Michael Paynter and Carson Moore never imagined their annual July 4th tradition would turn into a fight for survival. The two childhood friends, both 21 and home from college for the summer, had returned to the familiar riverfront house in the Casa Bonita neighborhood of Hunt, Kerr County, Texas. It was a place filled with memories—kayaking, swimming, and lazy afternoons spent eating Spaghetti-Os. But this year, the Guadalupe River had something else in store.
On July 2, 2025, Paynter and Moore arrived at the two-story home, ready to unwind. The next day was filled with the usual summer fun. As night fell on July 3, they watched lightning flash across the sky from the porch. Moore, a University of North Carolina student working a finance internship, wasn’t worried. Summer storms were part of life on the river. He’d seen the water rise before, but never to a level that threatened the house. Paynter, interning at a growth equity firm in Arkansas, was less certain, but tradition pulled them back each year.
By 3:30 a.m. on July 4, the storm had taken a terrifying turn. The sound of breaking glass jolted them awake. At first, they thought it was a break-in, but halfway down the stairs, they discovered the house was already flooding. Furniture floated across the living room. "Are we dreaming right now? Is this real?" Moore recalled thinking, according to the San Antonio Express-News. Moore tried to call his father, but there was no service. Paynter managed to reach his parents, who then alerted the Moores. Advice from Paynter’s father was practical and chilling: put on shoes, wear brightly colored clothes, and stay near the windows in case they needed to escape quickly.
Upstairs, Moore tried to inflate some floats, but with no pump, it was a lost cause. The water kept rising—every five minutes, another stair was swallowed. Paynter, the only one with a signal, stayed in the bedroom talking to his parents. Moore, surveying the flood from a bathroom window, realized, "No one can get to us. It’s just us at this point." Water began seeping through the upstairs hallway. Then Paynter felt the house lift from its foundation. "That’s when I felt the house come off the foundation, and we started to float," he said.
At 4:13 a.m., Paynter hung up the phone for the last time. The house slammed into something and began to crumble. There was no choice left—they climbed out the windows and into the churning water. For a brief moment, they stayed together, but a tree struck Moore, knocking him underwater. After what felt like an eternity—30 seconds—he resurfaced, dazed and bleeding. Debris and darkness separated the friends. Paynter clung to a tree, his hand ripped open and bleeding. He worried he might lose his thumb. Moore grabbed onto a floating car, then a door, and finally climbed into a tree.
As reported by KRIS 6 News, the Guadalupe River had risen with a fury rarely seen in Texas history. The floodwaters swept through neighborhoods, destroying homes and lives. The Texas Rangers later released a formal list: 117 people confirmed dead, two still missing. Officials in Kerrville reported that 108 people—71 adults and 37 children—were killed in the county, with nine more victims found in neighboring Kendall County. The victims came from across Texas and even beyond, their names and ages a somber roll call of loss. "They are family, friends and neighbors," said Kerrville Mayor Joe Herring and Kerr County Judge Rob Kelly in a joint statement, expressing gratitude to first responders and the community for their continued support.
For Paynter and Moore, the hours dragged on. Paynter lost his phone, shoes, and shorts to the current, clinging to a tree for about five hours in just a T-shirt and underwear. Cars, propane tanks, even another house swept by. At one point, debris slammed into him, destroying the tree and hurling him back into the water. He managed to grab another tree and climb higher, praying for rescue and for his friend’s survival.
Moore’s ordeal was equally harrowing. "It was a fight with the water," he later said. "You are trying to remain calm, but there’s a second where it’s like, 'I can’t breathe anymore.'" Debris struck his head, and he floated on a door until it wedged in a tree. He climbed into the branches, about 20 feet above the ground, where he remained for four hours. In the darkness, he heard desperate cries for help from the direction of the Hunt Store—cries that soon fell silent.
As dawn broke, a young girl spotted Moore in the tree. He managed to signal his mother’s phone number to her mother, who called Dawn Moore with the news that her son was alive. Volunteers, including a man named Elijah, waded through the floodwaters to rescue him. Moore was taken to the Hunt Store, which had become a staging area for survivors and rescuers. Wrapped in a towel, he broke down in tears—grateful to be alive, but terrified for his best friend.
Meanwhile, Paynter’s ordeal ended when a helicopter circled the tree where he was stranded around 9:45 a.m. He wept as the crew lifted him to safety, then carried him to Hunt Methodist Church for medical attention. He finally heard his parents’ voices on a borrowed phone. Both families rushed from San Antonio to Kerrville, waiting at Calvary Temple Church, where survivors were reunited. That afternoon, volunteers gave Paynter shoes and drove him to a safe house, where Moore was waiting. Relief washed over them as they embraced. "You’re just numb from emotions," Moore said.
Moore was treated at Peterson Regional Medical Center in Kerrville for multiple lacerations, dehydration, and a possible concussion. Paynter, whose left thumb tendon had been severed, was taken to University Hospital in San Antonio. He needed surgery and months of therapy but was discharged on July 6—just in time for his 21st birthday. Moore was by his side for a "celebration of life" at the Paynters’ home.
Nearly two weeks later, the friends returned to Hunt to find closure. Only a handful of houses remained in Casa Bonita; concrete slabs marked where others once stood. Many neighbors did not survive, including the Jeffrey family and their granddaughter Madelyn. The flood, with at least 119 lives lost and two still missing as of August 8, 2025, stands as one of the deadliest in Texas history.
Paynter has returned to his internship, his hand in a brace, facing months of recovery. The trauma, though, lingers. "It’s hard some days, and then it’s easier other days," he admitted. Moore echoed the sentiment: "We lost our cars, our belongings, our old house. A lot of families lost a lot more than that. But just to be here, have each other, that’s all we need. We’re survivors together. We did it together."
In the aftermath, the resilience of these two friends stands as a testament to hope amid tragedy, even as a community mourns and rebuilds along the banks of the Guadalupe.
