Conemaugh

1.

Quinn McCarthy sat contentedly in the late summer evening on his back porch. He was a thin, old man who had retained his dark hair even into his tenth decade. The creases around his eyes and mouth denoted a personality that enjoyed humor; a personality that had taken what good he could from life with great relish. The radio beside him softly mouthed the day's news as he sat with shut eyes as if in gentle slumber.

"...and on this," the newscaster droned in a tinny voice, "a seminal anniversary of the great Johnstown Flood, an incredible discovery. A crew erecting a memorial on the site of the stone railroad bridge, the only structure to survive the breaking of the South Fork Dam, found human remains. They have been confirmed to be old enough to date from the actual tragedy. What's more, it is rumored that the fabled Johnstown Jewel, a mysterious treasure lost in the flood, was said to be rediscovered as well."

Quinn opened his eyes. The brown depths were clear and sharp despite his age.

"Well I'll be goddamned," he said.