Change Is Supposed To Be A Good Thing... Right?

"Week 3, day 5. We've sent out more radio messages in case there are any other teams in the area. Although Johnson said that he and Angel had done a preliminary sweep of the area and found some Zombies in our army's uniform walking around, but didn't find any teams alive. So at this point in time we're assuming the worst. We may find some survivors, but as of now, our mindset is that we are the last bastion of hope for this area.
Since Johnson and Angel are acting as if I'm the highest in command right now, I've decided to look at some things as a necessity. Since we'd decided to put in for the night in a local forest, I pulled Eagle, Phoenix, Viper and Watcher aside so we could have a little chat in private. We left the clearing we'd chosen and walked away a bit so we couldn't be heard. In case anything should happen to myself during an attack I'm setting the steps for our own chain of command. In this case, I'm acting as head of the troop, followed by Eagle and Phoenix working in tandem. And if they should fall Viper and Watcher will be next in line. Although personally I hope this chain of command never needs to be put into use...
As the five of us walked back to the rest of the group we heard a short crackle over the radios. It was so unexpected that all of us grabbed our weapons and circled up, shoulder to shoulder. Silently peering down the barrels of our guns, searching the area, the radios kept crackling as if someone was trying to open up a line of communication.
Silently signaling the others, we started making our way to the rest of the team at our camp site for the night. We weren't exactly far from the site... Just far enough not to be heard. But as we got closer we could start to see figures standing in the clearing of our camp. Signaling for a stop, the five of us stood our ground and Watcher and Viper covered us from behind. Ever since Enrique started singing Disney songs to cheer us up, we'd come up with a code of sorts to identify ourselves or communicate for different situations. And like I said before, making sound doesn't matter. Eventually Zombies will hear you either way. So softly enough to just carry our voices into the clearing, Eagle Phoenix and I started to sing:
'For a long time we've been marching off to battle,
In our thund'ring herd we feel a lot like cattle.'
And softly the welcoming reply came from Enrique, Mako, and Shakespeare:
'Be our guest,
Be our guest.
Put our service to the test.'
With that the five of us slipped through into the clearing and were greeted by the others. Quick looks told us that everyone had heard the same crackles and that it wasn't just our imaginations. We hadn't heard anything on the radios from an outside sources since HQ fell to the hoards of undead.
While everyone started sitting down to their dinner rations, or trying to get comfy for the night, I told the team what the five of us had been talking about. There were a few odd looks in my direction for bringing it up, and I gave them all a 'just-in-case' shrug in reply. But the odd thing was that Johnson and Angel just nodded and were fine with it... It makes me worry about them. They were thought of as top team leaders back before the undead plague began. And for them to just nod when being given another person to take orders from... It makes me wonder what happened to them psychologically when their teams were destroyed in one awful night.
As Enrique, Shakespeare and Medic took the first watch, the rest of us bundled up and got ready for sleep. And just as I was about to drift off I heard the crackle that the radios had made earlier. I slowly sat up and looked around thinking it may have just been my imagination. But when I saw that we were all trying to hear where the crackle came from, I got a little more worried.
Suddenly the crackle was a bit more agitating then it should have been. The sound came again over the radios but it didn't crackle out like it normally did. Through the radio we heard footsteps crunching on twigs and shuffling through fallen leaves. The worrisome part started when we could actually hear the twigs breaking without the radios. Whatever was making this sound... It was coming straight for us.
Snapping my fingers to get the attention of the troops, I quickly flashed some hand signals and we grabbed our weapons and got into a defensive ring in the clearing. As we formed up and prepared for whatever this was, I engaged the radio and spoke into it clearly. 'Hold your position. Do not proceed in your current direction. We are armed and will shoot. State your name and purpose.'
Slowly the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves stopped and everything was quite.
'Name... My name?... Private Jake Peters Sir...' Came the slow reply over the radios. Although something about it just didn't sound right. The voice sounded so dry and breathless... Almost as if the Private's throat hadn't felt any moisture in quite some time and he hadn't spoken in just as long.
'Just... So alone... Thought I was all alone...,' Peters said groaningly.
'It's ok Private. We're survivors. Slowly walk on the path you were taking and don't make any sudden moves.' I replied to his audible thoughts. After a moment the crunching of leaves and twigs started up again. Slowly a figure broke through the trees and stumbled into our camp site and we pointed our gun lights towards it. We all had to stop ourselves from shooting it down. The thing that had crept into our clearing had our army's uniform on, had a battle rifle slung over his shoulder, two side arms on his belt, a gloved hand still on the radio on his shoulder and hair matted over his head. What bothered us was that the skin we could see on the Private had a blue hue to it. His eyes seemed blood shot and misty, and it just seemed like they could and couldn't quite see us at the same time. Worst of all his jaw hung open in a way that reminded us of the undead we'd been destroying for so long.
'Please don't shoot,' moaned the Private again sounding like he was out of breath. 'I know... I look bad... But I've... looked worse...'
'What's wrong with you Peters?' asked Phoenix. 'You look... dead.'
Not quite as subtle as I would have liked... But he was just saying what we all thought. Peters stumbled towards us a little bit but stopped when we raised our barrels to aim at his forehead. Looking at our guns for a moment it seemed as if he was deciding how to get around them and closer to us. I quickly signaled Viper and she threw two of her throwing knives into the Private's thighs.
Everyone just looked at the knives sticking out of Peters' legs except the man himself. Almost as if he didn't even feel the blades protruding from his legs. At this point I'd seen enough to be sure. But as an extra test just to prove it, I fired a three bullet burst into his chest with my battle rifle. The Private stumbled back with the force of the impact, but managed to stay standing up. A slow moan croaked out from his throat and his glazed eyes looked at us. And in that moment we knew he was dead... or... undead as it seemed. Eagle put a bullet through each of his eyes and Peters quickly fell down and stayed down.
Looking around to the group, they were a bit shaken. Shakespeare looked down at the body and said, 'It was dead... It was dead and it was talking. How? How is that possible? Zombies can't talk!' Enrique went and sat him down against a tree to calm him. As the others looked at each other or had thoughts running through their minds, I bent down and collected the Privates gear. Even if it was a very odd circumstance, we're not in any position to waste ammunition or other supplies. As I finished gathering what could be salvaged, Phoenix looked around and scoffed. 'This must have just been a freak accident... I mean... We weren't imagining this. The body's right there. It was talking, but it was dead...'
I handed Viper back her knives after cleaning them as best I could. I knew she'd clean them herself later when she got the chance, but it was a nice sentiment. 'It was dead alright,' I said. 'The virus might be adapting. We just have to be more careful. Remember... Speech requires a higher brain function. When the body dies and no oxygen gets to the brain, the brain slowly dies as well. Maybe the virus got this one changed differently somehow... We might not be able to find out how it happened, but we no longer trust anyone that looks like that. If it looks dead, talking or not, shoot it.'
Everyone nodded and agreed. Whatever this was... I hope it was a fluke..."

Excerpt from the battle log of Steven A. Carpenter. Code Named: Reaper.