My Parents Raised Us for the Apocalypse… When I Turned 16, Their “Final Test” Turned Into a Real Hunt – Part 3

Dad yanks Luna to her feet and barks orders at his buddies to scatter, to get out of here now. And suddenly the hunters who were chasing us are running away through the woods. I stay hidden and watch them crash through brush in different directions, leaving gear behind in their rush to disappear. Dad drags Luna a few steps, then lets go of her arm and takes off running himself, abandoning her in the middle of the clearing.

Luna drops to the ground and curls into a ball, and I want to run to her, but the sirens are so close now that I need to wait for the right moment. Through the trees, I see the flash of red and blue lights on the old logging road. Car doors slam, and I hear voices calling out official words about sheriff’s department and showing yourself.

My whole body is shaking as I step out of the brush with both hands raised as high as I can get them. A deputy in a tan uniform spots me immediately and his hand goes to his gun, but he doesn’t draw it. I keep my hands up and try to make my voice work, but it comes out as a croak at first. The deputy moves closer and tells me to stay where I am, that I’m okay, and I nod because I can’t find words yet.

My legs feel like they might give out, but I force myself to stay standing because I need to tell them everything right now before anyone gets away. Another deputy comes up beside the first one, and this one has a name tag that says Brooks. He’s older with gray in his hair, and when he looks at me, his expression goes from alert to concerned.

He asks if I’m hurt, and I shake my head, even though that’s not exactly true. Then the words start pouring out of me so fast I almost trip over them. I tell him my sister Luna is right there in that clearing about 30 yards east, and she can’t walk well because dad hit her leg. I tell him my brother Gabe ran toward the road earlier and might be hiding near the culvert.

I tell him my oldest brother Caleb is still out here somewhere and I haven’t seen him since the hunt started. I tell him the men have live ammunition, not rubber rounds, and they were actually shooting at us with real bullets. Deputy Brook’s face goes hard and angry when I say that last part, and he radios for more units immediately, speaking in codes I don’t fully understand, but I catch the words armed subjects and endangered minors.

He tells me I’m safe now and nothing bad is going to happen to me anymore. The words don’t feel real yet because safe isn’t something I know how to recognize after 8 years of training that taught me nowhere is ever truly safe. More deputies arrive within minutes and they spread out to secure the area, calling out to each other as they move through the woods in pairs.

I see one of them find Luna and kneel down beside her and she flinches away from him at first before he talks to her in a calm voice. Through the trees, I spot Dad trying to run and two deputies chase after him. He’s fast because he trained himself as hard as he trained us, but the deputies are faster and they tackle him hard into the mud.

Part of me feels sick watching my own father get forced to the ground with his hands pulled behind his back. Part of me feels relief so strong it makes my knees weak. Relief that he can’t hurt us anymore, that someone finally stopped him. They put handcuffs on him and pull him to his feet and he’s yelling something about his rights and illegal search.

One of the deputies is leading Luna toward an ambulance that just arrived and she’s limping badly, leaning on him for support. Deputy Brooks asks if I can walk and I nod. Then he tells me I need to show him where I hid the evidence I mentioned. We move through the woods toward the culvert and my legs are shaking so bad I almost fall twice, but I keep going.

I find the rock formation exactly where I left it and dig underneath until my fingers close around the phone and the SD card. My hands are trembling as I hand them over to Brooks and he looks at both items carefully, turning them over like they’re precious. He pulls out his own phone and uses an adapter to view the trail camera footage right there in the woods.

I watch his face as he scrolls through the clips and his expression goes darker with each one, his jaw getting tighter and tighter. He asks me if I know all the men in these videos, and I tell him, “Yes, they’re all dad’s survivalist friends who came to hunt us.” He nods and makes a call to someone, speaking in that official tone that means serious business is happening.

The ambulance ride to the county hospital feels unreal, like I’m watching it happen to someone else instead of living it myself. They wrap me in a blanket, even though I’m not that cold anymore. And a paramedic checks my pulse and blood pressure while asking gentle questions. At the hospital, they take me to a room with clean white walls and bright lights that hurt my eyes after hours in the dark woods.

A nurse comes in and introduces herself as Valerie, and she has kind eyes, but her face gets tighter and tighter as she examines me. She documents every injury with a camera, taking pictures of the gash on my leg from the barbed wire, the bruises on my arms from being grabbed, the old scars covering my back and shoulders from years of training.

She asks about each mark, and I tell her the truth about obstacle courses and punishment drills and fighting practice without protection. She writes everything down in careful detail and then she tells me gently that she’s required by law to report what she’s seeing. I nod and tell her I want her to report it, that I want everyone to know what they did to us.

She squeezes my hand for just a second before going back to her documentation and something about that small gesture makes my throat tight. After Valerie finishes, a woman in regular clothes comes in and sits down across from me in a quiet room away from the main emergency area. She introduces herself as Kendra and says she’s a CPS worker assigned to our case.

She has a calm, direct way of talking that reminds me of the way dad used to give mission briefings, except her words are about safety instead of survival scenarios. She explains what happens next with words like safety plans and temporary placement and investigation procedures. I don’t trust easily after years of dad teaching us that government workers were enemies who would destroy families.

But something about Kendra’s straightforward manner makes me want to believe her. She doesn’t make big promises or talk about how everything will be perfect now. She just lays out the steps in the timeline and asks what questions I have. I ask if we’ll stay together and she says they’ll try to keep siblings placed together when possible.

I ask if we have to see our parents and she says not unless we choose to during supervised visits. I ask what happens if dad gets out of jail and she says there will be protective orders in place and he won’t be allowed near us. They bring Gabe and Luna into the hospital about 20 minutes later and I see them through the doorway before they see me.

Luna’s legs are covered in bruises that look purple and black under the fluorescent lights. Gabe has cuts on his arms that they’re cleaning and bandaging and his face is pale and drawn. When they finally bring them into my room, we just grab onto each other and hold tight without saying anything. Words can’t cover what we’ve been through together, what we survived today, what we lived through for 8 years before today.

Luna is crying against my shoulder, and Gab’s whole body is shaking, and I’m probably shaking, too. But I don’t let go of either of them. We stay like that until a nurse gently tells us they need to finish examinations, and we’ll have time together again soon. In a nearby room, I hear mom’s voice talking to the police. And at first, I think I’m imagining it because the words sound so disconnected from reality.

She’s telling them that everything they did was out of love, that they were preparing us to survive the collapse of society, that we would thank them someday when we were the only ones left alive. The words sound completely insane now that I’m hearing them in a normal hospital surrounded by normal people whose faces show horror instead of agreement.

One of the officers responds in a flat voice that hunting children with firearms isn’t preparation, it’s child endangerment. And mom’s voice rises as she insists they don’t understand the greater threat. I turn away from the door because I can’t listen anymore. can’t process how she genuinely believes the things she’s saying.

A woman in a business suit comes in later and introduces herself as Kenley Savage, an assistant district attorney. She sits down and explains the potential charges they’re considering against our parents, using terms like child endangerment and assault and reckless endangerment with a firearm.

She’s honest that prosecution isn’t guaranteed, that they need to build a strong case and gather all the evidence, but she says what happened today combined with the trail camera footage and our statements gives them solid ground to work with. I appreciate that she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep. Doesn’t tell me everything will definitely work out a certain way.

She just lays out the possibilities and the process and tells me that my voice matters in all of this, that what I saw and experienced is important evidence. She leaves me her card and says I can call if I think of anything else or if I have questions as things move forward. The hospital wants to keep us overnight for observation and they set up rooms where the three of us can stay close together.

Luna won’t let go of my hand even when the nurses need to check her vitals. And I don’t make her let go because I understand needing that anchor. Gabe sits on the edge of his bed staring at nothing. And I recognize that look, that processing shock that comes after adrenaline fades. Someone brings us food from the cafeteria and it’s just regular hospital food. Nothing special.

But we eat it slowly like we’re afraid it might disappear. For the first time in 8 years, no one is timing how fast we eat or making us compete for portions or punishing us for taking too much. The simple act of eating without fear feels strange and overwhelming, and I have to put my fork down twice to steady my breathing.

That same night, Kendra takes us to a courthouse where a judge is waiting, even though it’s almost 10:00. The judge is an older woman with gray hair, and she looks at the three of us sitting in a row and asks if we understand what’s happening. I nod and explain that we need to be placed somewhere safe, away from our parents. She reads through Deputy Brook’s report and the medical documentation, and her mouth gets tighter with each page.

She asks me directly if I want to go back home, and I say no. so fast the word comes out like a reflex. She asks Luna and Gabe the same question and they both shake their heads. The judge signs papers right there and tells us we’re now under emergency protective custody of the state. She says our parents can’t contact us or come near us and that we’ll be placed in a safe location tonight.

The relief hits me so hard I can’t hold it together anymore. I start crying in a way I couldn’t let myself do in the woods. Big ugly sobs that make my whole body shake. Luna grabs my hand and she’s crying too. And even Gabe has tears running down his face. The judge’s expression softens and she tells us we’re safe now, that we did the right thing by asking for help.

Kendra drives us to a temporary shelter on the other side of town and the building looks normal and quiet. She shows us to a room with three beds and clean sheets and tells us we can lock the door from the inside if we want to. The idea of choosing when to lock a door feels strange and important at the same time. She leaves us with some donated clothes and toiletries and says she’ll be back in the morning to check on us.

Our first night in the shelter feels completely wrong in ways I didn’t expect. There’s no one yelling at us to wake up for drills. No one timing how fast we move from bed to door. I lie in the dark listening to Luna’s breathing and Gabe shifting in his bed, and I can’t fall asleep. My body keeps waiting for danger that doesn’t come.

Every small sound makes me tense up, expecting Dad to burst through the door or an alarm to start blaring. Around 3:00 in the morning, I finally drift off, but wake up an hour later in a panic, thinking I missed a drill and will be punished. It takes me several minutes to remember where I am and why I’m here. Luna wakes up crying twice, and I move to her bed and hold her until she falls back asleep.

Gabe never seems to sleep at all, just stares at the ceiling with his eyes reflecting the tiny bit of light from the window. In the morning, Kendra brings us breakfast from a fast food place, and we eat it slowly, still not used to the idea that food just appears without us having to earn it or compete for it.

She explains that we’ll need to do some follow-up medical exams today to document everything properly for the case. I nod and finish my breakfast, even though my stomach feels tight with anxiety about more doctors and more questions. The doctor’s office is in a different building, and they take us one at a time to examine us thoroughly.

When it’s my turn, the doctor weighs me and measures my height and writes things down with a concerned expression. She says I’m 20 pounds underweight for my age and height and that my growth has probably been affected by years of poor nutrition. I feel ashamed even though she keeps saying it’s not my fault, that what happened to us was abuse and neglect.

She examines the scars on my back from the barbed wire and the partially healed cut on my leg from the hunt. She documents every bruise and mark and injury with photographs and detailed notes. She explains that years of starvation training have left physical marks that won’t fade quickly, that my body will need time and proper nutrition to recover.

When she’s done with me, I wait in the hallway while Luna goes in, and I can hear Luna crying through the door when the doctor asks her about certain injuries. Gabe comes out looking pale and won’t meet my eyes. The doctor tells Kendra that all three of us show signs of long-term malnutrition, and that Luna has some partially healed fractures that were never properly treated.

The words make me want to throw up because I knew we were being hurt. But hearing it described in medical terms makes it feel more real somehow. Back at the shelter, Kendra shows me a tablet and pulls up a local news website. There’s a story about our case, but it doesn’t use our names. Just says that four children were rescued from a dangerous situation involving armed adults.

The article is short and doesn’t have many details, but the comment section below it goes on for pages. Some people are supportive and saying they hope we’re okay now. Others are saying we must be lying or making it up for attention, that parents have a right to raise their kids however they want.

Someone writes that survival training is actually good parenting and we’re probably just soft kids who couldn’t handle discipline. Reading the comments makes my chest feel tight and my face get hot. Kendra sees my expression and gently takes the tablet away. She tells me not to read the comments, that people who don’t understand what happened will say all kinds of things that aren’t true or fair.

I try to follow her advice, but it’s hard knowing that strangers are out there saying we’re liars when they weren’t the ones being hunted with real bullets. She reminds me that what matters is that we’re safe now and that the people who need to believe us do believe us. The next day, they arrange supervised sibling time in a room at the shelter where we can be together without other people around.

Luna won’t let go of my hand the entire time, gripping it so tight, my fingers start to go numb. She keeps asking if we’re really safe now, if dad can find us here, if they’re going to make us go back. I tell her, “Yes, we’re safe, even though I’m not entirely sure myself because she needs to hear it from someone she trusts.

” Gabe sits away from us looking angry and confused. And when I try to talk to him, he just shakes his head. He says he doesn’t know what to think anymore. That part of him still believes dad was trying to help us survive. I want to shake him and make him see how messed up that is, but I know he’s been through the same trauma we have, and his brain is trying to make sense of it in whatever way it can.

Luna starts crying again and asks if we’ll always be together or if they’re going to split us up. I promise her we’ll stay together. no matter what, even though I have no idea if that’s a promise I can actually keep. The three of us end up sitting close on the couch and Luna falls asleep with her head on my shoulder while Gabe stares at nothing.

2 days later, the shelter staff tells me I have a phone call and my whole body goes cold when I hear dad’s voice on the line. He’s calling from jail and I can hear the manipulation in his voice immediately. That specific tone he uses when he wants to make you feel guilty. He tells me I’m breaking up the family, that I’ve betrayed everyone who loves me, that I’ll regret this choice for the rest of my life.

He says, “Mom is devastated and Caleb won’t even talk about what I’ve done.” His words are designed to make me doubt myself and feel like the bad guy in all of this. For a second, the old training kicks in and I almost apologize. Almost say I’ll fix it somehow. But then I remember the safety plan Kendra taught me for exactly the situation.

I tell him I have to go and I hang up the phone before he can say anything else. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely put the phone back on the receiver. I sit down on the floor and pull my knees to my chest and just shake for what feels like 20 minutes. One of the shelter workers finds me there and sits with me until I can breathe normally again.

She doesn’t ask what happened, just stays nearby until the shaking stops. A week after we arrived at the shelter, people from the school district come to meet with us about enrollment. Kendra is there, too, and she explained earlier that we’ll need to start attending regular school since we can’t be homeschooled anymore. The school people are surprisingly gentle about the whole thing, saying they understand we’ve never been in a normal classroom before.

One woman who introduces herself as the district coordinator suggests starting slow with just a few hours a day, gradually building up to a full schedule as we get more comfortable. She explains that they have counselors and support staff who work with kids in difficult situations. I agree to try it because I don’t really have a choice, but the idea of a full school day surrounded by normal kids who’ve had normal lives makes me want to throw up.

Luna looks scared, but nods when they ask if she’s willing to try. Gabe says he’ll go, but his voice is flat and empty. They give us schedules and supply lists and information about the school bus route. Looking at the papers makes it all feel too real, like we’re actually supposed to just join normal society after everything that happened.