Day 1,249

The worst thing about National Trust mansions, those decadent relics and all their assorted lands, is that the grounds are impossible to hide in. Now at the time of their conception there was little to no need for anybody to be utilising the grounds as anything less than an aesthetically pleasing stroll.

They never planned for the undead.

Nobody ever does.

So when the hoards came, the uninfected gathered in their masses behind those grandois doors and bolted themselves from the outside world and all its chaos. Unfortunately word spread about this and soon enough every food raid turned into a battle on two fronts - against the undead and the uninfected, both of which wanted to be inside the mansions desperately.

Both needed the mansions to survive.

If it meant killing more uninfected then so be it.

For as many rooms as the mansions contain, the gardens seem to be inversely barren. Rows upon razor sharp rows of hedges, rose bushes and decorative ponds made it just as difficult for the survivors as it did the undead with eac falling prey to aerial ambush and ground based traps alike.

Soon enough the grounds were so clogged with corpses, it became easier to hide.

People began wearing the undead like fur coats to keep the others at bay.