Hurricane Carol has finally returned. But for all the expectations surrounding that fact—that she'd kick ass, that she'd take names, that she'd maybe make a few of the most heinous Saviors cry—the reality isn't nearly as satisfying as the expectations. That's what happens when someone finds out that Negan made ground beef out of your nearest and dearest.
Melissa McBride delivers a powerful performance in those seconds, taking Carol from shocked to devastated to angry and determined. The truth hurts her, deeply, and to hurt Carol hurts Morgan too. These are two people who, in their own ways, tried to distance themselves from what the world had become—only to realize that it was now an inescapable part of them.
Seasons ago, Rick told the Governor that no one can ever be "too far gone." (Speaking of the Governor, remember when he was our biggest assache? We were so young!) But that doesn't mean that our plucky band of survivors—or anyone, really—can go back to who they were before this trauma. Carol and Morgan are more alike than they are different: they're both lost children suffering through extreme grief and guilt, in self-imposed exile. Yet, they choose to carry their respective baggage in vastly different ways, and that's what makes their dynamic so interesting.
If you're at all like me, you thought that the theme for Season 7 was shaping up to be either "Surprise Murder" or "Terrible People Rewarded for Being Terrible." This latter half of the season, though, is fast becoming a painstaking travelogue through human mourning. While the larger plot may be moving at a zombie snail's pace, each self-contained episode contains an immense emotional payoff for the longtime viewer. For brand-new viewers, though, welcome aboard; don't get too attached to anyone.
"Bury Me Here" doesn't venture far outside the Kingdom's walls, which a) affords the viewer a real look at a society we'd only ever seen glimpses of and b) helps us imagine what society might look like if the apocalypse broke out at a theater camp. Morgan has managed to carve out a nice life for himself away from the constant death and violence that seems to follow almost everyone else. He has the ear of the King, a peaceful place to live, and even somewhat adopted Benjamin and his younger brother and begun to teach them his special brand of stick-heavy aikido. Carol, too, has settled into her hermit lifestyle—though not without a few interruptions from Benjamin, who is entirely too pure for this world. But Carol keeps her distance; given her track record with plucky children, it's not hard to understand why.
However, things take a sharp left turn when it's time to visit the Saviors for their weekly "tribute." Someone has blocked the road with shopping carts, leading Ezekiel and his people on a wild ghost chase that turns up not people or walkers, but a large red flag: a self-dug grave with the directions "Bury Me Here." There's no "me" to be found, though, and so they continue along their way several minutes late—but now they're late, a fact that Gavin and Jared are only too happy to point out.
Even worse, the tribute is a melon short, which would be an innocuous oversight if the Saviors didn't decide to freak right the hell on out. Someone must die for this missing melon! Jared jumps at the chance to kill someone, and Richard jumps at the chance to die for the cause. Oh, and also, this being The Walking Dead, things go not at all as planned, resulting in our first tragic death of season 7b.
One fugue state, a lonely walk, and a hidden melon later, we learn through Morgan that the whole debacle was a setup by Richard, whose name I had forgotten but written in my notes as "Backstabber McKevlarvest" (and, you may remember, tried to set Carol up with the aid of an unwitting Daryl). Richard, who seems to be chronically unable to read a room, suggests that Morgan just go with it. Later, he says, they'll tell King Ezekiel; they make a false show of bowing to the Saviors, and then catch them unawares.
The pitch doesn't go well for Richard at the makeup drop the next day, unless you count getting your ass choked out by Morgan as a victory. "I wanted to show you that we get it," Morgan tells them, using Richard's death wish as a cover for his long con. While the show of force may have placated the Saviors, though, it weighs on Morgan, prompting him to finally come clean to Carol about the fate of Glenn and Abraham. It's a touching and bittersweet moment in their tense friendship and one with vastly different outcomes for both.
Carol, the only person who could have changed Ezekiel's mind about fighting the Saviors, sets off for the Kingdom and her Royal Bae. (Sorry, Daryl fans, but Ezekiel showers. And he has a tiger. There's no contest here.) She finds him in his Royal Garden, addressing a small weevil infestation. "We have to fight," she says. "We do," he agrees. "But not today." He's starting to sound like Rick: a revolution may take time, but one is making its way to the Saviors. A society can only exist off the sweat of a subjugated people's brow for so long before collapsing under its own weight.
The real question is what this revolution will mean for our friends in the Kingdom and beyond. During World War II, US Army psychiatrists found that humans could only exist in that a combat environment, as a weapon of war, for about 28 days before they began to crack. I can't help but think of that study when we see Morgan again on the porch of Carol's house, sharpening his stick—not entirely unlike the first time Rick found him after he'd lost his son. What, exactly, will be the cost of this war? Will any of our favorite survivors ever be the same again? (And will someone please promise me that nothing will happen to Hypeman Jerry or his precious cobbler?)
