Copyright © 2017 Mary Hallberg
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com
Chapter One
Three hours before Dallas Langdon saw the first zombie, she sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair backstage at the House of Blues in New Orleans. A table covered with microphones and wires stood in front of her, a fancy camera pointed toward it. A tray of cupcakes coated with bright pink frosting sat at the edge of the table.
“Dallas? Dallas!”
“Huh?” Dallas turned her eyes to the chair to her left where her younger sister, Talia, sat snapping her fingers. A man with a clipboard hovered over them.
“This man just asked you a question,” Talia said.
The man sighed. “I wanted to know your thoughts on Tatum Jones.”
“Tatum...oh, um, yeah.” Dallas scratched her head. “She’s...she’s really something. Known her for years.”
“I’m sorry,” Talia said. “My sister is a little spacey right now. Midterms and everything.”
The man grunted and turned away. Talia glared at Dallas, but giggled. “Sorry,” Dallas muttered. It was hard for her to hold her tongue when it came to Tatum, and she was doing her best to be polite already.
“Would you ladies like a cupcake?” The anchorman, who had been standing at the table like a statue for nearly twenty minutes, picked up the tray and held it out. “Tatum made them for us, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we started eating them without her.”
“I do,” Talia said. “I’m starving. Want one, Dal?”
Dallas didn’t care to eat anything Tatum Jones had presumably baked. But she’d barely eaten at dinner and her stomach was growling. “Sure, bring me one.”
The anchorman bit into a cupcake. “This is amazing!” he said with his mouth full. “Her mother said she makes them from scratch.”
Talia picked up two cupcakes and handed one to Dallas, who covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. Tatum had probably baked the cupcakes with lots of help from her good friend Duncan Hines, if not her good friends at the supermarket bakery.
Dallas bit into her cupcake. Sure enough, it was good, but definitely didn’t taste like it had been made from scratch. She finished it quickly, licking up the frosting without hesitation, and got up to get another one. Ten minutes later, the not-baker finally showed up.
Tatum Jones was a wide-eyed sixteen-year-old with bleached blond hair, curled to perfection and framing her high cheekbones and round eyes. She strutted into the room wearing a frilly blue sequined dress more appropriate for a fifth grader’s dance recital than a local TV interview. She carried a paper cup in her hand, the kind put in office buildings next to the proverbial water coolers.
"Tally!” she squealed as she walked in. She threw her arms around Talia, who returned the hug with a bit less fervor, careful not to upset the cup. Dallas hadn't seen Tatum this enthusiastic in awhile. She and Talia had barely spoken over the past year; apparently Tatum’s new celebrity friends were cooler than the plebeians back home in Louisiana.
“I can’t believe it!” Tatum continued. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you way too much.” She turned her attention to Dallas. “Hey Dallas,” she mumbled.
“Hey Tatum. Liked the cupcakes.”
"Good, you better have. Took me three damn hours to make.” She rolled her eyes, as if spending three hours making cupcakes was the most difficult thing she had ever done.
On Tatum’s heels was Stan, her mousy haired manager with wide rimmed glasses and a bizarre combover to rival Donald Trump’s. “I’m sorry we’re late,” he said without taking his eyes off the clipboard in his hands. “There was a huge accident on Washington Avenue. Backed up traffic for miles. Apparently a truck crashed off the road.”
“Oh yes,” the anchorman said. “The crash just outside Lafayette Cemetery. We reported on that an hour ago. Have they still not cleaned up the wreckage?”
“Afraid not,” Stan said. “Apparently it was rather big.”
“It was huge!” Tatum exclaimed, smiling and exposing her unnaturally white teeth. Her wide eyes opened even more. “It was like the back of the truck just exploded or something.” She took a sip of water. “The driver got out okay, but wouldn’t it be funny if he had died there? I mean, it’s a cemetery. All they would have to do was dig a hole and stick him in.” She burst into laughter, and Talia laughed along with her, but looked at Dallas and frowned.
“What’s in that cup?” Talia asked.
“Oh, I got this at the wreck. I got bored waiting for the traffic to move, so I went over to the cemetery and got it from one of those pumps.” She snickered. “I’m drinking dead people water.”
Talia wrinkled her nose. “Gross. There’s bottled water over there if you want some.” Tatum shook her head and clutched the cup to her chest.
“You know,” the anchorman said, “Most celebrities we’ve interviewed here refused to drink anything but our bottled water. Most even request a specific brand, and if we can’t get it they pitch a fit. It’s refreshing to see someone so humble.”
Dallas wanted to gag.
Dallas had not chosen to spend her Friday night at a Tatum Jones show. She and Talia had known Tatum since junior high, when they all enrolled in singing lessons together. Dallas’s singing ambitions were far from casual; she even planned to study voice in college. Talia and Tatum, on the other hand, never took the classes seriously. Ironically, Tatum was the one who stumbled into a singing career when a producer saw a video of her singing at a church service a year and a half earlier. Now she was living Dallas’s own dream.
At their parents’ insistence, Dallas accompanied Talia to the show on an overnight trip. To her surprise, they were fine with them heading out for two days with no supervision. After all, they said, Dallas would only be in high school for one more year, and Talia for two; after that, they would be on their own. It didn't hurt that they saw Tatum as a good influence, ignorant of her nighttime excursions. Not that Dallas had much room to judge; she and her own best friend, Ashleigh, were in a similar situation.
But Ashleigh and their friend Sam would be attending the concert as well, and the sisters would be staying at Tatum’s house that night, so nobody would be wandering the streets of New Orleans alone. Dallas was looking forward to seeing her friends, and enjoyed spending time with Talia. But she would rather be drowning in Lake Ponchartrain than listen to Tatum Jones talk, much less sing. And she would spend the evening doing an awful lot of both.
It wasn’t that Dallas hated pop music. Some of Tatum’s songs were pretty catchy, and she found herself humming along. But seeing Tatum give interviews as Dallas watched from the television in the back room at her pizza parlor job made her sick to her stomach. In the two months she had worked there, she had earned a fraction of what Tatum made in a week, all for twirling her hair and giggling into a microphone for an hour.
Finally, the anchorman motioned for Tatum to take a seat and began counting down. The camera rolled. “In a city known for jazz music and voodoo, rising pop star Tatum Jones is making her mark.” He flashed a smile almost more nauseating than Tatum’s and turned to her. “So Tatum, how does it feel to be playing for your hometown?”
Tatum adjusted the microphone stand. “It’s great! I’ve been in love with New Orleans all my life, and to be back here is a dream come true.”
Doubtful. Tatum had grown up with them in Baton Rouge. She had only been to New Orleans a handful of times until just over a year ago, when she landed a manager and decided she wanted a singing career.
“Excellen
t! We’re so proud to have you. So Tatum, tell the people of New Orleans: When did you realize that you wanted to be a singer?”
“Oh, I’ve dreamed of singing since I was a little girl. I just can’t believe my dream has finally come true! I feel so blessed, and I thank God every day for my good fortune.”
Dallas scoffed.
“Of course you do! It’s so nice to meet a musician with such a strong churchgoing lifestyle.”
“I’m so glad to oblige. It’s so difficult to take time out of my busy schedule to go to church. But now that I’m home, I intend to make it my top priority.”
Also doubtful. Even before her tour began, Tatum had spent most of her weekends in New Orleans at various night clubs. As of late, the only thing she had been worshipping on Sunday mornings was the porcelain throne.
“And I understand your Sunday School teacher, who is also your voice coach, is in the audience tonight?”
“She is! She’s very excited for me. She’s the one who encouraged me to go after my dreams. If it weren’t for her, I know I wouldn’t be here today, talking to you.”
And wouldn’t that be a tragedy, Dallas thought.
An attractive young reporter entered the room from a back entrance and rushed to the anchorman. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, “But we need you. There’s a boil water notice for the entire New Orleans area, and we need to report it as soon as possible.”
“But my interview’s not done yet,” Tatum squeaked.
“This is urgent,” the reporter said. “I’m sorry, Miss Jones. We’ll have to finish the interview later.” The video screens around them promptly cut from Tatum’s face to a shot of another reporter. This one informed the residents of New Orleans that the crash in Lafayette Cemetery had released toxic chemicals into the ground. All citizens were advised to boil any tap water used for cooking or drinking. Tatum huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You know Tatum,” the anchorman said, “You might want to get rid of that water if it came from the cemetery. It could be contaminated.”
Tatum rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I don’t even care.” The anchorman shrugged and walked away, along with the reporter.
Talia got up. “Come on Tatum, let me throw your cup away. I was headed to the bathroom anyway.”
Tatum made a noise under her breath. “Maybe it was toxic, and I’ll end up in the hospital,” she muttered. “Then they’d have to do another report on me.”
Dallas used the interruption as an excuse to slip out. Talia’s boyfriend, Pierce, was on his way, so she would have some company soon.
Ashleigh had designated the bar as their official meeting place, just in case some bartender decided to be nice and look the other way. Dallas didn’t have any plans to drink, but was relieved to spot Ashleigh and Sam near the tall bar stools.
Ashleigh had dark brown hair, just like Dallas’s, but her skin was darker. As Dallas approached, Sam held a phone up and Ashleigh crouched in near him, probably watching a video. Sam looked up at Dallas and waved as she approached. He had changed clothes since she had seen him at school and now wore a graphic t-shirt, faded, ripped jeans, and worn sneakers. His dark hair stopped just below his eyes. Dallas was used to seeing him with dirt on his cheeks from working on cars; he cleaned up nicely.
“How was the interview?” he asked.
Dallas opened her mouth and stuck her finger down her throat.
“That bad, huh? Well, you’re here now. Try to relax.”
“Dallas doesn’t know the meaning of the word relax,” Ashleigh joked. “She’s been freaking out about some stupid trig test all day.”
“I think I have a right to be freaked. It was supposed to be today, but it was postponed until next Monday! I’m going to spend all of fall break worrying about it.”
“No, you’re going to spend fall break having fun,” Ashleigh said. “Relax, have a drink, party, and go in next Monday with a fresh mind.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dallas confessed.
“Come on Dal, she’s right,” Sam said. “You shouldn’t stress over this. Maybe you and I can do something tomorrow afternoon, or even Sunday after church. Go get coffee or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be great, if I’m not too busy.”
Ashleigh sighed. “Sam, why don’t you go get us drinks? Use your charm and good looks.” Sam puffed out his chest, and Dallas laughed. Ashleigh grabbed Dallas’s arm and led her to the bathroom. Once in the doorway, she laughed. “Okay, what the hell was that?” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“‘If I’m not too busy’? Come on Dal, couldn’t you see he was trying to ask you out?”
“What? Well...wait, really?”
“Um, yeah! Why didn’t you just say yes? Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you? The way he’s been looking at you...I don’t know, forever?”
“Well, yeah but...I don’t really have time for dating right now.”
“That’s what you’ve said since we were thirteen. Do you not like him or something?”
“I...well...I don’t know.” She looked back toward the bar, where Sam was leaning over the edge of the table, the tip of his boxers barely peeking out below his jeans. She blushed.
“Um, that would be a yes. So what’s the problem? You like him, he likes you. Isn’t that when people usually date? When they like each other?”
Dallas kept looking at Sam, now whispering in an attractive bartender’s ear. He laughed and stood back up. Her stomach flip flopped.
“I don’t know, Ash. He’s my best friend.”
“Don’t people usually say you marry your best friend?”
“Oh come on, I’m not going to marry him.”
“That’s not even my point. Look, I know you’re worried about ruining the friendship or whatever. But you’re going to be in college next year. It’s a whole new world out there. Take a risk. And Sam...well, he really likes you. Besides, you’ll be going to the same school. Did you ever wonder why he chose Tulane?”
“Because they offered him a scholarship.”
“Lots of schools offered him scholarships, Dal. But none of them were schools you were going to.”
Dallas grunted and let Ashleigh lead her to the standing area by the stage. Sam met them a minute later, drinks in both hands but a glum look on his face.
“So I guess you couldn’t bribe the bartender?” Dallas said.
He shook his head. “Straight Diet Coke.” He handed her a cup and she took it, secretly grateful.
Talia joined them a few minutes later, just before Tatum’s set started. On her arm was Pierce, her newest (and first serious) boyfriend. Pierce had a charming smile, high cheekbones, and blond hair that hung in front of his blue eyes, requiring him to flip it out of his way every now and then in a move that made girls swoon. He laughed at one of Ashleigh’s dumb jokes, but kept his attention on Talia the whole time. None of them paid much attention as Tatum took the stage.
Tatum squeaked her way through a mercifully short set. During the penultimate song, she motioned to a little girl in the front row to join her on stage. She was about ten years old and wore a bright pink scarf around her head. Tatum explained that this girl had been suffering from cancer for several years, but had dreamed of meeting Tatum for quite some time. The girl sang several bars of one of Tatum’s songs and, in Dallas’s not-so-humble opinion, sounded much better than Tatum. They hugged, and the girl was escorted back to her seat.
A few minutes later, Tatum stumbled off the stage to a cheering crowd, including several guys in the front making cat calls and pumping their fists. She looked like she wasn’t feeling well, but Dallas didn’t read too much into it. Unlike Sam, Princess Tatum had no trouble acquiring her fair share of alcohol. She would probably wake up feeling like she was the one who crashed her truck into Lafayette Cemetery, but she would be fine.
“So where do you want to go after
this?” Ashleigh screamed into Dallas’s ear as soon as the lights came back on.
“I don’t know...I think I just want to go back to Tatum’s."
“Can’t you stay backstage with us for a little while? Please? I really want to hang out with you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
She was right, Dallas knew. She had withdrawn from her friends since she started working the previous summer. Besides, an extra hour or two wouldn’t kill her. It wasn’t like she and Talia had to answer to anyone else; Tatum’s parents were absent that night (unbeknownst to their own — and Dallas suspected her sister might actually head back to Baton Rouge to stay with Pierce).
Once they were backstage, Pierce took a seat on one of the plastic blue chairs. Talia situated herself on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. “So what did you guys think?” she asked.
“It wasn’t bad,” Dallas said. “I liked the bit at the end, where she invited that little girl on stage.”
Talia wrapped an arm around Pierce’s neck. “Are you going to come with me to all of Tatum’s gigs when she goes on a world tour?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” He smiled and tilted his head up for a kiss. Dallas wanted to gag for what felt like the fiftieth time that night.
Tatum finally came through a few minutes later, still stumbling but holding firmly onto Stan. Dallas couldn’t be sure under the bright backstage lights but, up close, Tatum’s golden skin looked much more pale.
“Great show, Tatum,” Pierce said.
“I know, right?” Tatum giggled as she gripped Stan’s arm. “Except for the ending. I mean, did you see that little girl? The way she grabbed the microphone from me...hello, attention whore much?”
Talia’s eyes widened. “Maybe she was just excited,” she said calmly.
Tatum scoffed. “Yeah right. She’s probably done this a million times. All she has to do is say, ‘hey, I’ve got cancer!’ and everyone rolls out the red carpet for her. I bet she’s met more celebrities than I have.” She rolled her eyes and slipped her other hand onto Stan’s arm. “Be back soon. Stan and I have...work to do.” As they entered the dark hallway, Dallas thought she saw Tatum run her fingers through Stan's greasy hair.
State of Emergency Page 1
