Of three things Clarke was sure: One, the grounder surrounded and out- numbered the 100. Two, the battle had been in action for almost 40 hours and had depleted their arsenal. Three, there was a near certainty in their imminent death.
The 100, or what was left of them, were huddled into the drop ship, awaiting their fates at the hands of the merciless grounders. They were wet, after just having spent an entire night and day on the wall in the relentless rain and wind, bloody from their innumerable wounds, from which their was a high fatality rate already, and utterly miserable. Some were crying, but most were just staring into the face of their desolate future, perhaps praying to some God that had given up on the human race long ago.
The grounders had kept coming and coming in even greater numbers. Dozens would be blown to pieces by the mines or the hydrazine bombs and grenades, only to be replaced by more warriors sailing down from the trees, like fruit falling from a tree. They had used almost all of their arsenal, but it hadn't been enough, and now they were trapped in the bottom level of the drop ship, the door closed and the hatch to the upper levels locked. Grounders could be heard through the ceiling of the first floor, they had climbed through the hole blown open by Murphy on the second level and were now trying the get the hatch open.
Someone had come up with the idea of rigging the hatch to the hydrazine tanks, in the hope that if the grounders were able to somehow pry the barrier open, then the delinquents would not have to be at their mercy, and would instead go out with one last 'up yours' to the world that had deemed unworthy of freedom.
With each passing minute, the grounders seemed to gain more and more vigour in their attempt to open the hatch. So much noise seemed to have an impact, as slowly but surely, that metal was beginning to warp and the edges began to not fit so precisely.
Clarke took another look at the people she was proud to call her friends. No. They were more than that. She might not have any blood relatives anymore, but these people, the ones the ark had deemed irrelevant, they were another family. They were the first of their people to set foot on earth in 97 years. They had come together, albeit on wobbly legs, to form a community that could have flourished. They worked together and built something special. This motley group of tired, bloody and defeated teenagers were her family now. They had been since the drop ship had left the safety of the Ark.
The look on their faces broke Clarke's heart. There was no hope left, no comfort. She thought back to Atom in the woods, how all she had wanted to do was to ease his pain, to help him escape. She looked around again as the hatch took another beating. She took a deep, steadying breath and began to hum the same tune as she had then. She caught Bellamy's eye from across the room, and to Clarke's surprise, after a few more beats he joined her in tune and before long, more voices began to join. Soon everyone of the surviving teenagers were joined in chorus as the hinges were pulled from the hatch and everything was engulfed in a white darkness.
The soundtrack to 'the 100's' eradication was the melody of the souls of discarded teenagers who had found strength and a sense belonging in one another.