You gather what guards still remain in the city and look them over. They're a coarse lot, and half of them won't survive a fortnight, but they're what you have. "You few," you say, gesturing to a somewhat divided sect of your guards, "will be cleaning the city streets." They nod their assent. "The rest of you," you continue, "will collect and burn the bodies. Do it outside the city walls." They also nod their assent. Then you add, "take any living infected, and burn them, too." You turn and start to walk away.
"But..." one of the guards begins to protest, but you freeze him with a glare.
"If you can't control your tongue," you snap back, "I'll have it out. We're getting rid of all the infection so we don't die from it, too."
Nobody says anything when you walk away this time, but that night, when they're lighting the bodies of the dead, they grab you and throw you on with their deceased families, right where you had asked them to put the living members.