Whatever liberties you're taking with zombie canon are A-OK, as long as you tell a zombie story. Those are the only horror stories I've ever been interested in, because other "scary" movies tend to be a hot load of supernatural bullshit (with certain chain saw-wielding exceptions). Why watch mortal, crappy-bodied human beings face off against the spawn of Satan or mystical, psychosexual fiends? If humanity loses that battle, it's not surprising, and when screenwriters let humanity win, I end up fixated on the colossal brainfartery required for the monsters to blow it, rather than whatever feeling those movies are supposed to give me.
Probably this feeling, in an H-E-double-hockey-sticks setting.
But zombie stories get me every time. Why? Because they're a story where our monster plays like a societal problem. Zombies are an insistent and dramatically useful malevolent force you can plan against. If you're facing the Lipstick-Face Demon in your attic, borrow their Avon crap, and kiss your ass goodbye. But if you're facing a corrupted mob of fellow PTA members operating in ways that can be scientifically studied like a sociological phenomenon? Time to grab some guns and potable water, and find out if your personal politics are compatible with the real world.
Zombie Plan Step 17: brain the dad from Modern Family.
I can't defend any non-pilot episode of The Walking Dead, but damned if their third season poster tagline doesn't sum up what makes zombie movies worthwhile. Fight the dead, fear the living, and find out what makes society work and what's killing it in the process. George A. Romero formatted the whole genre that way: an implacable zombie epidemic pushes the surviving members of society to face their racism or consumerism or municipal governing corruption, and they either survive by fixing it or die instructively.
Zombie Plan Step 18: recognize that Mr. Dunphy's braining is an object lesson.