The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) by James Morcan, Lance Morcan

skeptical Kentbridge asked, looking around at the blizzard that seemed to be intensifying by the minute.
    “I wanna make sure I can endure the cold. Who knows,” Nine added a little more confidently, “one day you may give me an assignment in Arctic regions.”
    Kentbridge eventually stepped aside to allow Nine past and watched with admiration as the determined orphan jogged off, slipping and sliding on the icy footpath. Shaking his head, he brushed the snow from his cashmere and hurried inside. Had Kentbridge looked back again, he wouldn’t have seen Nine even though the boy had not yet gone thirty yards beyond the orphanage, such was the visibility.
    The blizzard was so strong, Nine was forced to slow to a walk, doubled over against the wind. He had to keep an eye out to guard against bumping into lampposts and other obstacles.
    It had been no coincidence Nine had chosen this day to attempt his against-all-odds escape from the Omega Agency. The forecasters had predicted Greater Chicago and most of Illinois would be paralyzed for at least twenty four hours by severe blizzard conditions.
    Nine prayed the blizzard would last longer than that. He knew it would hamper Omega’s efforts to recapture him. They’ll soon realize I ain’t coming back. He estimated he had two hours, three at most, before they’d deduce he’d either had an accident or done a runner. Either way, they’ll come lookin’ for me .
    It was a calculated risk, though, for Nine knew travel would be much slower during a blizzard. On the other hand, he was also aware he’d be harder to find in these conditions.
    The thought of Omega hunting him down forced him to resume running despite the dangers presented by the ice underfoot and the near-zero visibility. Rounding a corner, the sheer force of the wind bowled him over. Nine landed heavily on his back on the pavement and lay there, dazed, for a moment. He didn’t want to get up. There was a sharp ache near his tailbone, a result of his fall. C’mon, move it or you’ll be their slave forever. He pushed himself to his feet and forced himself to resume jogging, ignoring the risk of another fall.
    The wind eased slightly. Nine immediately picked up the pace, first breaking into a run and then sprinting. He knew he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the orphanage, but first he had something more pressing to attend to.
    Running along 137 th Street, a derelict church loomed up in front of him. Saint Catherine, an abandoned Roman Catholic church, was a remnant of a bygone era when Riverdale was a once a community of European immigrants. These days, the suburb’s populace was comprised mostly of African-Americans, few of whom were Catholics. The church had been in a state of disrepair for as long as Nine could remember. He had no idea why it hadn’t been torn down, but its deserted state suited him on this occasion.
    Quickly looking behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed, he sprinted around behind the church. En route, he passed through an old cemetery, which was also in a state of disrepair. Most of the headstones were covered in graffiti – the calling cards of gangs that operated in Chicago’s far South Side. 
    Nine entered the rear of the church via a broken door that swung drunkenly on its hinges. He walked into a rectangular, windowless room he assumed was once a hall, or perhaps a theater. Sleet and snow entered through holes in its partially caved-in roof. These same holes allowed faint light to intrude on the room’s almost total darkness.
    It took Nine’s eyes several seconds to adjust. Acclimatized, he scanned his surroundings just as he’d been trained to do. Black and white portrait photos hanging on the walls alluded to ghosts of the past. Paint peeled off those same walls, and furnishings were either cobwebbed or rusted. Graffiti had also been sprayed on the walls and floorboards. Nine estimated some of the graffiti tags had been done quite