The Day After Brexit: What a Crash Out of the EU Might Look Like

This account of the first 24 hours of a no-deal Brexit is based on interviews, government documents, and academic research. The people described are real, as are their views on Brexit.

Dialogue is real and faithfully rendered from actual interactions but projected into the near future. Brexit might not play out this way. Prime Minister Boris Johnson could reach a deal with the European Union. Parliament’s attempts to block a no-deal departure could succeed or delay the inevitable. Johnson could be booted from office. We won’t know until we know.

● 11 p.m., Oct. 31, Westminster, London

The digital Brexit countdown clock in Boris Johnson’s office at No. 10 Downing St. reads 00 Days, 00:00:00 in red digits. The U.K. has left the EU.

Even after an astonishing Supreme Court ruling in September that he illegally suspended Parliament, the prime minister ignored a law forcing him to ask the EU for a delay and delivered Brexit anyway. His final pitch to extract concessions at an Oct. 17 summit ended in failure, leaving no alternative: It had to be no-deal. He said it during his leadership campaign, and he meant it—the country would leave the EU on schedule, “do or die.”

As the clock strikes zero, the prime minister isn’t in his office. Instead, he’s at 70 Whitehall, ensconced in a cabinet office briefing room (or Cobra), the British government’s nerve center during emergencies. Operation Yellowhammer, the code name for the no-deal Brexit contingency plan, is in full swing.

A deal would’ve given the U.K. a grace period to prepare for life outside the EU. Instead, the immediate rupture has left the country alone on the world stage for the first time since the early 1970s. It’s gone from being the gateway to Europe to an isolated nation stripped of major trading relationships.

The pound is in a dive. Johnson passes an anxious hand through his perpetually untidy blond hair. He dearly wants to avoid chaos and disruption—scenes like the ones unfolding outside. On the bank of screens at one end of the room, a helicopter shot shows anti-Brexit protesters swarming Westminster. Counterprotesters brandish Union Jacks. So far, there’s been no significant violence.

● 11:30 p.m., just outside Folkestone, Kent, southeast England

A dark blue Mercedes van hurtles down the motorway toward the white cliffs of Dover. The 007 theme blares from a Samsung Galaxy S7. Roger Moore—the 65-year-old driver for courier company JJX Logistics, not the deceased actor known for his license to kill—answers. On the line is his boss, John, calling from the head office in Dudley. “How’s it going, Rog?”

“All good, John, no trouble at all. Traffic’s completely clear.” The roads are quieter than usual, and he’s making good time. In the back of the van are wooden crates packed with Airbus plane parts that need to be in Paris by early tomorrow. After he’s crossed the channel, Moore will become one of the first Britons in four decades to enter the Continent as a non-EU citizen. About time, too, he thinks: He was among the 17.4 million who voted Leave.