North Texas girls among those missing after Kerr Co. flooding

North Texas Girls Among Those Missing After Kerr County Flooding: A Community in Crisis

It was supposed to be a joyful summer escape — a weekend getaway to the quiet, winding hills of Kerr County, Texas. Families from across the state, including a small church group from North Texas, had gathered near the Guadalupe River for swimming, barbecues, and stargazing.

But nature had other plans.

On Saturday night, a sudden and violent storm system barreled through the area. The National Weather Service had issued flash flood warnings, but the rainfall came faster — and harder — than anyone anticipated. In a matter of minutes, what had been a tranquil river turned into a churning monster, sweeping away trees, cars, and tents in its path.

Among the chaos, three young girls from North Texas — ages 11, 13, and 14 — went missing.

They had been part of a youth retreat organized by Hillside Baptist Church in Denton. Witnesses said the group had been walking back from the river’s edge just before nightfall when the ground beneath them gave way. A rush of water surged from a dry creek bed, carving out a path no one had predicted. Screams echoed through the woods as chaperones and other teens tried to pull one another to safety.

One mother, Erica Simmons, was on the trip as a volunteer. Her daughter, Kaylee, 13, was one of the missing.

“I remember her laughing — she had just picked up a frog and was chasing one of the boys,” Erica recalled, tears streaking her mud-caked face. “And then… it was just water. Screaming. Gone.”

Emergency crews responded immediately. Local fire departments, Texas Search and Rescue teams, and volunteers joined forces in the darkness. Helicopters equipped with infrared sensors scanned the treetops. Boats with mounted floodlights scoured the now overflowing river. But the terrain was brutal — thick brush, broken bridges, and dangerously fast currents made the operation slow and dangerous.

By morning, two of the girls’ backpacks had been recovered more than a mile downstream.

Officials confirmed ten people were unaccounted for, including the three North Texas girls. Several adults were rescued clinging to trees or stranded on rock outcroppings. One teenage boy was found in critical condition, suffering from hypothermia and a head injury after being thrown into a metal fence by the current.

Governor Greg Abbott issued a statement late Sunday:

“Our hearts are with the families affected by the Kerr County flooding. Search and rescue operations are ongoing, and the state is providing every available resource to support local efforts. We are praying for those missing and the brave first responders risking their lives.”

For the parents, those prayers were all they had left.

A makeshift command center was set up at a nearby high school gym. Families huddled under Red Cross blankets, clutching photos of smiling daughters in ponytails and camp t-shirts. Volunteers handed out water and sandwiches, but no one was hungry. They were waiting — for news, for hope, for a miracle.

Media outlets descended on the scene. Reporters tried to remain respectful, but the tension in the air was suffocating.

“They’re not just names,” said Marcus Lane, the youth pastor who organized the trip. “These are bright, funny, amazing girls who love horses, play volleyball, sing at church. We were just trying to give them a weekend to laugh and be kids. And now…”

He trailed off, staring into the trees where rescuers were still combing the banks.

Late Sunday evening, one of the missing girls, 14-year-old Ariana Taylor, was found alive — clinging to the upper branches of a tree nearly two miles from the campsite. Cold, weak, and covered in cuts, she told rescuers she’d been holding on “since the water took my friends.”

According to Ariana, they had tried to hold hands. She remembers screaming their names — Kaylee and Maya — as the current pulled them apart.

“They didn’t let go,” she whispered to her mother from the hospital bed. “The water just took them.”

Her account brought a mix of hope and heartbreak. While her survival felt miraculous, the odds of finding the others diminished with each passing hour.

By Monday afternoon, the body of 11-year-old Maya Hernandez was discovered wedged beneath a fallen tree, her purple sneakers still visible in the mud. Recovery teams moved silently, their faces grim.

For the Simmons family, hope remained. Kaylee was still missing.

The entire community of Denton mobilized in support. Prayer vigils lit up the town square. Classmates tied blue ribbons on trees and posted messages online:

“Come home, Kaylee. We miss you.”
“You’re stronger than the river.”
“God’s not done with your story.”

Local churches pooled funds to provide transportation, hotel stays, and meals for the affected families. Therapists volunteered their time to counsel the traumatized children who had witnessed the flood.

On Tuesday morning — nearly 72 hours after the storm — a rescue dog signaled near a patch of reeds along the river. Divers entered the water. After a tense hour, they emerged… carrying a small, lifeless body wrapped in a yellow tarp.

It was Kaylee.

Erica collapsed at the news. Her cries echoed through the trees — a sound that would haunt rescuers for years.

The three girls were gone. But their story wasn’t.

In the days that followed, donations poured in from across Texas. A memorial was planned in Kerrville, with candles, photos, and letters. A local artist began sketching a mural in Denton — three young girls laughing in the sun, hand in hand, their feet just above a gentle stream.

At the memorial, Pastor Marcus stood before the crowd.

“We ask why,” he said softly. “We scream at the sky. But sometimes, there is no answer. What we do have is this: the memory of their joy. The strength of their friendship. And the duty to never take a single sunrise for granted.”

He paused.

“These girls loved life. So let’s live it — fiercely, kindly, and with open arms. For them.”

And as lanterns lifted into the warm Texas night, the community of North Texas, and all of Kerr County, mourned not just what they had lost… but who they had lost.

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