Chapter 11

On Memoir: "You're bunking with Susan Atkins," said one of the inmates. "The baby killer from the Manson cult."

She looked down at her shackled feet. Metal cuffs rubbed her ankles raw with every pothole the transport vehicle pummeled over. She stared out the window across the I-15 South freeway. The windows had five horizontal iron bars across each one and they were tinted dark as tar so other drivers couldn’t see in.

She squinted through the bars as she arrived at CIW — one hundred and twenty acres surrounded by razor wire and guards with guns.