He goes rigid a moment, waking to a sensation of proximity—later it'll seem to him he could feel her breath filling the bunk, smell it even. He kicks—hard but blind and wild, only partly shifted off his stomach. Almost a bucking motion, as though prepared to throw her off him. He registers the gun's clatter a second after. The corresponding absence in his pocket.

(The gun has the look of a pistol but not the heft—it's curiously light, and were Amanda looking she might have noticed a series of Zs etched along the barrel.)

Whether the kick connects or not, William scrambles onto his back, casts a hand along the side of the bunk in search of the weapon. His movements urgent but no longer frantic.