with something that might be doubt, but he still won’t move. I can see him fighting with himself and I wish I had more time to convince him. Voices drift through the trees and they’re getting closer fast. I make a choice in about half a second and shove Gabe hard toward the road.

He stumbles forward and catches himself and I pray he keeps going that direction. I run the opposite way and make as much noise as I can so they follow me instead of him. Branches slap my face and thorns tear at my arms, but I push through. A gunshot cracks behind me and I hear the bullet hit rocks somewhere to my left.

Stone chips spray against my back and sting through my wet shirt. My lungs feel like they’re on fire, but I keep running because stopping means getting caught or shot. I use every trick dad taught us about moving through terrain and cut through a section I know has thick brush that slows people down. I can hear someone crashing through behind me, but they’re not as fast because they don’t know this area like I do.

I circle back using a dry creek bed that’s hidden by overhanging trees. My breath comes in hard gasps and my leg is screaming, but I force myself to keep moving. Through a gap in the trees, I see dad and my whole body goes cold. He’s got Luna by the arm and his fingers are digging in hard enough that I can see white marks on her skin.

She’s trying to sit down and he yanks her up rough. His face is red and angry and he’s saying something I can’t hear from this distance. Luna’s leg gives out and she starts to drop again. Dad pulls his hand back and hits her leg hard with his open palm. The sound carries across the space between us and Luna cries out.

Something hot and sharp fills my chest, and it’s different from any feeling I’ve had before. I stay hidden in the brush and force myself to watch instead of running out there. I look at the sun position through the rainclouds and figure it’s around 2:00 in the afternoon. I memorize the exact spot where they’re standing near three pine trees that form a triangle.

I listen to every word dad says about her being weak and useless and how she’s going to get the whole family killed. I watch him strike her leg again when she can’t stand up fast enough. My hands curl into fists so tight, my nails cut into my palms. I’m making a record in my head of every single detail because someone is going to listen to us eventually.

And when they do, I’ll remember all of this. The sound starts far away, but gets louder fast. That rising and falling whale of sirens cutting through the rain and trees. Dad’s head snaps up, and I see his whole face change from angry to something else, something closer to afraid. The men with rifles freeze where they’re standing, and one of them starts talking fast into a radio.