In This Exclusive Excerpt From The Ground That Devours Us, Two Sisters Train to Kill Vampires In Post-Apocalyptic Charlotte

Vampire fiction is having a something of a renaissance of late, thanks to the popularity of shows like Interview with the Vampire and a range of new releases in categories ranging from high fantasy (Empire of the Vampire) and horror (House of Hunger) to historical retellings (A Dowry of Blood) and even romantic comedies (My Roommate is a Vampire). And, of course, that’s not even mentioning that one of the biggest releases of the year will likely be V.E. Schwab’s take on the genre with Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil. But no matter how familiar you are with this particular genre, The Ground That Devours Us stands out for its unique setting, detailed worldbuilding, and slightly darker themes than the YA space is generally comfortable with.

Set in a post-apocalyptic future in which the dead rose and took over the world, this dystopian young adult tale mixes traditional vampire lore with zombies, vampire slayers, and a slow-burn, forbidden romance. The story follows Ruby, who has lost everything to the vampires, save for her twin sister, Ripley, whom she promised their mother she would always protect. But things get complicated quickly when Ripley is turned, and Ruby is determined to find a way to save her. Even if it means working with the worst enemy of all. 

Here’s how the publisher describes the story: 

The world ended ten years ago. 

Vampires showed up, took over, and turned the whole planet into their personal all-you-can-drink buffet. The president? Bloodsucker. The government? Bloodsuckers. My social life? Absolutely nonexistent.

But hey, at least I had one thing going for me―slayer training. My twin sister, Ripley, and I were about to go pro, officially joining the ranks of the last people on earth who actually do something about the whole “undead overlords” situation.

And then X had to show up. The vampire boogeyman. The worst of the worst. And instead of killing Ripley, like any decent monster would, he turned her. Now she’s technically a vamp, but something tells me my sister is still in there. Which means I can’t slay her.

What can I do? Break every rule. Lie to my friends. Strike a deal with the most dangerous vampire on the planet: X will protect Ripley from everyone else who wants her dead―like, really dead―until I can snag the cure for vampirism. The catch? Risking my own head to help him free his good-for-nothing BFF from the very slayers who taught me everything.

If I want Ripley back, I’m going to have to play nice with the thing that ruined my life. And the worst part?

I think he’s enjoying this.

The Ground That Devours Us won’t hit shelves until June 3, but we’ve got a sneak peek at the story for you right now. 

Prologue 

Hell found me in an abandoned QuikTrip.

Bodies littered the gas station’s sticky linoleum floor, dried sacks of meat covered in tattered clothes. In the beer aisle, the store manager’s head was stuck through a glass door, jaw caught on jagged shards. At this point, death was the norm. You stopped being weird about it after you saw your tenth body. Then it was like spilled milk. No biggie. Annoying, but nothing to cry about.

To my right, flashlights spilled across ransacked aisles from the parking lot outside.

“Be quiet,” I hissed to my sister Ripley, whose frail form peeled away from my side.

Tears streamed down her ruddy cheeks. “I’m scared.”

“Quiet.” Then, to stop her quivering lip, “Everything’s going to be fine.” Maybe. The definition for “fine” was getting looser and looser by the second. But we weren’t dead yet, so maybe that’s all fine was. Alive.

What wasn’t fine was the crunch of glass behind us. The slap of boots smacking against the floor.

A man appeared around the corner, dripping in black and blood from head to toe. His gaze shifted to the gun at my side, then he smiled. Red flags flashed across my vision; every alarm blared. I should have listened to the voice in my head, screaming, screaming, screaming. But then he grabbed our hands, two kids who were scared and desperate and broken.

“My name is Barnett. Come with me. You’ll be safe.”

So we did, but we were never safe. Not from him.

Chapter One

A skeleton leans against the crimson-stained walls of Vaille.

The human remains sit criss-cross applesauce on the cracked concrete. Ivy winds up both femurs, and in places where the road has stripped away, a cluster of ferns has grown rampant, poking out from behind a sign held up by a brittle hand. The words beware of vampires are written in red across the warped wood. Probably blood, judging from the stained clothes hanging limply off the torso. One arm has broken, bones scattering on a humid, late August wind. A wineglass sits next to the body. Unfortunately for the skeleton, the vino has evaporated.

Ginger’s lips purse while waiting for Hunt, Vaille’s security force, to open the gates. “Do you think Mr. Bones over there is enjoying his stay?”

“Don’t think so,” I reply, shuffling the duffle bag strapped to my back. It must weigh twenty-five pounds, filled to the brim with goods we’ve scavenged from Uptown Charlotte’s The Ritz-Carlton. We didn’t have a room key, so we busted the doors down, but something tells me management won’t mind. “He’s thinking about leaving a scathing review right now.” My voice lowers two octaves. “Vaille is supposed to be North Carolina’s biggest human compound, but I’ve been waiting ten years to be let inside, and no one’s opened the gates no matter how many times I bang my bony hand on the walls.”

A loud tsk from my left has me twisting around with a wide grin. Ripley shakes her head as she douses her pale arms in 50 SPF sunscreen from one of the million bottles of Coppertone she’s collected. Fun fact: no one except my twin sister cares about being sunburned during the apocalypse. “Have a little human decency, Ruby. That was someone once.”

“Whoever it was, their death was painless compared to those people.” I train the barrel of my gun, Slinger, toward a destroyed car a few yards away. Desiccated bodies lay scattered, revealing the paper-white of bone. Most have frozen screams, lips flaking at the seams. If I reach down to touch them, their flesh will crumble. A product of having every drop of blood drained from their bodies.

Ginger’s tablet crackles to life, a grungy piece of technology we’ve managed to keep up and running since dead people began rising from the grave as vampires and the world went to shit. The government couldn’t figure out why corpses were reanimating into the undead before the country collapsed, but hey, at least they left behind the occasional prehistoric electronic device in their place…so helpful. “Password,” a familiar voice jokes through the speaker. No doubt one of the poor, unfortunate souls Ginger’s decided to grace with her interest.

“Roses are red, violets are blue, if you don’t open the gates, I’m going to pummel you,” Ginger sings off-tune into the speaker. With her pink, glittery eye makeup and tattered prom dress cut at the knee, my best friend looks so out of place. Doesn’t matter. She’s made it her goal in life to be glam twenty-four-seven. She might wind up covered in blood and guts, but she’s going to do it in style. “That good enough for you? We’ve been in the Open for too long.

Ripley chews her lip. Outside of the safety of a human compound like Vaille, it’s a gamble for survival, and most pay with their lives. The undead live in the Open. Humanity-less vampires who hunt people down, draining them dry without a care in the world. Creatures with an endless hunger for blood.

Bloodwalkers, the news had called them. Back in 2038 when there were still news stations.

A creak echoes through the streets as the south gate opens. Metal grates across pavement, loose pebbles dancing at my feet. Slayer instincts kicking in, I peer into Slinger for any sign of Bloodwalkers who might be interested in having a little snack, but the only one in my line of vision is dead, sprawled on the hood of a rusted ambulance—just the way I like them. The female Bloodwalker’s unseeing, ink-black eyes, light gray skin, and elongated nails give her away. Unlike most vamp legends, they don’t have fangs. No vampires do. I half expect her to jump up, but that’s impossible. Of course, it doesn’t stop my nightmare vision: sharp nails slicing deep into my skin, where venom releases from her nail beds and into my bloodstream. If you can avoid the nails, you’re golden, but one deep scratch from a vampire is all it takes and you’re suddenly drinking blood for breakfast.

“Did either one of you find a can of spaghetti and meatballs during the supply run?” Rip asks. Unsurprisingly, her gun is still hanging from her belt. “I’m starving.”

“Considering the hotel restaurant had a black-tie dress code, I highly doubt Chef Boyardee made the cut.”

Besides, our haul will be added to the compound’s food supply, and that’s exactly what happens when a Hunt soldier meets us at the gate, inspecting us for deep cuts. When she’s certain we won’t turn into Dracula wannabes, we’re ushered inside, sans duffle bags.

Pent-up energy in my body fizzles. I unclench my jaw. By the time the doors shut behind me with a reverberating click and I’m spat into the beating heart of Vaille, Slinger is taking a nap in the holster strapped to my thigh.

The compound unfurls around me, a cacophony of smells and sounds. I vaguely remember what it felt like to arrive here for the first time as a kid—pure sensory overload compared to the apartment Rip and I had been holed up in, eating scraps like vultures. There, it was easy to believe we were the only ones left alive.

Here, we’re all ants, scavenging what we can to rebuild some version of home.

Ahead, the recently revamped courtyard overlooking Slayer Alley, a popular thoroughfare connecting Vaille’s Lower Hub and Upper Hub, is packed like sardines. A toddler is tossing rotting corn into a bird feeder made from a plastic milk carton while her parents play a game of cornhole with hand-sewn bags. A few yards away, a teen spray-paints one of the courtyard’s brick walls with a depiction of the Atlantic Ocean. Half-rotting picnic tables are filled with adults eating stale crackers and SPAM before heading back to their posts; on a rusted park bench, a Muslim couple plays an outdated crossword puzzle, only her husband isn’t helping, too busy making her laugh.

Like the courtyard, the entrance to Slayer Alley is standing room only, a mass of sweaty bodies heading for the smoking lounges, bustling markets, makeshift medics, and nightclubs residing on its blocks. I pick out the black uniforms of Hunt soldiers along the perimeter, assessing for threats. Vaille runs on order. Made up of promoted slayers with enough vampire kills and leadership skills under their belt, Hunt is the backbone of the compound. If you don’t follow the rules, you’ll have to answer to them. Or worse.

“Hey, Ruby!” A Korean girl named Anna waves at me from the crowd, long hair spilling over her shoulders. Like me, she’s dressed in combat clothes—no doubt heading to a training arena to wipe the floor with her opponent’s tears. The bruise on my bottom lip aches in response, a product of the last time she and I were assigned hand-to-hand combat drills together. The girl can pack a punch.

Anna’s attention lands on Ginger and Rip, who are debriefing a Hunt soldier, then does a double take. “Wait, was your supply mission today?”

“Yep.” My bottom lip splits open in a grin, opening the wound. I smear blood away. “Only one more mission stands between me and a sweet, sweet promotion to full-fledged slayer.”

“Lucky,” she pouts, scrubbing a hand through her hair before tying it into a high ponytail. “I still have another year. Three hundred and sixty-five long days with Monroe screaming fighting sequences in my ear.”

She’s right. I am lucky. Lucky she’s not in her last year of slayer training or else I might have to compete for my first-place spot among the rest of the graduating class.

“Godspeed.” I salute, and her laughter is swallowed up as she disappears into the crowd.

“It’s bad luck to celebrate before graduation,” Rip says, frowning. “Don’t you remember what happened to Jeff when he threw a party two days before his graduation?”

And there goes my smile. “How could I forget?” I was a newbie on Jeff’s squadron when he cut his hand on a piece of metal during his last perimeter search. More than half died, including Jeff.

After tossing a clipboard with our listed haul to a Hunt soldier on wall patrol, who stalks off with nothing more than a grunt, Ginger sets her sights on my sister. “Thanks for ruining the mood, Eeyore. I almost want to keep this for myself, but we all know I’m allergic to almonds.” Quick as lightning, she hands Rip a Hershey’s chocolate bar from our supply, who immediately stuffs it into her pocket.

Ripley lights up so fast I expect to see a line of slobber dripping down her chin. In another life, my sister is a master baker on the Food Network. “Aniyah makes the best bread. Bet she could melt this down and include it in her dough. We could stop by her market stall near the Wanted Wall!”

Dark clouds linger in Ginger’s green eyes, tumultuous. Any mention of the Wanted Wall has her careening into the past. Every day, she scans it, looking for the face of the vampire who murdered her family and gave her the scars scattered along her arms. I wield Slinger, but Ginger’s greatest weapon is the sharp blade of revenge. Clearing her throat, she shrugs. “Go ahead without me. Peter’s shift is almost over.”

“You sure?”

She waves me away. “One hundred percent. Besides, I just got this new pair of combat boots, and I’m going to be pissed if I can’t get the blood stains out of them.”

“You stole them off a dead body, Ging.”

She huffs, pink-painted lips twisting into a frown. “And your point is? I got them fair and square.”

As soon as she’s gone, Rip grabs my hand, tugging me toward Slayer Alley. We stick to the sidewalks, home to dozens of shops and restaurants with boarded windows. Several trees nestle between massive skyscrapers; a willow oak’s unpruned limbs stretch like arms across the path, shrouding us in a canopy. Streaks of sun break through the leaves, casting a sheen of dappled gold over my sister’s freckles.

Stepping over a tree root, she peers at me over her shoulder. “On a scale of one to ten, how ready are you for graduation?”

“Thought we weren’t talking about it,” I joke, weaving around a group of kids playing four square. She elbows me lightly in the ribs. “You’re right, though. My last mission will probably be a doozy. Because I’m at the top of our class, I’ll have to take a squadron. Be responsible for them. For you.”

Rip grabs her chest in mock shock. “Are you telling me the invincible Ruby Clemmons is nervous?” She swats away my death glare. “It’s going to be fine.”

My stomach knots into a pretzel. Usually, I’m confident in my abilities, but the Open isn’t for the weak. While I’ve spent the last decade proving to myself that I could handle anything thrown at me, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t lost sleep over it. A slayer hopeful’s last mission is supposed to challenge you. Separate the strong from the spineless. Jeff was confident. Look where that got him.

Ripley jumps in front, gently grabbing my shoulders. “You’re going to kick ass. We’re going to finish this like we started it: together. Besides, by this time tomorrow, the mission will be behind you. When graduation comes around, you’ll have forgotten all about it. Literally, considering the amount of alcohol at the after-party.”

Our footsteps echo off the concrete sidewalk as we pass by what used to be Charlotte Books, back when bookstores were still a thing. Inside, the owner, Leo, reads a novel. Across the room, his daughter is curled up in an armchair, fast asleep. Leo lifts his head and smiles, wrinkled hand waving.

Returning the gesture, I swallow the bittersweet tang on my tongue. While it’s nice to know someone from before everything fell apart, it’s a reminder of what I’ve lost in the process. As a kid, Mom used to take me and Rip to Charlotte Books so much that Leo eventually gave us a discount, claiming we were the sole reason he stayed in business.

“Never stop believing there are other journeys to be had,” he’d told me, handing me my first book. It was a fantasy novel about dragons, sword-wielding women, and a magical artifact that could destroy the world.

And then my world crashed and burned. Shocker.

Rip’s attention lingers on the bookstore before ripping away. Is she thinking about the medical books inside? She’s read all of them front to back. For what reason, I have no idea. Medical anything bores me to death.

She fidgets with the locket around her neck. “Do you ever wonder what life is like outside of Vaille? If people are out there living freely?”

I falter mid-step. “You mean our compound with the big walls keeping out Bloodwalkers and the smart, human-like vamps who can walk and talk like us but drink A-negative for a cocktail? Uh…no? Can’t say I have.” We step around another upended tree root. At this rate, I’m bound to twist my ankle. “Humans outside of a compound are lucky to be alive. I doubt they’re living it up.”

Ripley sighs. “Forget I asked.”

This isn’t the first time Rip’s posed questions like this. It’s sparked contention between us more times than I can count—how Vaille feels less like a sanctuary and more like a cage, and why we must kill every vampire we come across. I might be the older twin by thirty-six seconds, but my sister is the mother hen. The kinder, better version of me. The world chewed me up and spat me back out, but Ripley? Ripley looked at the broken world and said, “I can fix you.”

But that’s the thing. Broken pieces can’t be mended.

The mouth of Slayer Alley unfolds before me, helmed by a massive steel and glass skyway bridge connecting two skyscrapers. Rip makes a beeline for Aniyah’s cart a few yards beyond the entrance, and I head for my favorite spot in town: the Wanted Wall, a massive corkboard anchored to the brick exterior of a pawn shop. Tacked to the cork is a numbered list of the city’s most volatile and aggressive vampires and the corresponding incentives you’ll receive if you get lucky enough to apprehend them.

Most people who are turned end up as Bloodwalkers. A small part of the population, however, regains a sliver of their humanity. Early tests showed the human body’s immune response to vampirism at the time of death likely played a huge part in whether the individual turned into a Bloodwalker or vamp, but there wasn’t enough time for scientists to prove it or use their findings to create a cure. Within months, the outbreak overwhelmed our infrastructure and public health measures. Before long, humans were outnumbered.

Survival became the focus.

Vampires take on a similar appearance to a Bloodwalker, but they’re distinctively different by the fact that they can walk, talk, and make decisions. Basically, your modern-day Stefan Salvatore.

And the vampires on this list? They like blood. A lot.

Beside their names are fuzzy pictures of their appearances, all of them looking equally disturbing with trademark soulless black eyes and various shades of gray skin. A vampire named Marjorie makes up the second spot, but I glance over her, straight to the top where a picture depicts a male vampire with blond hair crouching low on the top of a building.

X, the infamous vampire of Charlotte. Hell, maybe even the world. Whatever’s left of it.

Nobody knows his real name. Probably because no one has come across him and lived to tell the tale. He’s the ultimate Big Bad, the villain in every fairy tale. Horror stories of his victims have circulated the streets of Vaille for years. Heads ripped clean from the neck, flesh serrated by sharp nails, and located inside rooms ankle-deep in blood. He’s holed up somewhere inside Charlotte; anyone who can capture and turn him in to Hunt is set for life. Food, water, electricity, medicine, the whole nine yards. Luxuries many of us don’t have unless we work to the bone, and even then, it’s not enough. Desperation sends a lot of people into the Open to find X, but no one comes back alive.

I hope for his sake I never meet him.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? If you encounter a vampire during your mission tomorrow, you want to be alert. Sharp-minded.”

I pivot on my heels, grinning. Barnett. Vaille’s supreme commander and head honcho of Hunt.

While I look like a dumpster raccoon, everything about Barnett screams pristine. A neatly cropped beard, squeaky-clean skin, and waxed shoes that, when they step up to me, reflect my dirty, bruised face. The sight sends a memory tugging at my consciousness, old enough to fuzz at the edges. A gas station, an outstretched hand. Barnett’s face, although he was a stranger then and not the man who brought Ripley and me here to Vaille, raised us, and molded us into warriors. Versions of his two dead daughters, who’d been killed in a vampire attack led by X before he’d found us. His wife, Moira, was turned into a Bloodwalker because of it. Barnett put an end to her misery out of love.

Grief has added gray streaks to his hair, which seems so unfair knowing X hasn’t aged a day since he turned eighteen.

“Good thing I’m not a slayer yet.”

“You will be.” His smile is warm. It’s such a stark contrast from the usual harsh planes of his cheeks and the razor-sharp edge of his tongue, which has barked more than enough orders at me over the years. Pride loosens the frown lines on his face as he pats my shoulder. I bask in it, a cat soaking up the sun. “And at the top of your class, like I knew you would be.”

“Aniyah is going to make us two loaves. Thank God because my stomach is going to start eating itself soon, and—” Ripley’s cheeks shift from porcelain to Casper the Ghost as her attention lands on Barnett. She falters beside a painted stall where a Black woman sells intricately woven jewelry in various colors and sizes. A thumb drags subconsciously across her scar-riddled knuckles. “I thought you were working in the Medbay today.”

“I took a break.” Barnett frowns. “Is it a crime to check on the two of you? See how your recent mission went?”

Rip and I exchange glances. Usually, his version of checking on us starts with, “We’re going to train as a family today,” and ends with me stumbling down the street on overworked muscles and begging someone to give me a bottle of Tylenol. I have a permanent cramp lodged in my calf muscle from the last time Barnett schooled me in weaponry.

“Fantastic. While we were in the Open, I won the lottery. We’re now grabbing our things and heading on a vacation to Bora Bora, where we’ll go snorkeling and dine on platters of fresh fruit arranged into the shapes of dolphins.” Ripley shoots me a warning glare. She might as well be holding up a sign that says ABORT MISSION in flashing lights.

“It was successful,” Ripley interjects before an all-out war begins. “Got in, completed our job, got out. Just like you taught us.”

“Glad to know someone is taking note.” A pointed glance in my direction. “All of the training was worth it, don’t you think?” He doesn’t leave us room to answer because in his mind the right one is a resounding yes. A squadron of Hunt forces straightens to attention as they pass by him, a mix of fear and respect in their salute. No one wants to get on Barnett’s bad side. “The two of you might not agree with my methods, but I have your best interests at heart. Now, look at you—a day away from becoming Vaille’s next vampire slayers. One day, Hunt soldiers.”

Ripley’s brows pinch together.

Barnett’s tablet dings with a message. He swipes it away with a sigh. “There’s a slight…disturbance in the Medbay. I need to take care of it.”

I check my tablet for good measure. An empty inbox.

“Don’t forget about dinner tonight,” Barnett addresses us. “Seven p.m. sharp. And, Ruby, bring a paper and a pen.”

I eye him warily. “Why?”

His smile is wolfish. “To write down the details of your last mission.”

Excerpted from The Ground That Devours Us by Kalla Harris. Reprinted with permission from Entangled Teen, an imprint of Entangled Publishing. All rights reserved.

The Ground That Devours Us will be released on June 3, but you can pre-order it right now.

Lacy Baugher Milas is the Books Editor at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter and Bluesky at @LacyMB