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Sofia Vergara – POV
It's been a few weeks since this nightmare began. Feels like years.
I've been stuck on this island since the start, holed up in an empty house I found, trying to stay out of sight. The first few days, I saw things I still can't get out of my head—people turning on each other, some going completely insane, attacking strangers like wild animals. I kept the doors locked and the curtains closed, telling myself that hiding was the only way I'd survive.
Thank God I wasn't in a big city when this all went down—can you imagine? In a place like Los Angeles or New York, I'd be dead within the first day.
But hiding only works for so long. I ran out of food a couple of days ago. That's when things got worse.
....
....
....
When I tried to sneak out and scavenge, a group of thugs spotted me. They recognized me immediately—of course they did. I'm Sofia Vergara, ranked number seven on that stupid "World's Most Beautiful People" list. Normally, that's flattering. But now? It's like wearing a giant neon sign that says target.
They told me they'd "take care" of me… if I gave them what they wanted. Disgusting. I refused. I'd rather starve than let those pigs touch me. Since then, I've been on the run, ducking between alleys and hiding wherever I can.
I came to this island months ago to escape the spotlight, to breathe, to get away from all the cameras and attention. And now? That decision might've saved my life—at least for a while.
But my luck's running out.
Just as I was thinking about how badly I needed to get off this rock, I caught sight of something on the horizon—a yacht, sleek and shining in the sunlight. Not far from it, a smaller boat was making its way toward the shore.
....
....
...
Two figures were aboard. I couldn't see their faces from here, but my mind was already racing.
If they had fuel, maybe they could take me with them. If they didn't… well, maybe they were also stranded. Either way, this could be my one chance to get away—from the island, from the dead, and from those pigs who've been hunting me.
I didn't think twice. I ran out from my hiding spot and headed down toward the store, where they went. My heart was pounding—not just from the sprint, but from the fear of what could happen if I didn't make it in time.
That's when one of them appeared—an undead, stumbling toward me from behind a wrecked fishing shack. Its dead eyes locked on me, and my stomach dropped.
"Help! Help! HELP!" I screamed, waving my arms as I backed away from the thing. My voice tore through the air, desperate, hoping the two strangers would hear me before it was too late.
This idiot… I thought, watching the woman scream for help while a horde of the dead shambled after her.
"What should we do? Should we help her?" Strand asked.
"Too late," I replied, already making my decision. The woman was running straight toward us, and behind her, the undead were closing in fast.
"Strand, take all the gas and stay behind me," I ordered.
He nodded without argument, his arms already full with the containers we'd found. I tightened my grip on the katana I'd brought from Hawaii. I wasn't a master swordsman, but I'd trained enough to know how to put this blade to use—and right now, that's all that mattered.
"Let's go," I said.
Strand stayed close, moving awkwardly with the weight of the fuel. We stepped outside, the heat of the island sun hitting us instantly. Luckily, the horde's attention was still fixed on the woman.
"Head for the boat," I told Strand, keeping my eyes locked on the dead.
The woman spotted us and, instead of veering away, she ran straight toward us. "No, no, no!" she shouted, breathless, panic in her voice. Her eyes darted between me and the small boat tied at the shore—while the horde thundered behind her like a wave of rotting flesh.
Me and Strand shoved the boat into the shallows, the water splashing around our legs. He'd already dumped the gas cans inside, their metal clinking as the boat rocked.
I glanced back—she was still running toward us, hair wild, eyes wide with desperation. For a moment, the chaos around me blurred, and I realized I knew that face.
I'd seen it in magazines, on billboards, even on TV interviews—flawless skin with that sun-kissed glow, sharp cheekbones, and a smile that could sell anything from perfume to a movie ticket. Sofia Vergara.
Now her face was streaked with sweat and dirt, fear replacing that confident red-carpet smile. Her makeup was gone, replaced by raw survival, but I still recognized her instantly.
She was closing in—fast—but so was the horde behind her.
"Push harder!" I barked at Strand, forcing the boat further into the water.
Let's go, Alex!" Strand yelled as he started tossing the gas cans into the boat.
I stood my ground, katana ready.
"What are you doing? We need to go now!" he barked.
"Just be ready," I told him.
The woman's face lit up when she realized we weren't leaving her. She splashed through the shallows, nearly tripping, but managed to reach us and jump aboard.
One of the Dead lunged from the surf, arms swinging wildly. I stepped forward and drove the katana straight through its skull. The body went limp instantly. Pulling the blade free, I jumped into the boat.
"Go!" I shouted.
Strand fired up the outboard motor, the engine roaring to life. As we sped away from the island, water sprayed over the side.
He glanced at the woman sitting on the bench, soaked and panting. His eyes widened slightly.
"…Wait a second," he said slowly. "You're Sofia Vergara, aren't you?"
She gave him a tired look. "Yes… and right now, I'd really appreciate it if you focused on the water instead of fangirling."
A faint smirk crossed Strand's face. "Well, I never thought the first celebrity I'd rescue in the apocalypse would be you."
I kept scanning the waves, blade still in hand. "Save the introductions for later. Those things won't stop just because we've got a famous passenger."
The roar of the horde faded behind us as the engine carried us toward the Abigail.
We pulled up alongside the Abigail, the rest of the group already waiting on deck. Strand eased the boat in, and we hauled it up, securing it inside.
"How's the Abigail?" Strand asked Travis as soon as we climbed aboard.
"It's done," Travis said with a sigh of relief.
"What was the problem?" I asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "An infected got sucked into the intake underneath. Took a while to clear it."
"Ahh," Strand muttered.
He moved quickly to start refueling the yacht with the gas we'd brought. Meanwhile, Leah rushed over and wrapped her arms around me, Angel and Ray following right behind. I held them close, feeling the weight of the moment.
From the side, Madison called out, "Thanks."
Before I could reply, Daniel's voice came from behind her. "Who's this?" He nodded toward the drenched, exhausted woman standing on deck.
The teenagers noticed her at the same time. Ofelia's eyes widened. "Wait… is that…?"
Alicia gasped. "No way. That's Sofia Vergara!"
Angel tilted her head, looking between them. "Like… the actress?"
Sofia managed a tired smile. "Yes, yes. It's me. I'm very flattered you all still remember my work even when the world's gone to hell."
Chris seemingly sad snorted, and said. "My mom watches Modern Family."
"Let's not make a big deal," Sofia said, glancing toward the horizon. "I'm just another survivor now."
Strand, still fueling the tank, smirked faintly. "Not just another survivor. You're probably the most famous passenger this boat will ever have."
"Let's hope that's the most exciting thing that happens for a while," I muttered, scanning the water for any sign of trouble.
As the others helped Sofia inside, my gaze drifted out toward the open sea. In my mind, one thought cut through everything else like the edge of my blade.
Marcus… I'm coming.
No—we're coming.
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