It was Day 67 of the Zombie Apocalypse, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg was sick of being stuck in an undisclosed location with other "persons of strategic or political significance."
"Hill," she hissed, "We need to go down swinging. This is no way to live our last days."
"But the General--" protested Hillary.
"Forget about that risk-adverse weenie. Let's raid the armory, visit the Smithsonian, and kill some damn zombies. We can bring Scalia and Thomas as bait."
Ruth put out a fist and looked at her friend with pleading eyes.
Hillary hesitated, then sealed the deal with a defiant bump.