The shop we stepped into was clocked in dust and shadow...and now glass. There were books lining the walls, leather bound scripts stacked high above the dark oak furniture that was still perfectly intact and untouched by the devastation that had erupted around the tiny shop. It was like a bubble of peace had enclosed the shop in perfect serenity for the last year or so and Daryl had singlehandedly shattered that dusty paradise. Daryl walked ahead of me, slowly stepping on the crunching black shards, his crossbow drawn up to his face in case of any walkers. I paced slowly behind him, hands lazily resting on my hips, picking my way carefully through the shining glass flecks as I steered cautiously through the cosy shop. I noted that Daryl still had his crossbow drawn high up against his nose.
"I think it's okay...put your crossbow down. We're alone." I informed him. He just stared at me incredulously.
"You don't know that." He said suspiciously. "Why d'you think that?" he asked, squinting at me. I shrugged at him and looked around me at the room that had dust swimming in the beams of light in the air.
"Instinct." I replied, putting my hands in my pockets and wandering around. He observed me carefully for a few seconds before lowering his crossbow and slinging it roughly over his shoulder. He kicked one of the display stands and several smooth stones and sparkling jewels fell out. I spun round and my eyes fixed on the items that had just dropped to the floor.
"Careful!" I snapped at him. He glanced up at me with a small smirk on his face.
"Why, scared th'owner's gonna get mad?" he mocked me. I ignored his childish behaviour and stalked through the building, attempting to work out what sort of thriving business used to be in this warm little shop. I ran my hand across the leather spines of a hundred books and my shoes gradually stopped crunching on the floor as the splintered spikes of glass ran out, revealing a smooth laminate wood floor. An unexpected smash made me spin back round to face the window, heart racing to get to my throat. My eyes, which were darting all over the shop to find the source of the noise quickly rested on Daryl, who was stood next to a pile of broken china with a slightly embarrassed tinge to his face. The fingers I'd wrapped tightly around my gun upon turning round released their grip on the handle and I threw him an extremely irritated look.
"Sorry." He grunted, sweeping the china pieces under a nearby counter as if hiding them from my sight would make me less annoyed. As I shook my head condescendingly at him, a tall and ornate display cupboard caught my attention. Everything in the shop seemed to be made of some rich, dark wood or glass and coupling that with the nature of items that we'd found (and broken) I could only arrive at one conclusion, eyes still staring fixatedly at the display.
"Think it might be an antique shop." I informed him with an air of certainty, and once again he responded by just grunting at me. I didn't bother to look at him; I knew he'd just be breaking things behind me and just making a nuisance of himself in general. I reached out and touched the cool glass with my fingertips, tracing the intricate patterns stained onto the panel and pondering what it contained. Dropping my gaze slightly I noticed a fat, rusting, heavy lock that dangled precariously, sternly keeping the cupboard closed against invasion with a measly silver chain. I held the rusting lock between my fingers for a few seconds, rotating it as far as it would allow so that I could assess just how best to get in. I glanced over my shoulder.
"Daryl!" I called, attracting his attention. I jerked my head towards the cupboard as a signal for him to come over and help. He put down a small, silver pocket watch that he'd been closely examining for some reason and wandered over. I let go of the lock I was holding and moved back a few paces so that I was in line with him, and I pointed sharply at the cupboard.
"I want in. Get in." I instructed, awaiting a less than cheerful response. He folded his arms and looked at me.
"Why?" he questioned me, thinking that there must have been a reason for my desperation to get to what was inside. Truth is, I had no idea.
"Dunno. Curious." I admitted, sheepishly looking back up at him. "So, wanna help me open it?" I asked, hoping for the best. He turned his entire body to face me and just carried on staring for a few seconds. I was just about to start working on opening it alone, when in one fluidic, calm movement Daryl dived his hand once again to my waistband to rip out my revolver and turned it to face the cupboard, before embedding two bullets into the intricately designed stain glass, his eyes screwed up against any flecks of exploding glass. I flinched violently and covered my face with my arm before letting out a very high pitched yelp, completely abandoning my dignity for the third or fourth time that day. When my heart rate finally returned to normal and I managed to stuff it back down my throat, I slowly lowered my arm and peered at the display cabinet.
"Well...that worked." I muttered, holding out my hand so that he could return my gun to me. He placed the gun roughly in my palm and walked away, leaving me to rummage through the destroyed cabinet myself.
The glass had fallen to reveal the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life; an elongated, wooden, jet black handle with silver Japanese symbols embossed onto it and an intimidatingly long but sparklingly clean silver blade. I'd found the most stunning weapon in the USA; I'd found a katana...in perfect condition. I outstretched my arm, my breathing was ragged because I was so overwhelmed by what I was seeing and I carefully lifted the perfect weapon out of its display case. I swung it out and around, being careful not to kill myself or Daryl as I did so and brought it up so that it was pointed at the beige, watermarked ceiling, glimmering silver pushed close to my face so that my breath was steaming it up a little. I looked over at Daryl, who'd registered the sudden appearance of the katana with a hilarious mixture of shock and surprise. I flashed him a mischievous grin.
"You can keep the knife." I told him, smile plastered indefinitely across my face. He shook his head in pure disbelief as I leaned carefully into the broken cabinet, carefully avoiding the glass that was jutting out of the wood to haul out the accompanying black sheath. Daryl just stared at me as he leaned to one side with his hands on his hips, still shaking his head in pure disbelief.
"You did not just find that..." he muttered. I just grinned at him and carefully sheathed the powerful katana that was in my hands, before slinging it over my shoulder much like how Daryl had his crossbow.
I suddenly felt a whole lot better about the whole end-of-the-world shit.